So now I was sitting here in the back of Mr. Fury's truck, wondering why the heck I hadn't called 9-1-1 (oh yeah, that's right - they were pointing guns at me) and glumly reflecting on the fact that my gloriously golden and crunchy bread was still sitting on the counter.

And who would feed my pet fox? Not to mention my thirteen black cats.

The thoughts of food which circulated in my brain caused an unflattering rumbling to proceed from my stomach. I was holding a piece of bread in my hand and stuffed it vigorously in my mouth, hoping to calm my excited organs down.

"Boy, this is just peachy." I muttered to myself. "I just love being kidnapped, don't you?"

I've seen enough movies to expect the answer which came from - right next to me.

This is so-o-o cliche, I thought to myself with an eyeroll. I mean, seriously. We've got the whole kidnapping thing, and then I talk to myself, and a voice coming from a person I can't see answers me...I might as well be in "Jason Bourne", for goodness' sake! I was so busy thinking these dour thoughts that it took me a minute to process what the person had said.

"You get used to it."

"I'm used to it already," I snapped back. "This makes the third time this year." Then, without pausing for breath or considering that this had nothing to do with the previous subject, I asked, "Who are you?"

"Just at present, I'm Bruce Banner."

"What do you mean, 'just at present'?" I asked suspiciously.

"Well, the other guy decided he wouldn't come today."

I knew it. I knew it! I was being sent off to the loony bin! Not without good reason, I'll admit, but where were the people in the white coats? "That's nice," I responded, hoping that I'd at least got a calmer guy who'd lost the plot. I mean, so far he'd been pretty nice, but he'd only said three things since I got in here and that wasn't really anything to go by. I wondered if he was tied up. I wasn't, but that didn't mean he wasn't.

"And who are you?" Bruce Banner asked me.

"My name is Regina James." I replied.

"Oh!" I heard a shuffling noise and I poised defensively, just in case my name had triggered some kind of sporadic anger spell. It didn't seem to have, however, as nothing happened after the noise.

"Mr. Banner?" I ventured. "Are you...are you still there?"

There was no response. Abruptly, however, the doors were thrown open again and I winced at the sunlight that poured into the vehicle. I took a quick look around to see if I could locate Mr. Banner and spotted a man curled up in a corner, holding his head with his hands. He looked middle-aged, if the grey in his black hair was anything to go by.

I shook my head. Weird. We're definitely headed to the loony bin.

Then I brought my attention to the doors which had just opened. It was hard to see much, because of the bright sunlight, but I could make out another figure stumbling into the truck. From the way he was wobbling about, I figured he was drunk.

Nice. Oh, very nice. Stick me in the back of a dark, dank truck with a crazy guy and a drunk. Oh, yeah. This day was just getting better and better. What's next? A hooker?

I guess they weren't done loading people in. A gorgeous redhead flipped into the truck, landing in the classic action-movie pose: kneeling, arms out, head down but looking up. Sigh. Great.

The doors shut again and we were off.

"How about some light?" A female voice - the redhead - spoke and instantly the truck was illuminated with florescent lights.

"What the hell," the drunk moaned. He was slumped against the wall of the truck. Have these people never heard of seatbelts? He squinted at the redhead. "Turn it off, Romanoff." His face took on that stupid expression of self-satisfaction and pleasure often employed by drunks. "Hah! That's funny. Turn it off, Romanoff..." he sort of trailed off and passed a hand across his forehead.

Romanoff - which was apparently the girl's name (probably her last name) - rolled her eyes slightly. The gesture was almost imperceptible. "A little light won't kill you, Stark."

"That's what they all say," Stark replied with a long-suffering sigh. Then he seemed to notice me for the first time. "Hey, Natasha, who's the broad?"

"According to Fury, she's Regina James."

"I'm sitting right here, you know." I mumbled, but I honestly didn't care that much. I cleared my throat. "We're headed for the loony bin, right?"

Natasha looked slightly amused, but Stark went all out with his laughter. "Loony bin, I like that," he chortled. "Yeah, something like that."

"I...take it we're not, then," I hazarded.

"Three guesses, sweetheart," Stark replied.

"Okay, well, then, what's his problem?" And I nodded towards Bruce Banner, who was still huddled in the corner.

"The other guy must be trying to get out." Stark looked sympathetic. "Hey, Bruce, how're you holding up?"

"Are you trying to get us all killed?" Natasha hissed at him. "Remember what happened last time?"

"Yeah, but he's gotten a lot better at controlling himself."

"Um, guys!" I waved. "Not to, you know, be Johnny rain cloud here, but I just got kidnapped and I have no idea what's going on. Could I maybe get a little information?"