So, I have a new story. I feel like I'm cheating you and myself out of writing another chapter for Alpha Centauri. I apologize. I just had this magical brainchild that combines a character from an original story I have up on FictionPress, called Phoenix Rising (my account is under the same name), and what happens when she's recruited by SHIELD for the Avengers. So, yeah. Here it is, and I hope y'all enjoy it!

PS. I own Arianna "Phoenix" Beckman, InFUSE, and the city of Manensk, Russia is my own creation (there might be an actual city with the same name, but this is only coincidental) and I also own the prison and anything else that you don't recognize.

Title: "Start of Something Good" by Daughtry

Ilyovich Class A Penitentiary, Manensk, Russia
8 March 2014
0122 hours, ANAT

Bounce, bounce... catch.

Bounce, bounce... catch.

I pause for a second to shake out by dark brown hair, my red and gold highlights catching the ghostly moonlight that filtered through the tiny, barred window. I shifted my legs out from under me and settled on the cold ground with my back leaning against my simple cot. I then resume, the moonlight highlighting my deeply tanned arm as I chuck the tennis ball again.

Bounce, bounce... catch.

Bounce, bounce... catch.

Bounce, bounce... catch.

The rhythm of my tossing the tennis ball into the wall opposite me and my bed, it hitting the ground I'm sitting on, and then finally landing perfectly into my outstretched hand is the only sound that echoes dully throughout my cell. From the adjacent and surrounding cells, I can hear the various prisoners shifting in their cots. The footsteps of the roaming guards and the jangle of their keys and weapons resonates throughout the concrete hallways. Yeah, I know what you're wondering.

Ari, why the Hell are you in a freakin' prison? And not just any prison, but a high-security high-class criminal facility, and you're one of the only girls there, too!

What?

Yeah, I know. But they separate the sexes, so no danger there.

I'm only here because this is the strongest prison facility, and I'm currently being accused of being an American spy on a mission to infiltrate the Russian government, but in reality, I was tracking an InFUSE source.

InFUSE stands for the International Forces of United Superhuman/natural Entities. My division is the URL, or Undercover and Retrieval Legion. So, yeah, I'm kinda half-undercover and half not. I honestly have no idea where everything goes from here. I'm a bit apprehensive to try and break out, because 1) I don't want to cause a nuclear war between the US and Russia, and 2) I have no reason to break out; I still have to find the source, but he happens to be close to the location of this prison. I'd just need to contact my other teammate, but I highly doubt that she'd still even be in Russia, let alone Manensk.

I groan as my mind wanders back to the purpose of my mission. It was supposed to be a quick, three-day go-in-and-get-outta-there retrieval, but I've been in this dump for just over a month. I'm not even sure InFUSE knows where I am. My other guess is that it's taking forever to sort out the whole entire international issue of she-isn't-actually-a-spy-but-an-agent-of-InFUSE (it's called "international" for a reason).

I caught your attention now, didn't I? I bet you're curious now, huh: a superhuman? What? That's cray-cray. That may be so, but it's one hundred percent true. I was lucky enough to be one of the suckers who somehow sprouts wings. My other main area of "expertise," I guess you could say, lies with pyrokinesis. If you don't know what that means, it means that I can make things burn. That's why they call me the Phoenix.

Sometimes, I even make things go 'splodey (1).

That's why they call me crazy.

Anyways.

In addition to my newly-developing telepathy, I'm also working on my telekinetic abilities. Well, I haven't been working on developing my telekinetic or telepathic skills as much as I should be due to my busy schedule with missions and such, but I can at least move objects around. It's challenging for me to direct the power without using my hand or my fingers as a sort of extension, though.

"Arianna Beckman?"

I look up and see a guard standing at my door. He has somewhat pale skin, and from the looks of it, light-brown hair, but I can't really tell because of the darkness and his standard guard uniform hat. He looks to be in his late thirties or early forties. I frown slightly. I have not seen him before; he must be new.

I raise my eyebrow and blink my red eyes as he unlocks the door. "Yeah?"

"I need you to come with me."

My other eyebrow shoots up. From what I can read off of him using my developing telepathy, I know that I can trust him. But do I? Should I?

The metal-barred door is rolled open. I leap to my feet and dash outside, barely making a sound. He shuts the door behind me with as little noise as possible.

"I'll explain everything to you later," he offers when I look at him questioningly. "We have to hurry though; we don't have long."

I nod and then keep at his heels as he leads me to the roof of the compound. I can't help but wonder: if he's this good to get to me and rescue me, is he an agent sent in from InFUSE? If he is, I haven't seen him before; my division is less than fifty strong, so I definitely would remember him. My doubt is confirmed correct when he leads me to a tiny black jet on a nearby helipad. The plane doesn't look like any of the models that the ILSB uses, and there aren't any logos or registration codes that I can see, which rings a small alarm in my head.

"Who are you?" I demand. "Who do you work for?"

"I am Agent Coulson, and I work for SHIELD," he replies. "I can assure you, though, that we are the good guys."

He's telling the truth. I nod again, not changing my stony facial expression, and climb into the chopper after him. The pilot, who was waiting in the cockpit, hands us a pair of headphones with microphones. As we take off, I notice the amount of intel they must've had to prepare for this operation; while practicing my mind-reading, I picked up a tidbit that the warden was expecting a series of helicopter arrivals and take-offs over the course of the next few days. Shipments for what, though, I never found out.

Once we're a good couple thousand feet in the air, I turn to the man who rescued me- Coulson. "What is SHIELD?" I ask. "Do you mean 'SHIELD' as in, the government agency? Are you in contact with InFUSE? If so, why did you rescue me?"

"You ask a lot of questions," Coulson replies. "Yes, SHIELD is a government agency; yes, we are currently in contact with InFUSE, and we rescued you because we want you to work for us as an Avenger."

Of course, I'd heard about the Avengers before, but my work never brought me close enough to them to meet them. I cannot say that I'm not intrigued, but I'm worried about issues with the Russian government; you know, because I'm a prisoner here.

When I voice this worry, Coulson tells me, "Unfortunately, that's classified information. I can tell you, though, that Directors Lazarus and Cassidy, along with a few of their colleagues, are working successfully to keep everything under control."

"Oh, okay... that's good." I pause for a little. "Will I be able to call my friends and tell them I'm safe?"

He shakes his head. "Not yet. I can't tell you exactly why, but one of the reasons is that the directors of InFUSE and the head of your division want you to refrain from contacting any teammates."

My eyes widen as a feeling like liquid nitrogen washes over my spine. "What? But- but why?"

"Unfortunately, I've been sworn to secrecy regarding this matter. All I can say is that the directors of InFUSE and your division will remain in contact with us; we have been communicating since before we worked together to locate you. They were overjoyed when we found out you were here."

"But why would Cassidy pick me?" I wonder out loud. "I know for a fact that I'm not the most talented person working for InFUSE." And it's true. There are dozens of other field agents that had much more useful knowledge under their belts. I haven't had the intensive training to become an EMT, and I'm hardly a sufficient hacker, so what did they pick me for? My dazzling good looks?

Yeah, that's it. That's totally it.

"They think working with the Avengers could be a good experience for you. They know that you do like to be in the spotlight whenever you can, but your division has you working in the shadows, and mostly individually, so this could also be a good experience for working on a team."

I just can't get my head wrapped around the idea that people think I'm dead. "But I'll be working with the Avengers, of all people. Twenty bucks says I'll be on television because of that. Even if Cassidy blocks those stations, people will have other ways of figuring out where I am and what I'm doing."

"Unfortunately, I don't know the details. If I were you, I'd trust that Cassidy would keep everything under control."

"How much do the Avengers know about this?" I wonder.

Coulson shakes his head. "Nothing much yet; they only know that, if you say yes, then they'll be getting a new teammate. Other than that, they only know that you're female and have had training before this."

"Okay. I just don't want them to know about my powers. At least, not yet."

"Why is that?"

I smirk. "I wanna see the expressions on their faces when they see my wings."

SHIELD Helicarrier, somewhere in the Mid-Pacific
8 March 2014
0732 Hours, NZST

About an hour later, the helicopter reaches its destination: a large aircraft carrier ship cruising in the Pacific Ocean. I stare in wonder at the size of the carrier; we certainly don't have those in InFUSE. I really wish we did.

I turn to Coulson and ask, "Is this the Avengers' HQ?"

"Not quite, but SHIELD uses this as a base for many of their- our- operations."

"Ah." The chopper lands and I follow Coulson out as he climbs down and walks to an entryway leading below deck. I try as best as I can to memorize the path we take to get to wherever we're going. As we make our way down an especially long corridor, the agent hands me a pair of fancy reflective aviator sunglasses. I look at him in question, and he says, "For your eyes."

"Oh." I don't waste time in putting them on. We stop by a door, and Coulson punches in a four-digit code into the corresponding keypad.

"This is the room you'll be staying in until we get to New York City," he informs me as he opens the door. "The code is two-seven-four-two. In your dresser, there is clothing; the sizes were given to us by InFUSE. In your personal bathroom are a simple toiletry kit and hotel sizes of shower necessities. If you need anything, pick up the phone and dial two-six-three."

"Thanks," I say as I turn and smile at the agent.

"Try to get some sleep. Breakfast will be served until ten."

"Okay. Good... well, good morning." With that, he leaves me to the quiet of my new room. I find a light switch and flip it on, revealing a room that measures about fifteen square feet with brown shag carpeting and a strange yet pretty shade of a dusty reddish-rose color on the walls. A queen-sized bed lays perpendicular to the wall at my left, with silvery sheets and a matching mahogany nightstand. A simple black-painted dresser with four drawers is pushed to the wall opposite, and hanging over that is a small flat-screen TV.

Beyond the bed is the entrance to a bathroom (the door has a full-length mirror) with white floor tiles and pale yellow walls. The bathtub, toilet, and sink are all white ceramic, and the sink is mounted on a white granite counter with streaks of charcoal. Any toiletries are waiting on the counter top for my use.

Without a second thought, I toss my sunglasses onto my bed, strip my hideous and typical orange jumpsuit, and turn the shower on full-blast. When you're a pyrokinetic like me, lukewarm just doesn't do it. I grab the shampoo and relish the floral scent it gives off. I can't remember the last time I had a legitimate shower.

I know that my wings are probably the third most disgusting they've ever been (don't even get me started on the first two times!) so I carefully extend them, moaning as most of my joints crack. Yeah, these are the same wings I mentioned before. I pause for a moment to roll my shoulder blades, and then continue, stretching each wing individually; there is not enough room in the shower for both to be fully extended at the same time.

Stretching sixteen feet across, all of my feathers are a beautiful shade of warm rusty red that gleam gold in the sun. My longer bottom feathers, my primaries and secondaries, have a smoky black edging along the tips. My wings have been growing more and more difficult to hide as they get bigger. For my most recent undercover missions, my wardrobe was limited to loose T-shirts, bulky jackets tied carefully around my waist, and long overcoats. Even then, I still have to wear a binder around my wings. It's not the most comfortable, having my wings pressed too close to my back for long periods of time, but I seem to manage well enough.

I let the burning water soak my wings, washing away weeks of sweat and grime, turning the water brown. When I'm finally done using up the ship's hot water supply, I wrap myself in a plush white towel, grabbing one for my wings. After twisting my chocolate- and flame-colored locks up in a third towel, I pat my wings dry and check the towel. I smile; it comes back clean.

I hang that towel on the back of the bathroom door and shuffle out to the main room. As I'm walking, I catch a glimpse of myself in my underwear in the full-length mirror. My caramel skin is full of random scars, most of them the cause of knifes or, in only a couple cases, bullets. Three jagged but parallel claw marks run from the just under where my right wing meets my shoulder to just above my left hip. A second set of scars similar runs from the top of my right collarbone down to just past my shoulder. The people I was fighting at the time decided that it would be a good idea to genetically enhance leopards and tigers, and one of them managed to get its claws into me. Other than that, the only really unusual series of scars is right above my belly button. I was tortured, and a permanent branding was the result.

I suddenly snap out of my flashback. I check the digital clock on my nightstand; it reads just after five-twenty. I might as well just stay up- I can get any needed energy from the sun. I strut over to the dresser to dig through my clothes. I am happily surprised to see that, not only did InFUSE ship my entire wardrobe, but they also packed my favourite watch, my iTouch, my stereo dock, and my earbuds.

Hmm... I want to make a good first impression, but what kind of first impression? After about a minute, I decide on a pair of sleek, dark wash skinny jeans; a plain, lipstick-red tank top the same color as my hair streaks; and a cute leather bomber jacket that I left half zipped (this one does not have slits for my wings). For my shoes I select my favourite pair of gray Vans. I make sure to adjust my wings; grab my iTouch, watch, and hair ties; and slip on my sunglasses before heading out the door.

I don't know how many people are awake yet, so I try to walk as quietly as possible. When trying to find the same route I came down by, I only get lost once. Surprisingly, I don't pass any agents on my way to the deck. As soon as I am standing on the main runway I close my eyes and breathe a sigh of relief. The cool morning air feels so refreshing against my face, and the dark sky is growing paler, creating a beautiful background for the remaining stars. The only sounds come from the thrumming motors and the waves lapping at the side of the ship.

I open my eyes, pull off my jacket, and open my wings to the breeze, relishing the feeling. After a few moments, I tie my jacket around my waist and pull my hair into a low ponytail. I then retract my wings and sprint as fast as I can to the other end of the boat, which is three hundred meters, give or take a few. Just as my foot hits the edge, I spread my wings and soar.

(1) I got this term from another author (I forget who- please don't kill me if you happen to read this!) and I cracked up so hard when I read that section of the story. Don't worry- whoever you are, I will find you, and I will credit you. :-)

First chapter combined with the second chapter (now it's all the first chapter). Did you like it more than AC? Or do you like AC more? Comments are encouraged! I also don't own the image- it was done by Renato666 on Deviant Art.

PS. Chapters will be named after movie titles and quotes, and song titles and lyrics according to the general plot of the chapter.