Freedom; the dictionary defines it as the power to determine action without restraint. Simple enough, yet somehow, not everyone is lucky enough to have it. Even now, in the twenty first century, there are so many people in this world that lack the freedom of choice. The ability to choose where to live, who to spend time with, and when to do something just for fun is something that most people take for granted: but for people like myself, freedom is something that you long for, and something that you cherish when you are fortunate enough to have just a few moments. I was born free, to a family that cared for me. I spent only a few years of my life enjoying that freedom before I had it stolen from me.

I told you just a moment ago how the dictionary defines freedom, but I think there is more to it than that. In my mind, there are three types of freedom, Absolute, Realistic, and Minor. Absolute is fairly self-explanatory, as it is when one is able to do whatever they wish whenever they wish it; much like a spoiled child is in a wealthy and/or noble family. Realistic freedom is when one is permitted to choose for themselves the majority of the time but is still required to follow a set of rules set by society or by family. Minor freedom is when one is allowed to make very few decisions for themselves but are still permitted the basic necessities; another words, they aren't considered the property of another, but are still low in the food chain of society.

You might notice that the definitions I gave don't really cover those like me, those without freedom at all. Most of the world would call people without freedom slaves, yet somehow I don't really feel that the term applies to me. I am, well, I don't really know what to call it. What I am and what I am told that I am are two entirely different things. I am told that I am an experiment, nothing more than a lab rat. Sometimes, I am called trash, a freak, or a mutant. What I am, well, I don't really like to dwell on it. I suppose I am a mutant, though not really of the sort that they are thinking of. When they call me a mutant, they are thinking of those with powers that are not of human origin, and that much I would agree with. Sadly, their definition again clashes with my own. They tell me that mutants are born with a gene that makes them what they are, but I wasn't born entirely the way I am today. I was made this way. I was born a fairly normal human child, to a relatively normal family. I had two younger siblings, twins. My sister was the elder of the twins, Rebecca; and my brother, who always made sure everyone knew he was only six minutes younger, was called Rowland. The twins were 6 years younger than me, Duron. I know that's an odd name, but I can't really help what my parents chose to call me. In their defense, they really didn't do a bad job, seeing as how years later I came across the meaning of the name. Duron, my birth name, means bird or freedom. Personally, I think that my parents must have known something was up, because my name is too coincidental for me to fully accept as such. But I'm getting a little sidetracked here, so let's get back to the reason why I am here.

My siblings and I lived a fairly normal life, we went to school, did our chores, and played in the garden. As the eldest, more difficult chores were assigned to me. This would have bothered me more had I not discovered that if I promised my siblings a game or two, they would always lend a helping hand.

Things started to go downhill when I turned eleven, my mother came down with pneumonia, and in those days there wasn't a reliable treatment let alone a cure. Father did everything he could, from calling in the most learned doctors he could afford to calling in the local priest to pray over her frail body. All of it was in vain, for, a week before my twelfth birthday, mother passed away. Looking back on that time, I desperately wish that I had learned about my talent soon enough to save her, because if I had, so much pain and suffering might have been avoided.

Mother's passing was hard on father, and for weeks after refused to come out of the room where she spent her last days in this world. Eventually, Grandmother decided that although grieving was necessary, enough was enough and it was time to return to the human world. (This of course, is just a very long winded way to say she came to knock some sense into him).

I don't really know what happened in that room, but I know that she entered with a VERY determined look on her face and only a few minutes after her seemingly dramatic entrance she left the room with father following close behind with a rather sheepish look on his face. Father was seen more often after that, returning to a lifelike state. He would often be seen late at night in his study, poring over an account book that one of his associates had given him to review. At least, that was what we had assumed he was doing. We later discovered that he was simply reading letters from various lady friends, and writing back of course. I suppose we should have suspected something when he started going on extended "business trips," but we were young and it hadn't crossed out minds that he would seek out a new wife so soon after our mother's death. Not five months had passed before father came home one day with a young woman on his arm and a little girl trailing wide-eyed behind him. Father had remarried, to a recent widow who had been presented with very few options at the time of her husband's death; allow a relative to take her under their wing and coddle her, forever enduring their sorrowful glances, or remarry. She, with her six year old little girl, chose marriage; and so Rebecca, Rowland and I gained a sibling, as well as a new mother.

You are likely wondering why I have deemed it necessary to ramble on about my past, and the truth is; I don't really have a great reason. The best way to justify this extended explanation is that it is probably the easiest way to allow you to understand my semi-unique situation. You see, if you were paying attention, I mentioned earlier how people like me have no freedom at all. That, at the moment anyway, is not entirely true. My family and I are currently staying on a SHIELD airship. By family, I do not mean really mean Rebecca, Rowland, Step-Mother, and Father. I mean my adopted family, Rose, Gadget, Gizmo, Warp, Lily and Lila. (Raya is the only one who is actually related to me, but I'll get into that another time). Under normal circumstances, we would have never agreed to stay with government officials, but they did get us out of a tight spot and they didn't really give us much of a choice after DHS investigated us for the third time. I know that sounds weird, but we relocated after they tried to split us up the first two times. We would have moved again, but Fury didn't want us to "drop off the map" again. I think he got tired of having his agents track us down. Sure, we could have avoided them if we really wanted to (Warp can open portals to other worlds, it really wouldn't have been that hard), but Rose and I agreed that for the present time, it was best to just try and blend in where we were.

Now, it seems that Fury has gotten tired of 'babysitting duty,' as he calls it. He, like most adults, feels the urge to keep a close eye on children, or in this case, people who look like children. So he has decided to 'ask' Iron Man, AKA Tony Stark, to take us in. Fury hasn't actually told us yet, but Lila and Lily glimpsed the eight of us exploring the Avengers mansion sometime in the near future. We packed our things this morning, since the girls were at least certain that we would be leaving later today.

We didn't want to sit around and wait for Fury to hand us over to our new 'guardian,' so we headed to the training room and split up. Rosie and I headed to the secondary arena; the first having already been claimed by G2, Warp, and Raya. (G2 is our nickname for Gadget and Gizmo, the 'twelve-year old' twins.) The arena was about half the size of a football field, (except it's circular in shape) and its ceiling was open to the training room. This was REALLY convenient for me, because the training room ceiling was about 25 feet, and the more room to… well... we'll get to that in a minute.

Rose went to the far side of the arena and began to go through her warm up routine, which consisted of a lot of stretches. I followed her lead, knowing full well the consequences of sparing without warming up. Halfway through my warm-up, I shrugged off my lightweight white jacket and tossed it onto a yoga mat that never seemed to actually be used. I rolled my shoulders and tilted my head from side to side to stretch my neck, then looked across the arena to Rose, who, at the same moment, finished her warm-ups and looked into my eyes. We nodded to each other, not needing to vocalize the rules or goals of the training exercise that we had done numerous times, and then walked to the center of the arena where a digital clock the size of a basketball hoop was. Our eyes meet, and as one we each moved into a fighting stance, one foot on the clock. The clock lit up to green, then started its five minute countdown.

A/N: Don't worry! I won't leave the next chapter for very long! I already know what it is going to be about, mostly, so it shouldn't take too long to put it together. I was going to just put it all in one chapter, but I wanted to add something for Legion 22 and TransformersXmenTmnt97, who were my only reviewers and wanted to see more. Thanks so much you two for reviewing!

P.S. I know this chapter lacks a little in the Avengers side of things, but Eagle and the gang will encounter Tony very soon, then the other Avengers will follow! I promise.

Reviews Please!

-Enchanting Elf