Author's note: This first chapter is just to explain some things about her cynical attitude later in the story, you'll see, anyway, opinions, reviews, please? Thank you for reading

Dr Director hated Mondays – well, she hated most every day of the week, but Mondays were the most scorn deserving of the days of the week for her – A crazy plot always seemed to be revealed at Mondays, making her undoubtedly have to sit down and have to plan an offensive strike against whomever threatened the earth at that moment. Why wouldn't terrorists and armed militia forces pick another day of the week to do their evil bidding? – She Wondered as she sat at her office. The room – Sparsely decorated, almost Spartan in style despite the person to whom it belonged, populated only with a mahogany desk, some chairs, and a wall screen, similar to a television behind the desk (besides the gathering of paperwork and ink pens that were above the desk, ready to be worked on, as well as one telephone) – was devoid of anyone but her, she looked around and looked at the screen – it was synchronized with CNN 24 hours, and it showed her what was happening in the world. Today it was another super villain who attacked. She heavily sighed as she looked at the blinking red light on the telephone, someone was calling her and, due to the way the organization had been organized, only a few people had the number to call her.

She picked the telephone up and immediately detected who was on the other side. – the president of the whole "free world" – The man was speaking in a rushed tone, almost in a panic like state. Dr Director tried to not let her frustration ooze through her voice and into the conversation as she went into a series of "mmmh" and "huh huhs", this wasn't new to her, there was always someone doing a terror attack, even more so on Mondays. She was half expecting it.

She looked at the clock on the wall and mentally removed the hours to the hour on the particular state of America that was being attacked in the Midwest, with their secret base on the Atlantic it was a simple case of removing some hours. She sighed again, today the trouble had started early.

She did her best to try and end up the conversation as soon as possible, since it wasn't news to her, and she knew the procedure already. She stifled a yawn, this was boring her, still it was her job – to deal with the scum of the earth and save the world on a regular basis. Or rather, to command the teams that would do it.

The number was a secret, but that didn't stop the fact that all the people who had it used it to boss her around and demand help. – And while she enjoyed saving people and helping – to an extent – it was certainly frustrating. It was like being on customer service, a lot of stressed out people, either panicking or screaming, demanding help – and there wasn't much she could do if the attack was happening at the moment (which it was, they only called when the fan had already been hit) – she could send a team, but physics and the limits of transportation speed still applied – they wouldn't get there for a long time. She would be the scapegoat among the higher ups– even if her teams and herself couldn't do anything to help – the people who should warn them – the undercover agents and recon people – those always seemed to somehow evade the blame.

It was stressful and she didn't like it. She didn't like it one bit – the few times she managed to stop an attack while it still happened, often by pure chance – she was congratulated, and awarded medals along with her agents – but those were forgotten in a laughable short amount of time , when the next crisis happened, and they were back to being screamed on.

It wasn't that her organization was incompetent, she certainly did her best to stop all the evil and or opposite views to those of the ruling of the countries, she could – it was that something new seemed to happen every week, and she couldn't do much to avoid it other than maybe try to set up teams on the spot. But even if she had teams on land (something most countries didn't want), she could never fully predict what countries would be attacked. And even if she could, what cities, or spots in those cities would be. She could try and guess, but it was just that, a guess. Due to the secrecy of the organization they couldn't even bring on new agents that often, their staff was overworked and, despite their advantages, as well as a huge budget – there wasn't anything they could do to stop them.

But Dr Director didn't want to think about the screaming session she would probably get in a few hours – when her team failed to stop the terror before it ended, which was likely what was going to happen – she just wanted to do her job and relax. She was going to get a day off soon – the very next day, in fact. – and those were rare. – she didn't know what she was going to do yet, probably go out, but she allowed the image of the very next day soothe her as she called one of the teams up and informed them of what they had to do.

"Roger that"

That left her with the plan to form, she looked at the people she had called in for the job. – They were good men and had often worked together – She felt slight guilt for putting them in danger, but the quickly let that guilt pass over her – this was what they had signed up for and they understood the risks. – She looked at the huge amount of paperwork on her desk – Most of it due to damages they had caused while super villains attacked – and tentatively removed one. At least the papers wouldn't scream to her about how her budget should be slashed.

She pushed her eye patch aside, since it was only in homage to Nick Fury, from her days of reading comics, and looked at the papers. 11 hours and 32 more minutes and she'd be done.