The bus rolled to a stop, its tired brakes squealing in protest. This was her stop. Jaw tightening, Janet Carlisle stood and made her way to the end of the narrow aisle, where the doors stood open and the driver cast a weary glance in her direction. He did not bother to exchange pleasantries, and neither did she. Without a word, she descended the stairs and stepped out into the cool night air.

     Darkness met her like an old friend, and she slipped soundlessly into its shadowy embrace. A gentle breeze caressed her pale, angular face, her piercing gaze sweeping over the simple shops and local businesses that lined both sides of the street. They were small, run-down, and altogether unimpressive. This little community, located on the outskirts of Los Angeles, was moderately quiet at present, but Janet had been informed that there were gangs operating in the area. This fact did not concern her, however—she was not here for them. As long as they stayed out of her way, there would be no trouble.

     Convenience stores, auto shops, and fast food chains soon gave way to rows of houses that were situated fairly close to one another, and Janet scanned the numbers on each mailbox as she passed. They rose higher and higher, and she counted them with increasing anticipation—almost there. A car rumbled by, temporarily masking the sound of her heels rhythmically striking the concrete. She shoved her gloved hands deep into the pockets of her black leather jacket, slowing her pace as she came within sight of her destination. This was it.

     The fingers of her left hand closed instinctively around her concealed pistol, and she took a slow, deep breath. Her strides lengthened again, carrying her forward with grim purpose. The blackness seemed to deepen around her, and the nearest streetlight flickered. Janet approached the house, her gaze lingering on the warm glow that was filtering through its closed curtains. Somebody was home.

     Reaching up with her right hand, she slid her fingers under the collar of her jacket and activated a sensor on the suit that she wore beneath it. Instantly, there were several light clicks as tiny plates of armor folded upwards from the neck of her uniform, encasing her entire face and head in a chrome helmet, whose smooth black surface glinted in the moonlight. As the last of the pieces moved into place to create a uniform exterior, Janet threw up the hood of her jacket and approached the front door. She didn't know what to expect, didn't know if the inhabitants would put up a fight. All she knew was that they might be in possession of information that could prove invaluable to her and the man she worked for.

     She regretted that a more clandestine approach could not be taken. There was no doubt that, as soon as the door was opened, whether by force or not, whoever was inside that house would view her as an enemy. Of course, she could not blame them for that, given her rather intimidating appearance, but it could not be helped. If her face was seen, her life, the life of the man she worked for, and the company he had worked so hard to build would all be in jeopardy. Worse than that, the life of her brother, too, would be in danger of collapse.

     Steeling herself, Janet knocked. There was a long pause. Her breath caught, every muscle tensed. One hand was at her side, balled into a fist, and the other was in her pocket, clamped around the gun. Seconds ticked by slowly, reluctantly.

     There was a quiet click. Finally, the door swung inward. Janet blinked, finding herself gazing down a dark hallway. Then her eyes drifted down, and she saw a boy in a wheelchair. He had jet black hair, brown eyes that observed her with suspicion, and he appeared to be in his late teens. She recognized his face from the files.

     "Gabriel Reyes," she noted in a low voice that was slightly muffled by her mask.

     "It's Gabe," he responded quietly, fingering the gun that lay in his lap.

     Janet glanced around the quiet house, the black eyes of her helmet penetrating the darkness, calculating distances, perceiving objects, and searching for any signs of life. But there was no one—no one but the boy.

     "If you're looking for Robbie, he isn't here," said Gabe, his voice rising in volume and increasing in force.

     She leveled a cold look at him that he could not see. "Then I guess you'll have to do."

     His eyes widened, and he raised the gun, but she was already moving. Shoving his outstretched arm toward the ceiling, Janet twisted it until a pained cry escaped his lips and the gun clattered uselessly to the floor. She stepped back, releasing him, and picked it up, examining its make. Amidst all of the vividly purple numbers and descriptions appearing in her field of vision, there was one word that stood out from all of them: S.H.I.E.L.D.

     For a moment, she became very still. Then, with startling precision, Janet's free hand shot behind her and slammed the door. Gabe was silent, watching her with frightened eyes. Slowly, she raised her head.

     "You work for S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

     He shook his head quickly. "No!"

     She advanced, and he rolled backwards. "Your uncle was recently broken out of prison by none other than S.H.I.E.L.D., you are in possession of a weapon that could only be acquired from one of their members, and you expect me to believe you?"

     Gabe suddenly stopped retreating, and his mouth hardened into a thin, determined line. "I'm not telling you anything."

     His voice was soft but lined with a grim understanding that something unpleasant was likely to follow. Janet could not help but be impressed by his bravery, though it was incredibly foolish. She sighed and canted her head, regarding him with dark resignation.

     "So be it. Looks like we're doing this the hard way."

     She reached for her belt, upon which hung several small compartments containing items designed to inflict pain and suffering upon their desired target. However, before she could select or withdraw a single one, a deep, menacing voice growled behind her.

     "I wouldn't touch him if I were you."

     Janet stiffened and then turned, facing the tall silhouette that loomed in the reopened doorway. Her grip on the I.C.E.R. pistol tightened, her eyes narrowing as she aimed it at the intruder's chest. "Who are you?"

     Embers ignited his gaze, burning straight to her core and scalding her insides with terror. "I am vengeance."

     He stepped into the entryway, faint traces of light falling across his features, which were contorted with rage.

     "Robbie?" murmured Gabe in disbelief.

     Janet recognized his jacket from the security footage, the white upside down horseshoe set against black leather. In that moment, she realized who he was—who he really was—and she was not going to let him take another step. She pulled the trigger, a blue flash penetrating the darkness as the I.C.E.R. fired.

     Robbie hardly flinched. He recoiled ever so slightly from the impact of the bullet but did not seem to feel the pain. Or perhaps he had simply become accustomed to it. Gritting his teeth, Robbie stormed toward her, fists clenched at his sides. She fired a second time, then a third, but neither succeeded in impeding his advance.

     He reached for the gun, but she dropped it to her side, surprising him with a right hook. Her gloved knuckles collided with his face, but he retaliated quickly, seizing her shoulders and slamming her back against the nearest wall. Gabe rolled out of the way as Janet drove her knee into Robbie's gut. He maintained his grip, his hand sliding down her left arm until it reached her wrist. Then he twisted it backwards until she yelped, the pistol tumbling from her grasp.

     Desperately, she drove the heel of her boot into his knee, and he grimaced, his hold loosening. Janet drew upon the anger and frustration flaring inside her, letting it fill her up until she felt as if she might burst. The lights in the house flickered, stuttering several times before going out completely. This was her chance. As Robbie prepared to strike her again, Janet vanished into the blackness enveloping them.

     Shadows draped around her shoulders like a cloak, whisking her through open air. Her feet did not touch the ground, and for a brief moment, she became darkness. She slipped under his arm and reappeared behind him. Then, extending both arms, Janet ushered forth a wave of black energy, magic that moved with the sound of screams echoing across a vast distance. Voices reaching across galaxies—across dimensions.

     Robbie was propelled face-first into the wall, and it partially collapsed, chunks of plaster crumbling around him. She did not move, watching him intently to see if he had finally decided to give up. But then, slowly, he began to shift, emerging from the pile of debris. He was growling like a caged animal—an animal that was on the verge of being released. She took a step back.

     His flesh was disintegrating, burning away to reveal the flaming skull beneath. He stood, and when he faced her, he was a very real, very present specter of death. His eyes had turned to ash, leaving empty sockets in their wake. Deep within these sockets dwelt a glow so penetrating, so convicting, that it compelled Janet to take another step backward. She was gazing into the depths of hell. There was fire and misery and punishment without end.

     A shudder ran through her, and she remained there, petrified, as he advanced. He was not Robbie, not any longer. Her instincts screamed for her to move, but her limbs felt like lead. The numbers inside her AR helmet were rapidly counting down as he closed the remaining distance between them. The Ghost reached out with a gloved hand, and her gaze fixed on his extending fingers.

     The instant before they closed around her throat, Janet finally called herself into action. She thrust both arms in front of her, sending another wave of umbrakinetic energy against him. He was forced backwards, his own hand retracting. Mournful howls filled the air, reverberating across time and space as they sought to crush him. But the Ghost finally succeeded in planting his feet firmly against the onslaught, and then he struck.

     Without warning, he backhanded her across the face, and the force of the blow was beyond anything Janet had ever experienced before. She found herself flying through open air, and a second later, she hit the floor. When her head struck the hardwood, there was a blinding flash of white that left her dazed and immobile. She moaned, trying the blink the spots out of her eyes. Her helmet had cracked upon impact, but it was still functioning.

     He was coming for her. She could hear his footsteps despite the ringing in her ears. She could not beat him, not here. She knew that now. There was only one thing left for her to do.

     Staggering to her feet, she turned and ran, sprinting down the hall and toward the back door. She could see just as well in the dark as when the lights were on, a benefit of her powers that she had discovered some time ago. Shoving the door open, Janet raced outside, drawing the night in around her as she amplified her own internal darkness. It moved beneath her, lifting her off her feet and sweeping under her arms like wings. As she ascended, she looked down and saw him watching her go, that demon that had come to make her pay for her sins, of which there were many.

     Turning away, Janet became one with the night sky, appearing as nothing but a black cloud as she left the little neighborhood far behind.