Dove and Dart (Under Extreme Editing)

Dove and Dart

Dart:

Let's just say, I am not a fan of people. I am not a fan of mutated people. Anything breathing really. I do not do...connections. Then again...when your power is teleportation, connections are hard to make.

Sure I have family, but I am not part of your "average Joe American family." We are anything but average.

My father: Clint Barton, aka, Hawkeye. You know what he did in New York, besides being taken over by Loki for a great deal of time, he still has proven worth his salt.

My mother: Natasha Romanoff, aka, the Black Widow. Do I even need to mention what she has done? Despite a short betrayal in service of Hydra, she is a great asset to S.H.I.E.L.D.

Then me. I was the beautifully inconvenient and unknown product of the two ninja assassins. When Black Widow discovered she was pregnant by means of the under wraps relationship between her and her partner, she brought the information to Director Fury. She begged to have the child killed. She was in the prime of her career, her reputation as an agent preceding her and beginning to cover her dark past. Naturally she could not have some pregnancy getting in the way of that.

Nick Fury turned her down, he claimed the child, since it contained DNA of his two best agents, would be of great use after a lifetime of training. Using some high-tech weird machine, I became a petri dish baby. I was grown in a lab, gruesomely moved to some tank where they could inject whatever formulas and serums they pleased into me. The result was Poison Dart, Dylan Barton, the daughter of experiment and accidental genetic empowerment.

I grew up, well, after being removed from the tank at a tender age of 9 months old, (what do you know, something normal about my life) I grew up in the training quarters of some S.H.I.E.L.D. helicarrier. I spared with agents, I probably reached the point I could take down Hawkeye himself at age ten. I had my choice of weapon after a series serum injections while I was just a fetus. Because there is not a more military way to say baby, fetus. I choose throwing knives, they fit my dark personality. I was very much hardened by my military home, silent, tactical, and obedient, when it favored me.

I had enhanced eyesight and sense of direction. And well, like I said before for those of you too dull to get caught up in the backstory to remember the important things, I am a teleporter. I can travel anywhere. It's second nature. I hardly have to think about it anymore, I just kind of go places. It makes it easy to win fights. My opponents are throwing a punch one way and I am already behind them and dealing out a few hard kicks or whatever pleases me.

With my military home and training you would totally expect me to be fully disciplined and moral, but Fury's agenda has a dangerous habit of not lining up with mine. I always get my way, if only because it is hard to stop a teleporter from running away. Poof! I am in Africa, have fun scowering New Jersey for the GPS tracker I hid there.

Fury set up this team, the Avengers, Black Widow and Hawkeye made the cut, I was cut. I always thought with all this training that one day Nicholas would put me out on the field. He gets this perfect chance with the Avengers team and he ships me to some training simulator facility in northern Russia. Then again, despite missing all the action, it was fun drinking vodka legally and playing decent gambling games with accented eskimos with little common sense of when to call it quits. I made a good deal of money there and blew it on my bike.

2012 VROD Muscle, all black, and courtesy of the local motorcycle dealership. Mostly because at the end of my knife anyone will lower the price of what I am asking. The respect is mutual. Don't tick me off nothing of yours gets cut off. Many people favor their fingers and toes a little too  much it's sad really...

I am currently leaning against my baby, the motor still hot from miles of roaring down the long country road for hours. My black leather jacket is hiding the idiotic getup my mother threw together for me. Tight black leather jumpsuits do not solve every problem little spider!