Picture is Aaron Taylor-Johnson as Pietro Maximoff aka Quicksilver in Avengers: Age Of Ultron by Marvel Studios.

Music is "No Strings" by Versus Trailer Music in Avengers: Age Of Ultron Trailer #1.

All rights go to thir rightful owners.

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"Show me a hero, and I'll write you a tragedy." ~F. Scott Fitzgerald

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CHAPTER ONE

I'm tired of the story of the girl who doesn't have any friends, doesn't get noticed by anyone. Then one day, a boy shows up and changes her life forever, and then suddenly it's all parties and happily ever afters.

Blah, blah, blah.

Life doesn't work that way. Never has, never will. No more Bella Swans and Juliet. Time for facts, and the facts are that my name is Glory Northern. I'm nineteen, graduating in a couple weeks. I have a older sister named Rebecca Marie, and my parents have been divorced since I was three, and I wish I could tell you what my Mom does now 'cause honestly I don't know. My Dad tries to be both Mom and Dad, but it got too rough. So, now I live on my own.

I'm a total nerd. I plan on going to college to major in Creative Writing and minor in Art. You know why? Because I want to be a comic book creator. Maybe even work for Marvel or DC one day.

And no. They're not "graphic novels". They're damn comic books.

I jot down my teachers last notes on my final history paper (which costs half my grade by the way) as fast as I can. I can write like the Scarlet Speedster himself, but my teacher can talk faster, apparently.

"So, make certain to send your papers in by Sunday," he says with a heavy lisp. "I will be checking them and grading them next week, so if you don't want to be scrutinized in front of your fellow students, I suggest you speed your studying along."

The bell rings, and we are ready to go. Once out of class, I meet up with my friends, my G-Men as I call them. Vlad, my right hand vampire. Cordelia, the punky princess. Henry Roran Elias Jameson Arrington IV (he loves his parents, don't worry). We just call him Arry. Last but not least is my favorite nerd that looks like she was an elf who fell out of Lord of the Rings, Aspen. Aspen is away on vacation, but should be back soon.

"Hey, Morning Glory!" Vlad teases me. "Nice work with the drawings last night. Your comic entries in the contest were totally rad."

I shake my head. "Vlad, no one says rad anymore."

Vlad looks at me in shock. "Whaaat? They don't? Dude..."

"Vlad, are you high?"

He laughs nervously. "What? Nooo. What makes you say that?"

"She ain't blind," Cordelia says, her southern draw strong despite her punk rock appearance. "She also ain't the best I've seen. I've seen better." I've gotten used to her mock teasing. It caught me off guard at first, but she winks my way, and I know she's proud. She has a funny way of showing her affection.

"Oh, Darling," Arry says, taking my hands and kissing them dramatically. "Where has thou talent come hence from?" He places his hand on his forehead and closes his eyes. "So beautiful, yet so desperate. So sad."

"You know what's sad? You." I push Arry away. "Drama queen. What play are you preparing for now?"

Arry continues his silly dramatic poses and speech as we make our way out to the parking lot. "What dost thou mean? Dost thou not know my name? I am Sir Lancelot! Mightiest knight under King Arthur! I shant take you anywhere!" We always ride home with Arry and hang out at his house, but he stubbornly refuses to unlock the car door.

I side step him, take his legs out from under him with one, swift kick to his shins, and grab the keys from his jacket pocket. "Fine then. If you shant, I shall."

I hope in the car, pull my sunglasses out of the glove compartment, and place them over my dark green eyes. "Get in losers. We're going for ice cream."

"About bloody time," Arry says, hopping in and fixing his brown, fluffy hair in the rear view mirror.

"Move over, Sir Lancelot," Cordelia says, pushing him into the furthest seat over so she can sit. "I call for a vote for Dairy Queen."

"No vote needed," I say. "I have the keys. I say DQ!"

We arrive at DQ with little to no trouble. We finally get Arry to stop playing Sir Lancelot, much thanks to Vlad's gentle threats that if he didn't stop, he'd open the door and throw his ass out onto the interstate...his words, not mine.

We arrive, order our usual, and sit outside on the chairs. We make this out Friday tradition, a big congrats to ourselves for making it another week in school, and one week closer to graduation.

"So Glory," Vlad asks, sipping from his blue slush. "Have you decided what college to go to yet, or are you still indecisive?"

I sigh, twirling my flaming hair between my fingers. "I haven't. I've looked over several. I've looked at the universities around here, community colleges, speciality colleges, I've even looked out of state, and nothing seems to hit me right away."

"Don't worry, Sugar," Cordelia says, patting my back. "You'll figure it out."

"What about you guys? Lia, have you decided which way to go, photography wise?"

She smiles. "Yeah, actually. My dad got me an interview with a big company here in Maryland. I go there on Wednesday."

I grin. "Nice! What about you, Vlad?"

"I plan to be a professional vampire and sleep all day, party all night," he says, as serious as the dead. "Back to reality. I plan on going to culinary college. Not sure which one yet, like you, but I have options."

"Maybe I can help. Still set on theater, Arry?"

He nods, swooping his hair back. "Theater needs a pretty face such as mine."

Cordelia rolls her eyes, and we all laugh. "How's your boyfriend, Cordelia? Still going strong?"

Cordelia smiles, blushes, and looks down. Cordelia is a girl made of steel. Not much embarrasses, shocks, angers, or saddens her, but when you bring up Nathan Eve, Mr. Perfect, she can't help but smile. "Yeah, Nate and I are still great. Almost four years now, you know."

"Really? It's been four years already?" Vlad asks, throwing his trash away.

She nods. "He's going to New York for a trial run in singing, I might even go with him this Summer."

"What about the job?"

"I'll take some vaca," she replies, shrugging her shoulders. "How's that creep doing, Glory? What's his name, Gollum? Smeagol?"

I smirk. "Gregory, and I wouldn't know. Not my boyfriend, not my problem."

"Wasn't he, like, stalking you or something?" Vlad asks, turning to face me. His body language changes. Vlad might be a part time vampire, other part time druggie, but he's the closest thing I have to family now.

"I told you guys already. He tried to force himself on me, and when I turned him down and told him to go home because he was drunk, he went and screwed my sister."

Vlad growls deep in his throat. "I need a cig. Anyone got a sig?"

Cordelia passes him one, but before he can light it, I grab it and throw it out, along with the box he had in his hand. "You know how I hate that filthy habbit."

"Hey!"

"You keep me safe from creeps, I keep you safe from these." I hold up the box and then throw it into traffic. "I can't lose any of you."

Arry, Vlad, and Cordelia all smile sadly at me. "Still not on good terms with your family, eh Glory?" Arry asks.

"No," I say, shortly. "Can we go home now? It's getting cold."

Vlad offers me his leather jacket, and I take it gladly. I've always been such a cold natured person.

Once home, by home I mean by two bedroom, one bathroom, small kitchen and living room, apartment, I take the longest bath of the week. Soaking all my soar muscles away. All the tension from my school, parents, ex, and any other worry for the future melt away.

Then I hear my cell ring. I groan, get dressed, and answer without looking at the caller ID. Call me crazy for thinking it might be Vlad calling to talk like we sometimes do after a rough day, or Aspen calling to say she's on her way home.

"Glory, don't hang up. Please."

Ugh. That voice. Silky smooth and practiced to lure girls in, like a praying mantis. I can see him now. Six feet tall and tan. Black hair, brown eyes, and when he smiles it never reaches his eyes. A psychopath.

"Gregory, leave me alone."

"I want to talk."

"What do you think you're doing?"

"I mean face-to-face."

"No way in hell."

"I'm warning you, Gloria Northern. No one says no to me for long."

"No, no, no."

"You'll want me back eventually."

A long pause creeps up on me. The eerie silence haunts me. "Don't call me again or I'll call the cops." I hang up without another word.

Gregory Killbane. Great goddess Frigga, I hope he doesn't come back around. He scares the hell out of me, and I don't know what I even saw in him.

I need to clear my mind, because that bath means absolutely nothing now. I put on my jogging pants and a hoodie. My hair goes up in a bandana. I miss pulling it up into a ponytail. Ever since I saw Avengers in 2012, I've been thinking of cutting my long red hair. After Captain America: The Winter Soldier, it pushed me even more. Once I saw Natasha Romanoff's hair in Age of Ultron, I was sold. The very same day, I took several pictures to my friend Aspen (she is a hair stylist in training) and she chopped off my long, scarlet locks. Now I have a chin length, Black Widow inspired hair.

Black Widow, Maria Hill, Pepper Potts, Peggy Carter, Darcy Lewis, Jane Foster, Gamora Skye, Gemma Simmons, Melina May, and now Scarlet Witch. These are the women I look up to. Smart, kick ass, lovable, strong, and beautiful: these are all things I wish to be. I admire each and every one of them so much.

You might say I'm a big of an Avengers junkie. I was completely pulled in my Iron Man, then Thor, Cap, Guardians of the Galaxy, Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., the first and second Avengers, I could watch them over and over. I'm just a little excited for Doctor Strange, Captain Marvel, Black Panther, and I'm scared for Civil War and Ragnarok.

I'm a nerd. Let's face it.

I start at a brisk jog around my neighborhood. It's a nice place, a little ways away from the city, but not too far from anything I need. The neighborhood has always been safe, and the people were more than helpful when I was moving in six months ago. You just tell people your family sucks and youre trying to start over and suddenly everyone can relate.

After a while of running, thinking, running faster, thinking about that jogging scene from Cap 2, laughing about that scene, and relaxing, I decide to go home. I thought this was going to be another normal Friday evening. I'd go home, watch Avengers, try to see Avengers 2 again sometime this weekend if I have the money, eat ice cream in my favorite Quicksilver and Scarlet Witch T-shirt/Batman pants (yeah, I know, it's a sin), and go to bed way too late to be healthy. But fate desided to give me some excitement.

When I arrive back at my small front lawn, I see a bright, blue light shine for a brief moment, and in it's place once it's gone, is a man. A young man, maybe 23/24 years old. I can barely see him in the darkness. He has light hair and even lighter skin. His toned muscles are contorting all over his tall, probably at least 6'2", frame. I run as fast as I can up to his convulsing body, trying to help in some minuscule way.

I check for a pulse, and I get a brief, but very quick one. I lean my head in to listen for breathing, and again, very rapid and shallow. "Hey, are you breathing? What happened?"

His eyes don't open. His breathing starts to slow and deepen. "Hey, no. No, no. Don't you dare die on me. I can't get into college if they think I killed someone."

I lean in again and listen for breathing. It's slow, steady, and deeper. I check his pulse, and it's evened out. "Oh dear God, help me." I open one of his eyes and look for signs of vacancy. They're the most brilliant blue I've ever seen, even more blue than Aspens. "Oh gosh, what am I supposed to do? CPR? 911? He seems fine."

I stand up, back away, and look him over. He's in a blue sweater and black pants. He has no shoes on his feet, and his knuckles have bruises on them. "What the hell?" I ask myself.

Even though this scares me, his face seems to familiar in the night light. Maybe I've seen him at work before or at school. It looks so sweet and innocent.

I rub my hands nervously though my hair, pulling the bandana off. I decide to do the dumbest thing I've probably ever done: I slap him in the face.

"Hey, hey, wake up," I shout at the half dead man in my front lawn. "Get up. I'm going to get you inside."

The man opens his eyes half way, seeming out of it. I help him up, him barely helping at all, and go with him inside. "Gosh, I hope you're not a serial killer."

END CHAPTER ONE