Beginning of the End | Laven

Phoenix

Allen knew he was being watched. After years of performing on stage he knew the feeling well, and after being trained by top spies and soldiers he only grew more familiar with the feeling. As the Phantom he was always being watched. New York had taken a liking to the small vigilante. If you asked a cop, he would say that he had to be arrested. But once you'd turn around they'd start talking about how much a help he was to the city. The Phantom had actually become good friends with an older officer named Jeff. Tourists would ask him for selfies He still remembered when #PhantomSelfies trended and Spike almost had an aneurysm as soon as he opened his phone.

Anyways, Allen was no stranger to being watched. What was confusing him about now was that he felt on edge. Almost as if he was locked in a room was a large hungry snake and he had no way out. He was just waiting for something to strike. He wasn't the Phantom though. Not now.

He was Allen. Camera in hand, ready to shoot. He was just a regular teen, taking pictures in an abandoned building with old machinery that had yet to be condemned. 'Allen' was only used to being watched on a stage.Yeah, his hair might get him a few weird looks but it was New York. White hair isn't the strangest thing. Oh well. He snapped a few more pictures of some rusted over machinery when he decided that he was just being paranoid. He's a nobody. His adoptive father is a journalist. What would anyone want with him?

His breath caught in this throat as a feeling only described as absolute terror washed over him. Allen fell back on the ground, only slightly hearing the camera crack against the concrete. He couldn't breathe. He laid on his back, coughing roughly. Fire? He couldn't see any flames but his entire body felt hot. He could hear wood crackling. There's no wood. He could just barely manage to hear two voices.

"-ira. What did you do to him?" One male.

"I didn't think he'd react like this. It's not my fault. He fears what he fears." One female.

"Let's get him aboard. We need to move before the Avengers take notice."

Allen's eyesight blurred, all he could see was smoke. One conscious thought went through his head before he blacked out.

Spike is going to be so mad.

Allen woke to the familiar low sound of some band- Tony would be disappointed in his lack of understanding- playing. From the position he was in he knew he was tied to a chair, possibly in a plane. It can't be a ship. Natasha put me through enough training to know how a ship would feel. Turbulence. Oh great. Allen kept his eyes shut, knowing someone was watching him. He had to come up with a plan to ge-

"I know you're awake."

Fucking shit.

Allen slowly opened his eyes to see the back of a cargo plane. At least I get something right. He looked over to where he heard the voice and saw a woman with blonde hair slightly past her shoulders. She was standing against the doorway to what Allen assumed was the cockpit of the plane. The woman was dressed in something Natasha probably owned. Black combat clothing, it was weird though. There was something missing.

"What did you drug me with?" Allen didn't feel the need to mess around. (Partly because he was tied down and partly because he needed more information.) The woman rolled her eyes.

"If you think I drugged you, you need more training." Oh god, a mutant? Allen shivered, the unknown was much more terrifying than he thought. That's when Allen realized. No weapons.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I've never been trained to defend myself against my own memories. Pretty nifty skill, I'll be honest, if you like fighting dirty." The woman narrowed her eyes at him and now was when Allen realized that they were different colors. One gold and one blue. This would be pretty cool if she didn't want to kill me. They stared at each other for a few moments before he heard something mumbled from the cockpit. The woman went to turn but stopped herself.