This was bigger than Joel.

He stared at his computer, continuously rubbing his hands over his eyes and face, as if when he looked back at the screen, it would show something different.

After his last meeting with Miller, Joel had a student work briefly on the cases he had flagged, creating digital renderings of what the missing girls would look like aged up or having lost significant amount of weight. They gathered more photos from family members and sent them to Miller to compare. The were able to reduce the list of possible candidates from four to just two. Then, after Miller and two other soldiers were able to work with a sketch artist, Joel pulled everyone off the case.

During their last chat, Miller had said something that set off a quiet warning bell in Joel's mind. When he received the sketches of Aubrey, the bells turned into sirens. He felt like he was falling down a hole, but he couldn't catch himself, because he made that damn promise to Miller.

"She thought Tony Stark cut off her leg."

Miller didn't care much about people like Tony Stark and he was too entrenched in his duties to put the pieces together. Tony Stark becoming Iron Man had made everyone forget about his short stint as a hostage. Miller would have heard about it - hell, he probably had friends who died in the same attack when Stark was captured - but Stark never spoke about it so everyone made their own assumptions.

Tony Stark stole the Ten Rings' weapon designs and created Iron Man.

Tony Stark performed open heart surgery on himself and was able to escape using the same technology that saved his life.

While locked behind bars, Tony Stark was driven to madness by his own isolation and the impossible design of Iron Man was born.

In every scenario, people only cared about the fact that Tony Stark built Iron Man and that he did it alone. He was faced with a horrific scenario, and not only did he create his greatest weapon, but he became a better person out of it. But... what if Stark wasn't alone? Nobody ever posed that question. Stark never clarified either. Maybe it was because it wasn't as magnificent of an origin story or maybe because he wanted the glory for himself, but wasn't it possible that he had help?

But how in hell could this girl on Joel's screen, Aubrey Howell, end up in Afghanistan before Stark did? Joel was able to string a weak theory together. For some reason, Aubrey was sent to Afghanistan for Stark Industries. Joel wasn't sure whether it was for work duties - Stark was captured after his presentation of the Jericho Missile after all -or because someone wanted to get rid of her. But somehow, Aubrey ended up in Afghanistan.

There were two possible theories that Joel was working with. The first, that Aubrey was one of Stark's captors rather than a hostage. She was sent to Afghanistan to facilitate his kidnapping and ended up with her leg ripped off in the process. This was the theory that Joel preferred. It supported the idea that Stark - the person with the most powerful weapon in the world - was the good guy and he had cut off her leg during his grand escape. No matter what Miller said, this girl was the bad guy.

The second theory was that this girl was kept hostage alongside Stark. Maybe she helped create the fancy battery in his chest or maybe she even helped create the original Iron Man suit. Joel hated this theory. It meant that the most powerful man in the world not only escaped and left her behind, but permanently disabled her in the process. Had he meant to kill her in the most inhumane way possible? And then, somehow, this poor girl stumbled into Miller's arms months later. The implications that Tony Stark was capable of that were... Joel didn't want to think about it.

As Joel looked back at the images on his screen, he felt nauseous. The sketches from the soldiers all but confirmed Aubrey Howell as the mysterious girl in Afghanistan, but the drawings also told Joel enough about her mental state. In all of the drawings, she had this unsettling look on her face. Her eyes were wide, almost as if two invisible fingers were forcing her eyelids open. The sketch artist still somehow managed to capture a crazed, yet dull look in the pencil drawing. She was wasting away, with a gauntness that made her face look unnaturally angled. She looked like the physical embodiment of PTSD.

And then, Joel looked to the photo used for her obituary. It looked like it had been cropped from a photo taken with someone she loved, a family member maybe? She was smiling brightly, leaning forward with her teeth parted as if she were about to break into laughter. Her face was round, youthful, with her eyes somewhat squinted as she smiled. A single photo captured so much life... The dead look in her eyes in the sketch and the footage made it harder to accept that Aubrey Howell was anything but a captive like Stark.

Like Joel said... this was bigger than him.

He couldn't tell Miller that he identified Aubrey as the girl who had supposedly been decomposing in a river for nine months before her body was found. (Which also brings the question: whose body was found? Or had Stark simply paid to have her death covered up?) Joel sure as hell couldn't have Stark arrested either... he was far too powerful, especially for circumstantial evidence.

Joel wanted to pursue it further. He wanted to learn the truth of what happened to the girl. But for his own safety, he had to let it go. He could drag the search on for longer by following loose ends and coming up with fake leads, until Miller finally gave up hope of ever identifying the girl. It was better this way... Joel could protect them both.

He just prayed Miller never connected the dots.

Aubrey was being watched.

She had never stopped looking over her shoulder since escaping the Ten Rings. She never stopped scanning a room for an exit before entering. She never stopped memorizing every face she passed in case someone appeared too often to be a coincidence. That had been the final red flag that kicked Aubrey into action, but now she's getting ahead of herself.

Aubrey had ended up in Phoenix after leaving Malibu. She had managed to make a bit of cash through odd jobs - fixing up car engines for low cost, outdoor work, anything really, that she could be paid in cash. When leaving Killian, she hadn't thought of how hard it would be to make money... considering she was supposed to be dead and couldn't be hired for a traditional job. Every evening, she would continue to practice the techniques Killian taught her, pushing Extremis further and further.

Being in Arizona was always meant to be temporary. As she earned money, she set up ground rules to protect herself.

1. New city, new name

Aubrey went by Chloe in Phoenix, to the few people she'd met. Chloe wore a ballcap and a pair of thick glasses, and unassuming clothes. When she left, a new identity was born. Which brought Aubrey to her second rule.

2. Never stay longer than six months

It was too short and seemingly impossible. Just as she began to get regular clients and a more steady inflow of cash, she had to give it up. The rule was created when she realized after six months, people noticed her. Jim, whose car she fixed, recommended her to a friend. Lila, who often walked the same trail Aubrey camped out at, started asking her to meet for coffee. Dave, a barista at a cheap cafe Aubrey frequented, came to know her as a regular and asked about her past.

Too many people, too many possibilities. It was time to move on.

And thus, Chloe died and Sarah was born.

Sarah was usually buried under cableknit sweaters and thick parkas she picked up from the thrift store. It was cold in Denver in the winter, which was a great excuse to hide herself under a beanie and a scarf for most months. In the mornings, Sarah made money shovelling driveways and in the afternoon, she tutored university students at math. She'd still fix the odd car engine, but in the cold months, she was usually just swapping out car batteries. She even made enough money to afford a personal trainer who taught her to box. He tried to ask why someone like herself wanted to fight, but once he saw the anger in her eyes and the strength behind each hit, he decided it was best not to know.

Aubrey liked being Sarah. She liked being in Denver and pretending she had moved there for the skiing. Extremis kept her warm enough that the cold didn't bother her, and while the pay for her odd jobs was minimal, it was still nice. For only a moment, Aubrey felt herself enjoy her routine.

Which finally, brought rule three to life.

3. Never get comfortable. Never stop watching

That rule... she learned the hard way. She had noticed the feeling of being watched when seated at a cafe, helping a first year engineering student work on differential equations. She had stopped mid-sentence to look out the window, scanning the street for whatever had caused the hair on the back of her neck to stand. There was nobody there.

It wasn't until two weeks later when Aubrey made the first connection. She had seen the same man twice in one week. He was tall, with a noticeable scar that ran from his jaw to his mouth, and he wore his hair pushed back. First, she'd seen him look through books at a local library, and then again, walking past her on the other side of town. She could have written it off as a coincidence... It wasn't impossible to see someone twice in the city. Until she heard him quietly mutter, "I have visual," into a hidden earpiece.

That night, she packed up and left. She texted the handful of students she tutored and told them she had a family emergency and had to leave Denver. Then, she melted the prepaid phone, traded in her truck for a Honda Civic and was gone by morning. As she drove to her next location - Kansas City - she couldn't think of anything but the man. Was he one of Killian's? Or one of Tony's?

And what the hell did he want with her?

By now, Aubrey had enough money shoved into her duffel bag that she was able to afford a basic laptop and a shitty studio apartment. She gave up on the tutoring and instead did some freelance coding gigs. She was able to charge more per hour while staying indoors and away from people who could find her. Still... she needed to learn how to fight and couldn't very well do that without being trained.

One of the few times she left the apartment was to go the MMA gym a few blocks down the street. For the first three months, there were no issues. No feelings of being watched or seeing the man on the street. She could go back to planning her next attack on Tony - a plan that had unfortunately fallen to the backburner while fleeing from Colorodo. For a brief period, she truly believed she had lost him.

Until, he reappeared.

Like the other times, the man hadn't been doing anything out of the ordinary. He had simply been standing on the other side of the street, waiting to cross. He was dressed differently; instead of a plain t-shirt, he was wearing a tucked dress shirt like he was in the middle of a work day.

Fuck! Aubrey internally swore, fighting to keep her face neutral. She couldn't give this man any indication that she'd seen him or that she recognized him. Her mind was scrambling, trying to pull together a plan. Should she run again? It was the only answer. But what was stopping this man from following her? And how had he found her so quickly?

Any place Aubrey went, he would find her. Whoever he was working for would track her down, time after time. This wouldn't end... unless she took matters into her own hands.

With a plan in place, Aubrey found herself in a black dress, sitting alone at a bar while a man played saxophone behind her. She sipped on a martini - which she quickly learned was not her drink of choice - and waited. It felt narcissistic to think that slipping into a little dress would be the surefire way to make contact with her stalker, but she figured it was worth a shot. If he wanted an excuse to talk to her, this was it.

Aubrey had been at the bar for an hour, wondering at what point she should give up and skip town again, when her plan was set into motion.

"You don't strike me as a girl who likes jazz."

Aubrey twisted in her seat to face the man in front of her.

Bingo.

He was wearing a black leather jacket and his hair was gelled back. Now that he was closer, Aubrey could see he must have been in his mid-thirties, but was in far better shape than most men his age. He was attractive, sure, but he also had an intensity about himself that he failed to hide. Even if Aubrey had just been a normal girl in a bar, she would have reservations about the man sitting in front of her.

Instead, Aubrey forced a smile on her face. It was easier to do when she told herself she was playing a role. She was no longer angry and traumatized Aubrey, but laid back, fun Jessica. Jessica who likes to listen to jazz and talk to strangers at bars and has hobbies like yoga or playing guitar.

"What makes you say that?" she asked.

"You're not from Missouri, are you?" he replied.

Even if Aubrey could fake a realistic Missouri accent, it was far too late for that. "Moved from California a few weeks ago. Just needed a change of scenery, you know?"

"Sure do," he answered. He nodded at the bartender. "Another drink for the lady. Water for me."

Aubrey cocked her head, narrowing her eyes slightly. Extremis made alcohol burn up the second it reached her bloodstream, so she had the benefit of staying sober no matter how much she drank. "You're not drinking?"

"Nah, I'm just here for the music. I'll be driving home anyway so need to keep my head clear." He reached into his jacket, pulling out a pair of car keys to flash her. The motion had been so quick, but it pulled his jacket far enough back to show Aubrey what she really cared about. She had only seen the corner of a black strap on his left side, under his arm, but Aubrey was certain it was the corner of a gun holster.

For the briefest second, Aubrey felt fear shoot down her spine. Then, she remembered exactly who she was. This man wanted to hurt her, possibly kill her, but she would show him exactly what she was capable of. And she'd do it while also sending a message to whoever hired him.

"I'm Jessica."

"Johnny."

The two chatted for another twenty minutes, all the while Aubrey played the delicate role of a woman pleasantly surprised by the man she met at the bar. She needed to appear genuine with her words, since they both knew she was in hiding. 'Johnny' was charming and carried the conversation well, never seeming too eager or interested. He never gave Aubrey any indication that he was digging for information, and as they spoke, Aubrey began to wonder what he wanted with her.

Finally, when Aubrey finished her second drink and Johnny paid her tab, she stood. "I think that's enough for me. It was nice meeting you, Johnny."

Johnny's eyebrow quirked. "How're you getting home, love?"

Aubrey almost snorted. Love. "I was just planning on walking. I'm not too far from here."

Johnny stood, tossing a couple dollars in the tip jar. "Let me walk you home, at least. It'll make me feel better if I do."

Aubrey pretended to consider it. After a moment of hesitation, she smiled and shrugged. "Sure, I'd like that."

They exited the bar together, walking side by side on the pavement in the direction of her apartment. Aubrey was sure he knew where she was staying by now so there was no use hiding it. They had only walked a block before Aubrey said, in a teasing voice, "You're not going to offer me your jacket?"

Johnny laughed, swinging his arm over Aubrey's shoulder and giving it a squeeze. "This is my lucky leather jacket, I can't just pawn it off to any pretty girl."

She leaned into his touch, looking up at him through her lashes. "I think I know the real reason you don't want to share." Her voice was soft, as she pulled him to a stop at the entrance of an alley and stepped in front of him. She craned her neck towards him, so their faces were close. She reached up, placing two hands on his chest.

"And why's that?" he asked, his voice low. His hands settled on her waist as he searched her eyes.

Aubrey smiled, feeling heat rush to her cheeks. "Wouldn't want me to see your gun."

He had been stalking her, watching her every move. Johnny knew what Aubrey was capable of, or at least a fraction of her abilities. Still, knowing did not stop the fear that washed over his face when he was met with Extremis. Like a demon breaching through her skin, Aubrey's eyes shone an unholy red. An orange glow shifted under her skin, highlighting her sternum and organs. The man went to reach for his gun, but with a shove, he was sent flying backwards, into the alley.

Aubrey sauntered forward as he scrambled to his feet. This time, he wasted no time in aiming his gun at her face. Aubrey scoffed as he said, "One step closer and I shoot."

There was something about his tone, about the confidence and coldness in his voice that told Aubrey the man was a soldier. Anyone else would have a quiver in their voice, a shakiness in their hands when holding the weapon. This man was lethal… he had said those words before and followed through. "Who are you?" she asked.

The man smiled then, his expression on the edge of amusement. They both knew he wasn't about to tell her. "Is this what I get for buying a pretty girl a drink at a bar?"

The glow under her skin intensified. "Are you really trying to flirt yourself out of this situation?"

"I'm the one with the gun, love." There was that word again, as if they were still on a date. As if they weren't currently threatening to kill one another.

Aubrey didn't answer with words. Instead, she let the heat that constantly burned in her chest seep out of her pores, her breath. The man shifted on his feet, feeling the sudden onset of heat emitting from her body. Aubrey leaned forward with a smile still on her face as she pressed her forehead to the barrel of the gun. "Shoot me then," she whispered. Only when she felt the metal bubble and melt under her skin did she pull away.

"Fuck!" he cursed, tossing the red hot gun to the side. It landed on the ground with a slap as the gooey, melted metal barely resembled a gun anymore. Johnny looked up at the redhead staring back at him, realizing at once that his single way of defending himself was gone.

Aubrey stepped forward, backing the man into a brick wall. She could see in his eyes that he was calculating the risks. She knew he was probably far better at hand-to-hand contact, but one punch to her lava skin would have him on the ground. She placed a hand on his chest, bringing only a fraction of her potential heat to her palm. Not enough to burn him, but enough to remind him what she was capable of. "I'm not going to ask again, Johnny."

"I'm just here to talk to you," he finally said. "I think we have something to offer you."

Aubrey could barely focus on what he said. All she cared about was the word 'we.' She was about to ask who he was with when she got her answer in the form of a bullet to the back. Aubrey let out a shriek, stumbling forward from the hit. Johnny pushed her to the side as another bullet tore through her leg. Just as he was about to pull away, she grabbed his hand, sending heat shooting through her own. He screamed, trying to pull free from her grip. It was only when a third bullet hit her shoulder that she released him.

"Fucking bitch!" he screamed, collapsing on his knees. The first layer of skin had burned away, leaving blackened and bubbling flesh underneath.

"Do that again and I'll put a bullet through your head." Aubrey finally turned to face the person who had buried three bullets in her body. Unlike Johnny, who was dressed casually, this man was decked out in black military gear. His eyes held the same intensity, now with a hint of anger. There was something familiar about him, and Aubrey realized she must have passed him on the street or in coffee shops just like the other man... she just hadn't recognized that he was following her.

Aubrey looked down, just as the bullet holes healed over. Then, she met the man with a smile. "Something tells me that won't stop me."

The man didn't waver. Behind, Johnny was trying to fight through the pain. "If I didn't have direct orders to keep you alive, I'd unload the whole clip into your brain and see how fast you heal."

Aubrey cocked her head, narrowing her eyes. "Orders from who? I didn't have to hurt your friend if he just started talking when I asked."

The man seemed to be calculating his odds. After a moment, he stepped back, dropping his arms to his side. To prove his point, he holstered his gun. "Like Jack said, we're just here to talk to you."

Aubrey's eyes shifted to Johnny - or, Jack, apparently - who had finally pulled himself to his feet. His face was steeled over, but she could sense the anger underneath. Her eyes flicked back to the other man, with one eyebrow raised. "And who are you?"

"Brock," he said. "You?"

Aubrey let out a laugh. "No, that's not how this is going to work. You'll tell me what you want and I'll consider not killing you for stalking me."

"We know what you can do, what you did to Stark. We work with a group of people who are interested in your particular set of... skills. We want to work with you, and in return, we can provide you with resources, weapons, that will make you stronger," Brock explained.

Aubrey held up her hand, watching it glow like a light was buried under her skin. "I already am a weapon."

"And yet you're not strong enough," Brock stated. Aubrey felt the heat rush from her hand to her chest, where her anger simmered. "You couldn't beat Stark so you spent the past year training. We've been watching you... if you continue on this path, you won't be able to beat Stark for a decade, and by then he'll only have a deadlier Iron Man suit. You need us."

Within her annoyance, she recognized the truth of his words. Taking boxing classes twice a week was never going to make her strong enough to defeat Iron Man. She needed to be trained as a killer, as a soldier like these men. But she couldn't do that alone. Still, after what happened with Killian, she wasn't keen on jumping into another alliance so soon. "And what's in it for you?"

"You... as a weapon," Brock explained. "Our goal is to finally have a world where peace is an option. To do that, we have to be proactice; to take out the scum of the earth before they have a chance to wreak havoc. Think about it. Think of how many lives would have been saved if we could have taken out bin Laden when he was a hostile presence and not a known terrorist? Think of how many soldiers would go home to their families because there's no war?"

It all sounded too good to be true. His phrasing of taking out the threat before it had a chance to cause damage felt almost wrong in a way. If they jailed or killed everyone who could potentially be a threat, was that not taking away their chance to choose a better path? Still, Aubrey's thoughts trailed back to Raza and the Ten Rings. He had to have been known by the government; he had to have been on someone's radar. How much peace would Aubrey have if someone had acted sooner to stop him? Instead, they let him terrorize innocent people, and still, Aubrey had been the one to end his life. That duty should have never been put in her hands.

Someone like Raza should have never had the chance to hurt her.

"And what do you want me to do, exactly?" Aubrey asked.

"Assist us on our missions. Do the things that we can't. We want to stop organized crime, terrorists, civil wars before they have the chance to happen. For us, that's a hell of a lot of bullets and good men going down. For you - with the right training - you could walk in there alone and have them on their knees."

That didn't sound so bad, Aubrey thought. Now that she has her abilities, it would be so easy to simply walk into Raza's camp and kill him. His men would try - and fail - to stop her, of course. Whereas, so many soldiers would die trying to do the exact same thing. Maybe Aubrey could use her powers for good, rather than just revenge.

Of course, being trained would only bring her closer to her true goal. But really, was Tony Stark not just one more threat that needed to be neutralized before he had the chance to hurt any more people?

"Have I heard of your... organization?"

At that, Brock cracked a smile. "No, we're a subset of a division that was built to protect the world from threats to global security. Our organization is top-secret... only those within know who we are."

Aubrey nodded slowly, taking it all in. She was reading between the lines of what he was saying... they wouldn't tell her more until she agreed to join. If she chose to walk away now, she still didn't have enough information to leak America's greatest secret. Or, was it the world's secret? Their goal seemed far greater than just America.

But, Aubrey also felt that they were saying just the right words to sway her in their favour. She believed that they would truly train her as promised, but what if her goal of getting revenge on Tony didn't align with their plan? She would be used as a weapon without any benefit to her. All of this would be a waste. "And what about Stark?"

Brock raised an eyebrow. "What about him?"

Aubrey leveled her gaze with him. "I'm training because I want him dead. Will you try to stop me?"

Brock laughed at that, finally shaking his head. "I'll sharpen the knife you use to kill him. Trust me, I don't give a fuck about Tony Stark."

Aubrey held his gaze for a moment longer, considering his proposition. She was reminded somewhat of Miller or Knox... the men who did everything they could to save her. Was this man like them, just another soldier wanting to save the world? And did she not owe it to them to try to help? Every time she tried to seek out the red flags, she came up short. She was no longer naive like when she agreed to help Obadiah, and these men didn't hold the same level of self-interest as Killian.

"Can I grab my bag first?"

Brock broke out into a grin. "Sure thing. Welcome to the team. Welcome to HYDRA." He reached forward, gripping Aubrey's hand in a shake. It only confirmed the trust he must hold for her already, considering what she did to his friend's hand. "Your name? Something tells me it isn't Jessica."

Aubrey paused, unable to bring herself to answer him. While she was sure they could figure out her identity easily enough, she wanted to keep it to herself. While they may have thought her dead, she wanted to protect her family. If someone wanted to hurt her - and someone would - it would be too easy to do so by hurting the people she loved. The thought of Jean being killed because of her was... it wasn't worth thinking about.

Brock seemed to read the expression on her face, because he added, "It can be a codename if you want. We have other agents like you who don't use their real name."

Like she had told Miller so many times, she was a ghost. A malevolent spirit that was born from her own death. She could come up with a million codenames that were related to her Extremis abilities, but not her. The name itself was obvious; an homage to the idea that she was nothing more than a phantom haunting those who have wronged her. And with her powers, she would drag them to the depths of hell.

"My name is Spectre."