There's Worse Ways To Go

One

"Eyes wide! Shoulders relaxed! Breaths even!"

The twenty students all exhale as one, silently. Together, their fingers move to the triggers, awaiting my command.

"Ready... Fire!"

All of their weapons fire at once, creating one large shot. Their eyes flinch closed for a millisecond, the body's normal reaction to firing a gun. But mine remain relaxed, never flinching. I've been around enough gunshots not to get spooked by them.

A slow clap ricochets around the range as it grows silent. I look to the staircase that leads into our basement and find a handsome man sitting on the cement, clapping with a smirk on his face.

The suit, the beard, and the sunglasses indoors tell me all I need to know about him.

"You've got some fine marksmen in this bunch, don't you, Vic?" He pushes off the stairs, making his way down.

"Tony Stark. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

He shakes my hand. "You know, usually when I meet civilians they're a little more impressed by my presence. Maybe a little starstruck. Don't get too excited, please."

"I'm sorry, but your novelty has diminished in quality. I enjoy all your work, but I still consider you a civilian just as I."

"Mmm. That's actually quite refreshing. Too many people I meet just scream and then shove their phones in my face. You're what, twelve, thirteen, and you seem bored."

"Twenty-nine, and yes, actually. Quite bored." I whistle to my students, letting them get a break. They leave us in the empty range. "What's brought you down to my neck of the woods?"

"Uh, that." He points at a target across the range, picking up a beretta by the grip with his thumb and pointer finger, almost disgusted by it. "I've heard all about your shooting in your last deployment. Where were you, Iraq?"

"That's right."

"You've sniped 582 targets throughout your tours in the last decade. That's a military record. Thank you for your service by the way."

"Thank you for yours."

"Don't mention it. My point being here is I want you. I want to work with you. I've seen footage of you in the field, I've heard your voice over radio calls making calculations I wouldn't even think necessary."

"Well, you've got your Friday system to do it for you."

"You can operate drones, you can shoot targets up to miles away with the right gun, your hand to hand combat holds up along with your close-range shooting as well. I'm sure you could give Natasha a run for her money. You also know how other countries are fighting and their patterns, I think you'd make an incredible asset to our team."

"What team?"

"The Knicks. What do you mean what team? Avengers. I want you to be an Avenger."

I scoff, folding my arms. Was he really asking me this?

"Why would I want to be an Avenger? I've got a pretty good setup right here."

"Oh? Teaching little kids to be the next school shooters? Sounds fun. Look, I did my research on you. I know you come from a single mom, who passed on your second deployment from a car accident that almost got you dishonorably discharged because you went a little cuckoo for cocoa puffs-"

"That's supposed to be confidential-"

"I'm Tony Stark, nothing is confidential. You have no siblings, no aunts or uncles. You're alone, Victoria. You have a lot more in common with me than you think. And with the others. We're all misfits, you know. Every last one of us. We've all got our own problems we're working through, but we help each other. We're a family. So, would you like to be adopted?"