Smuggler
I’m sitting in a black Volkswagen in a side alley in Moscow. It's 11:15 PM, and I'm waiting for my package. Earlier, I mounted a small camera on the corner of the alley to have the perfect view of what's happening around.
My name is Connor Dawney, I'm 20 years old, and I carry out missions for Nick Fury. This time, I’m here to pick up a package from another smuggler who doesn’t have the best relationship with S.H.I.E.L.D. I’m not an agent, but I have a deal with Fury: I get the goods for him, and he provides me with protection and, of course, payment.
After waiting for about an hour, my target finally arrives. I grab my gun and hide it in my waistband, and the elegant, decorative knife disguised as a hairpin is fastened to the side of my brown hair. I get out of the car, taking the exchange suitcase with me, and walk around slightly to come out from the other side. Then, I "accidentally" bump into the man, pretending to be all sweet and embarrassed.
“Sorry,” I say in an overly charming voice. “Are you okay? I’m such a klutz.” I continue, helping the man up. Luckily for me, the suitcase landed half a meter behind him, so I use the opportunity to swap them. “Here, and sorry again,” I say, handing him the switched suitcase.
“Watch where you're going next time,” he hisses, snatching the suitcase from my hand. I grab the correct suitcase and head back to the car. No drama this time—a nice change. I smirk at the thought that tomorrow afternoon, I’ll be back in New York, returning to the cave I call home.
8 hours later
I’m already on the plane. It's 8:24 AM, and I’m eating a sandwich I bought at the airport before the flight. There were no major problems boarding, mostly because there were a few S.H.I.E.L.D. agents at the airport. Just as I finish my sandwich, the pilot announces that there’s one more hour left in the flight. I pull out a book, but of course, someone has to interrupt my peace—and that someone is none other than Nick himself. He texts me that he wants to meet today at Avengers Tower. My sixth sense tells me this might be a setup for something, but I’m not sure what.
After three hours, I’m standing in front of the building. I get out of the car and confidently walk inside. There are more agents here than I expected. I quickly make my way to the elevator, press the button, and head up to the 25th floor, where, according to the message, Fury is supposed to be waiting for me.
I turn around and adjust my high ponytail, looking into the mirror opposite the elevator doors. I set my backpack and suitcase on the floor and scan my reflection. My blue-violet eyes meet their reflection. I’m dressed in an olive-green windbreaker, an oversized black T-shirt with faded patches and a black butterfly print, skinny jeans, and light brown knee-high boots with a slight heel. I turn toward the elevator doors as they begin to open.
I step into the room, and the first thing I notice is Nick with his icy expression and his iconic trench coat. I’m wearing a similar combat outfit, except mine is dark maroon and shorter. But he’s not alone—there are nine other people in the room, and judging by their appearance, I quickly realize they are the famous Avengers. But one thing puzzles me: why did he want to meet me here, with them?
“Delivery for Nick Fury!” I announce loudly, walking toward my client and showing him the suitcase, raising it above my head. “Why did you want to meet here and not at the base as usual?” I ask, handing him the suitcase and taking my payment. I open the envelope and start counting the money.
“I’m introducing you to one of the best smugglers, Connor Dawney, better known as Banshee.” As soon as Fury says these words, I stop counting the money and look at him suspiciously.
“You’re flattering me too much,” I interrupt him, putting the money back in the envelope. “What do you want?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.
“I want to introduce you to the Avengers. Well, most of them anyway. This is Steve Rogers, James Rhodes, Natasha Romanoff, Wanda Maximoff, Clint Barton, Bruce Banner, Vision, Sam Wilson, and—
“Tony Stark—genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist,” Stark approaches me with a cocky smile and shakes my hand as I eye him up and down.
“Okay, and what’s next?” I reply, crossing my arms over my chest. “Because I doubt you introduced us for no reason.”
“And you’d be right. I have a mission for you,” Fury says, pointing at me and the Avengers. “And no one knows the criminal underworld like you do.”
“Wait, you’re saying we should work with a criminal?!” Rhodes protests, stepping closer and pointing at me accusingly. I open my mouth in mock offense. “A money-hungry smuggler!”
“I’m right here, you know, and I don’t appreciate that kind of talk!” I spread my arms out, looking at him indignantly. “A money-hungry smuggler, sure, but why call me a criminal?”
“Oh, really? Then what are you?” Rhodes challenges.
“I prefer the term ‘private entrepreneur.’”
“How reassuring,” he scoffs.
“Rhodes,” Captain America warns calmly.
“Relax, I’m not interested in playing hero in a spandex suit, running across rooftops. So, I’m not taking the job,” I snap coldly, putting the money in my backpack and heading toward the exit.
“Hey!” Falcon raises his voice in outrage, spreading his arms wide.
“Unfortunately, you don’t have a choice,” Fury calls after me. “You’re under my protection, so you’ll follow my orders, or I’ll hand you over to the U.N. and you’ll end up in Area 51!” I stop in my tracks and exhale loudly. I hate it when he’s right—I’m dependent on him whether I like it or not. Because of my mutation, the government considers me dangerous.
“That’s a low blow, Nicky,” I say, turning back to the man who remains unfazed by the nickname. “That’s not how you play fair.”
“Maybe not, but it’s effective, isn’t it? Your things are waiting downstairs. Someone will show you around and brief you on the mission. You’ll get along just fine.” My jaw drops. Get along? It’s obvious we’re not getting along. As they pass me to head for the elevator, two questions pop into my mind.
“Wait, my things are downstairs?!” I shout after Fury. “Am I moving in here?”
“Indeed. It’ll be easier if you’re all in one place,” he replies as the elevator doors begin to close.
“And where did you get the keys to my… and he’s gone.” Great, I’ve been left with the costumes. I turn back to the group and flash a fake smile. “Hi.”
“Hey,” says the man who was leaning against the wall earlier. “As you already know, I’m Clint.” I nod without saying anything. “So, Banshee, can I ask where you got that nickname?”
“Banshee is a legendary wailing monster resembling a woman who heralds death,” chimes in the red guy with the glowing thing on his forehead and a sweater.
“And there’s your answer.”
“So, do you resemble a woman too?” the dark-skinned guy jokes, flashing a grin that reveals the gap between his teeth.
“Haha, very funny. Think a little longer, and maybe you’ll come up with something more clever,” I reply in the most sarcastic tone I can muster.
“Don’t be so smug, kid. You’re not at home,” War Machine says, stepping closer.
“You don’t have your armor on, so I’d watch your words,” I hiss, moving even closer.
“Go ahead, show me what you’ve got,” he responds in a calm, mocking voice. I’m just about to open my mouth to continue arguing when someone interrupts.
“Alright, enough. You’re going to wreck my tower, and I spent way too much on it,” Stark says, stepping between us and separating us to a safe distance. “Rhodes, go cool off. And you,” he points a finger at me, “get your things.” He gestures toward the elevator. I roll my eyes and leave the room.
Nick, I’m not forgiving you for this. What have you gotten me into? Now, I’ll have to be twice as careful so others like me—or worse—don’t find out I’m working with the Avengers. That would be a disaster. I can already tell this is going to be interesting, and I doubt I’ll be bored.