Why Me? (An Avengers Wrong Number)

I Wanted to Train, Not Get Kidnapped

I figured it out at a train station. As soon as I figured it out, I booked a train to somewhere odd. I think I'm in the Faroe Islands?
I got a train ticket to the end of England, got a plane, went more North and got on another plane.

It's cold here. I just wanted a place, where I won't be found. I just wanted to process this information.

The Avengers. The reason I wasn't still in the military. The reason I don't really fight or go to America anymore. The reason I stopped talking to my good friend. The reason I flipped my entire life around. I was texting them. I had taken a liking to them.

Shit. I had callen off work. Well actually the Madame switched me to Nordic archaeology. There's not much to find on the island. I don't really understand people much either.

It's whatever. It's been a good couple of weeks. I haven't responded to anyone besides Juni and Will to let them know I'm okay.

I should check the group chat.

Basically it looks like Juni and Will shared no information once the others pointed out I haven't responded. They just said I was really busy.

Gods, I don't deserve them.

I want to fight something so I reach into my bag, pull out my mask, knife and a small little vibranium square. I hold my necklace for a few seconds. That's something I notice I'm doing for comfort.

I find an empty place, put my mask on and place the square on the ground and wait a minute.

Out pops a fully vibranium dummy that I can practice with.

I start fighting it and I think an hour goes by when a plane starts hovering overhead.

"Hey, Verdict," Nick Fury tells me over the speaker.

"Nick," I say, coldly still going at it. "I know you have Avengers ready to strike in all four cardinal directions and extra agents past them."

"You're a smart one," Fury says.

"You learned that tactic from me," I smirk.

"No need to get cocky," he says, tired and a bit defensively.

"What do you want?" I roll my eyes and slash the dummy.

"There's a war out of our control. We need you're help," he explains.

"Last time you needed my help, it ended up with me moving to France and switching careers," I deadpan.

"Please, Verdict. I said I was sorry," he begs.

"Sorry don't cut it, Nick," I yell.

I assume he motions because I see a dart come at me. I dodge that one but somehow missed the other one and it gets me.

The next thing I remember is waking up in the Quinjet, luckily with my mask still on, and knife in my hand, above some country I can't tell from my location.

"Well shit," I say, vocalizing my thoughts.