Prologue

My story began when I was born. However, it really only got interesting when the aliens attacked New York a couple years ago. You see, I was never a very interesting person. I grew up in the Seattle area, moved to Olympia later on, lived a mundane budding artist's life. Graduated both High school and college, passing grades. After that, unfortunately, my life had become so busy that I really couldn't focus on my artistic side of story-telling talent much. I was still living with my parents, when my cousin in New York offered up a space for rent. There was a job waiting for me when I got there: Janitorial work at the local food market. Not the greatest, but it could've been worse. Minimum wage jobs aren't exactly easy, and I could barely pay rent, but I was content in New York. The people, the places, and, man, food is great there. Reminded me of my Seattle-ite roots, so nostalgia was probably a pretty big factor too.

Every morning when I woke up, before the sun had even risen, I'd throw open the curtains, and gaze up at the skyline for a few precious moments. From my apartment, I could see the bustling downtown area close on the horizon. The Empire state building had a great glint of sun on its windows in the evening, and sometimes if I leaned in the right direction I could see the Stark tower. Once on the day to work, I swear I heard the incredible Iron Man fly by a few blocks down. He was a great public figure. All of the Avengers are, though they weren't called that at that point.

I was pretty happy with my life. I whistled while I worked, and had an uncanny spring in my step. But... something was missing. That part of my life that had taken the back burner... my art. Sure, I'd get a few minutes here and there to spend some time doodling, and I was slowly making my way through a series of graphic novels, but by the time I got home I was usually tuckered out. It was disappointing to say the least.

And then the aliens attacked. It was a pleasant day outside, and I'd been listening to the Canadian Tenors on my iPod, when the strangest blast noise I'd ever heard knocked over about five aisles, all sorts of products spilling to the floor. Oddly enough, the first dread that occurred to me was all the cleaning I'd have to do. And then it hit me. Literally. A blast sent some poor guy flying right into me, knocking me back a couple feet. He was pretty damn dead. Some people might think it strange that I didn't scream, but I've never been the most verbal of people. I've had scrapes and bruises where I wouldn't make a sound, mostly out of shock. So, I kept my cool, and kept it in. But man, I was terrified.

One might think the most logical course of action would be to run for the closest exit, but in my quiet frenzied state, I of course dived for the collapsed aisles, hoping for a hiding spot. At this point, people were screaming hysterically. I'm pretty sure I even saw a few people steal some groceries. One of them turned a corner with a stolen loaf of bread and was instantly blasted back by another gang of aliens.

How many aliens were there? I think I heard later on that there were around 12,000 aliens total. It's a good thing they all died the instant that nuke went off in space. Talk about convenient, am I right?

Either way, there I was. Cowering beneath an aisle rack, surrounded by the debris of the make-up aisle, plastic containers and powders everywhere. Who knew make-up could make such a mess? I could hear more and more people running, screaming, falling to the ground. I saw alien feet scrabble across the now slick floor tiles. It didn't even cross my mind at how absurd it was that aliens were attacking. I was so used to the fantastic in my imagination that I gratefully accepted it. Not that it was good, it was just my immediate response.

Suddenly the screaming stopped. My breath refused to escape my lungs, lest I be discovered. A few aliens were standing around, communicating in some strange, garbled language. Something felt wrong. Shouldn't they be going on to rampage the next storefront? Suddenly a burst of gunshot exploded through the air, and the aliens collapsed. All I could see from where I hid were the black pointed shoes of some official sounding people. At-least they were humans.

But I remained quiet. Something was still wrong. I couldn't quite hear them, but I could see that they were observing the dead aliens. Somehow this was even scarier than the aliens. I listened for a few moments, but it was as if they didn't want to be heard. If felt like there were cotton balls stuffed up my ears. I felt like I was going to be sick.

All of a sudden, somebody was rushing over to where I was, a few others lifting the aisle rack from above me. I scrambled out, grateful for the help. But right as I was about to thank them and ask some questions, one of them pointed a gun at me.

And fired.

When I woke up, I found myself in a hospital room. At, least, that's what it looked like. I was in my work uniform, on a hospital bed without the blanket. Something was hooked up to my veins. A group of people surrounded me, looking at me, almost expectantly. I had the strangest feeling in my head. It was like, tendrils of my mind were escaping through cracks in my skull, but not as painful as a cracked skull would be.

Looking around, turning my head towards the people, they gasped. I didn't know why at the time, but apparently it had looked like my head exploded. It didn't, by the way, explode, but they were just as shocked as I when I saw particles of light escape my fingertips. Looking back at them, I only had one thing to say.

"What did you do to me?"

They never really answered that question, but for the next two years, I was confined in some crazy lab. They pumped me with chemicals, talked to me and asked me questions. It wasn't that bad, to be honest. I mean, considering that all of a sudden I could think of a bird and there was suddenly a bird flying around my head, I was pretty well adjusted. What they did explain to me was this: I was chosen. I had the imagination of my old self still-intact, though somewhat suppressed through the stresses of growing up, and I had an above average IQ to back that up. I had good morals, went to church, tried to be a good person. In their eyes, I was perfect.

Obviously, the sudden superpowers was a shock, and honestly they weren't really all that super. Still aren't. All I can do is create illusions. I suppose the power of illusion can be pretty powerful, but it definitely isn't flying or super strength. I had a few embarrassing illusions leak out in a training sessions, and someone told me that I'd been sleepwalking in illusions everyone could see. That was different. I didn't really care for the restriction of my personal self, but I guess looking back, I can understand. I needed the training to keep a low profile. But the least they could've done was let me have a phone call or a visit to my parents. They were definitely worried sick about me.

But suddenly, everything changed. Of course, I'd heard about what the Avengers had done on the other side of the globe. But what with the Hulk missing, things getting sketchy between a few of the 'vengers, and newcomers on the scene, the last thing I'd expected was a visit from them.

It had been a lazy day for me. I was lying on my bed, swirling tiny galaxies of light with my fingertips above my head. The door to my room opened, a rarity on my off-days. Two men stepped in, one with a black suit and tie, the other a black trench coat sort of thing. And an eyepatch.

"Elizabeth DeHart," The eyepatch guy said, stunning me. "We're here to talk to you about the Avengers Initiative."

I was dumbstruck. As calm and collected as I could make myself, I sat up on the edge of my bed, looking at them with a furrowed brow. Although honestly, my face probably looked completely blank. Facial expressions are hard for me.

"Uh, what about it?" Great first words to some super important people, both of whom should've been dead.

The one in the suit smiled. "I think you know, Beth," He almost chuckled, glancing at the galaxies and birds floating around my head.

I smiled. I was going to be an Avenger.