I was plummeting towards the ground of New York City from an altitude that only fighter jets use, and I couldn't do anything about it. Who would've thought that I, Maximum Ride, would die from something that wasn't supposed to be able to kill me. My wings had a clamp on them keeping me from flying, and my hands were bound in front of me. I was so beat up that I couldn't even move. I couldn't struggle to get my wings free let alone fly. I was about to die. After twenty-two years of surviving what the universe had to throw at me, I was going to die. As I closed my eyes and accepted my fate, I was snatched out of the air by something big, muscular, and green. Hulk. After a couple of long seconds of free fall, he threw me at something. I landed on something soft and fluffy, like a mattress. My head turned to the side and I could barely make out the S.H.I.E.L.D logo as I sunk into darkness.