The Legacy of Meisal Mendadaughter~ Avengers fanfiction

Crashed

Notice: This book is sort of out-of-place with the marvel timeline. It's sort of as if Infinity war and all that never happened. Everyone is still alive, and the Avengers, the Guardians, and anyone else are all united as one. Sweet, huh?

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Meisal was aware of her consciousness a minute too late.

She woke with a gasp, pain firing up her neck and torso, heart pounding, blood thundering in her ears. She was all too aware of the pulsing agony in her back, her neck, and her head, but she chose to ignore it and stood up, wavering on her feet for a moment only, for a moment was all she had.

She peered through the mangled debris of her ship-- or, rather, the ship she'd stolen. Meisal had never planned on making sure the ship stayed in mint condition, but it would have been nice if she was at least able to tell what this hunk of smouldering metal had once been.

"Shield! Identify yourself!"

Meisal raised her head and saw, to her dismay, a slew of people coming at her, all dressed in tight black jumpsuits-- no, a different kind of suit, she realized, than the ones she had seen others wear-- and all holding guns.

Aw, shit.

Meisal eyed the men warily, trying to remember where she was, why she was here. She had been aboard this ship-- alone-- when suddenly, the air was filled with smoke and she was gasping and none of her controls were working and she was panicked, her ship spinning through the sky, shooting closer and closer to the earth--

Earth. That was what this place was called, right?

"Shield!" A tall black man with an eye patch across his face was the one calling out to her, seeming completely sure of himself as strode across the plain. Meisal braced herself-- she was going to have to defend herself. "Identify yourself!"

Meisal reached out and grabbed the first thing she saw that could be classified a weapon-- a steel bar, broken from the back of what was once her seat. She held it up and at the ready, fully prepared to use it when she had to.

The men were closer now, close enough that she could see their expressions, sullen, bored, as if this sort of work was nothing new to them. The bald black man-- clearly the leader-- raised a hand and started to speak again.

"Who are you?"

Meisal saw the man was vulnerable and leaped at him, kicking out her legs and aiming the bar at his head. He ducked away, but not before the bar had collided with the top of his bald head, drawing blood. Meisal landed on both feet and charged the closest men to her, aware of the fact that they were firing at her, and that her injuries were still screaming in pain. She ignored both of these facts, however, and knocked the men down as though they were nothing more than weightless feathers. Meisal swung the bar freely, landing precise and deadly blows on the men's legs and feet, rolling around and flailing wildly to avoid being shot or grabbed. Once she had successfully taken them all out-- there were five in total, counting the leader, who was splayed out cold on the ground with blood pooling beneath his head-- she grabbed two guns, the leaders first, because he had never fired his. The more ammunition, the better.

Meisal then turned her attention to the unconscious men that lay around her. Most of them were fine, having simply been knocked around hard enough to be knocked out-- nothing too serious. The leader, however, worried Meisal. She couldn't think of exactly why, but she really, really didn't want anyone to die. So, she removed the man's coat and wrapped it tightly around his bloodied head, stemming the flow and collecting what little blood that still trickled out of his bar-inflicted-wound.

"Sorry about this," she murmured, gazing down at his prone form. She remained their for a few minutes, surveying her handiwork, before she retreated, hurrying away and across the plain. Had she stayed a little while longer, however, she would have heard, through a storm of static, a voice calling through the man's intercom, asking where he was.

"Fury? Come in, Fury? This is Steve Rogers."

**  **  **

"Where did you find them again?" Asked Natasha Romanoff, former Russian spy and current member of the Avengers as she leaned back in her chair at her seat around the table. She was addressing Steve Rogers, also an Avenger, but the others at the table were all part of the discussion. Those people in question were Wanda Maximoff, King T'challa, and the Vision.

"He and four other agents were lying unconscious next to the wreckage of an alien spacecraft," Steve replied, pacing around the table, a serious look on his face. "There was no sign of whoever had been in the craft, aside from some footprints and clear evidence of struggle-- I mean, besides the unconscious men," he added at Natasha's skeptical stare.

"It would seem that we have a guest to earth," T'challa remarked, stroking his chin thoughtfully. They were currently gathered in Wakanda, the country that T'challa was ruler over, for what was supposed to have been a simple, polite, duck-in-and-duck-out discussion about keeping up the good names of the Avengers in T'challa's country. When Nick Fury and four other S.H.E.I.L.D agents were found unconscious in the fields, however, the mood had changed considerably.

"I think we should try to find whoever was piloting that thing," Wanda suggested, glancing over at Vision for a second opinion. The syntheziod nodded thoughtfully, his dark eyes closed.

"It must have been multiple people in the ship," he said, sounding extremely intelligent with his smooth voice and thoughtful posture. "The craft was not small compared to other ships that are meant to be piloted by only one person, and it contained highly-advanced technology that would confuse most beings. One person could not have piloted that successfully."

"You forget," Natasha pointed out dryly, "that it crashed."

"True," Vision replied, nodding his head and opening his eyes. "However, it is clearly not of earthly design-- it is from another planet-- or possibly another system entirely."

"Well, when Fury's been patched up, I'm sure he'll tell us who was inside," Steve said, although Natasha detected a hint of worry lodged in his throat. "Then we'll know for sure--"

As if on cue, the door to the meeting hall burst open and several guards walked in, apparently bearing great news. "Director Fury's awake," one of them panted. "And he told us to tell you who was on the ship. A little girl, about sixteen, who attacked them all. She was alone." He gazed at the startled faces that surrounded him. "What? Is that unusual to you guys?"