THIS IS WAR

ONE

THE ADDRESS COULSON HAD GIVEN ME BELONGED TO A HANGER. It was about half an hour's drive from the city I'd most recently deemed fit to live in, and the taxi driver who took me there seemed confused as all get out as to why I'd be going to what appeared to be an abandoned hanger.

I tipped him extra in cash and he seemed to decide to keep his questions to himself, putting his car into park as I climbed out. "If I'm not back in half an hour, leave," I said. I still wasn't certain how I felt about this entire ordeal. Joining some super team to keep the world safe? Sounded like something out of a cheesy comic book. But Coulson had been right about one thing -- I was a fighter. And far be it from me to deny myself the opportunity to stand and fight without having to turn tail and run from the world in the aftermath.

"Should I, uh," the taxi driver hesitated, eyeing the building warily, "call the police? If you don't come out?"

"No," I said. "If I don't come out in thirty minutes, you just leave. And you forget this ever happened."

"All right ..." he said eventually, giving me a reluctant nod that I barely caught in my periphery.

I was already heading inside. The doors were unlocked, and I could hear unidentifiable sounds in the distance as I entered. The ceilings were high, the floors were concrete, and the lights were off -- the large space was illuminated solely by the sunlight filtering in through the windows positioned near the ceiling.

The space I was in looked like some sort of office. Or at least, what used to be an office area. Organized desks and chairs were set up on either side of the room. Most of the desks were cleared, though some with monitors set up atop them ... everything nondescript.

But that wasn't the focus of my attention. I cared more about whatever lay beyond the door at the end of the office area -- the door which presumably led to whatever muffled sounds I could hear in the distance. When I reached that door, it too was unlocked. No surprise there.

Beyond it lay a space much better matched to the outside of the building than the office area I had just moved through. A jet of some kind was in the middle of the space, and the wall opposite of me was practically nonexistent, the garage doors raised. Near the jet, a tall woman who carried herself in a manner that suggested military training seemed to be giving a couple of men in tactical wear instructions. Once I made my way further into the cavernous space, she turned fully toward me, and this time when she spoke I could hear her clearly. "I wasn't sure if you would show up."

"I take it you're Maria Hill," I said as her long strides carried her closer to me.

We still managed to meet halfway, her offering up a hand to shake as she stopped before me. "I am. And you're Claudia Booth. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

I shook her hand in spite of my reservations, shrugging off her words. "I wouldn't get too excited just yet. I agreed to a meeting. Nothing else."

A hint of a smile twitched at the corners of Hill's lips, her light brown eyes scrutinizing me unashamedly. "Right. Coulson told me you would be a tough nut to crack. And I'm going to tell you the same thing I told him."

I arched a brow.

"You're here," she said. "You may not have given me a verbal yes, but so far all of your actions are leaning that way. You heard Coulson out -- a stranger, on the street -- when you didn't have to. You then agreed to come to an abandoned hanger that's pretty far out of city limits, with no idea of who or what you would encounter there." Hill paused, her gaze still intense, her confidence unwavering. "Seems to me like you're interested in more than just hearing what I have to say. That, or you're just too reckless for your own good."

I didn't respond immediately, instead considering her. Self-assurance practically radiated off her in waves, and if I was being honest, she wasn't wrong. "And if it's both?"

Hill shrugged then, turning promptly on one heel and heading toward the jet. "Assuming you do finally agree to joining the team, then I can handle a little bit of reckless."

For a few seconds I watched her back, gaze drifting toward the jet. I could place it from news stories and even from witnessing some rather outlandish events in person as being the kind typically associated with the Avengers or SHIELD ... it was a blatant reminder of what I was about to get myself into.

Then I was in motion, at first following Hill, then falling into step beside her. "Only a little bit?" I asked.

Hill gave a curt nod. "This is going to involve teamwork, Booth. Teamwork and some semblance of heroics." She gave me a sideways glance then, coming to a pause just short of the ramp into the jet. "If you can't handle that, you may as well leave now, so as not to waste my or your time."

My hands fell to my hips then, and I gave a shrug. "I didn't say I couldn't handle it." Maybe that was just the stubborn streak in me, determined not to back down from a fight.

The smallest of smiles tugged at her lips. "Good. Then let's go." She headed up the ramp then, clearly expecting I would follow.

"Go where?" I once more found myself rushing to catch up. "What exactly is this that I'm getting into, anyway? Heroics and teamwork-- I get that part. But it's not SHIELD ... and it's not the Avengers ..." I slowed once inside the jet, taking in the extensive technology within.

"We're actually meeting up with another jet mid flight. It's called Zephyr One. We'll be somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean." The ramp began to close, and Maria Hill turned back to face me, a somewhat proud look on her face now. "And no, it's not any of that. It's something new. We're calling it the A-Force."

WHEN THE MAN PILOTING THE JET ANNOUNCED WE WERE ALMOST AT THE ZEPHYR, HILL REFOCUSED ON ME. We hadn't spoken for most of the flight, in part because I was used to silence, and in part because it hadn't been all that long since we'd taken off in the first place.

"Wouldn't have pegged you as the strong, silent type," Hill said.

I merely shrugged at that, no doubt further encouraging the idea. I was too deep in thought to care. Several different questions still swam about my mind, some more pressing than others. It was just a matter of which was most relevant at the moment.

Hill didn't say anything else, her own silence prompting me to lick my lips, my teeth grazing my bottom lip before I spoke. "Why me?"

Hill arched a brow. "Why did I pick you?"

I nodded. "Yeah, I mean, I'm an Inhuman, I get that. And I get that what I can do is probably pretty useful in ... whatever your line of work is." I paused. "Or was. But it still doesn't make sense. My being useful is hardly enough to merit tracking me down. Not when I know there are other Inhumans out there who are more cooperative than I am. Others who have signed the Accords."

"Not all of those Inhumans care to do anything more than live as normally as they can," Hill said first. "And truth be told, part of the draw to you is that you haven't signed the Accords. You're off radar, in most senses of the term. In fact, you'll find several of the other team members haven't signed the Accords, either."

I nodded at that, my features becoming impassive. I didn't miss that she had avoided my question -- or at least, avoided answering it fully. But I didn't call her on it.

Instead I turned to look out the windows of the cockpit, just in time to catch a glimpse of what looked to me like a high-tech jumbo jet.

"Prep for landing," I heard the pilot announce. "Zephyr, we are coming in."