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6- Andra Matar

Thud. Thud. Thud.

I tried not to look extremely pleased as all of my thrown knives hit the target, dead center every time. Arrogance comes comes very naturally to people. I take great pride in showing off to my friends. They are too often my limit for everything.

Larissa, another one of my roommates, saw my expression and narrowed her pale blue eyes. "You snobby little-"

I cut her off. "I..." I began, but decided against a terrible, rambling explanation. "...will just frown next time, and look incredibly dissatisfied."

She smirked, heading away from the target area and towards the sparring mats. "Good."

I snorted, following her. Larissa was a largely built woman, several years older than me, and meant for hand-to-hand combat. It was not a good idea to challenge her verbally or physically. Romanoff could intimidate people with a glare, Larissa with a flex of the muscles.

That meant I wasn't very smart, which I realized as I watched Larissa wrap her hands whilst doing the same to my own. We were going to spar. And after, I was going to be sore.

"Shall we start?" She asked, eyes twinkling with anticipation of our upcoming fight.

I shook my head. "Got a death wish and ready to go."

We positioned ourselves on the reeking mat. Maybe S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't have bad equipment, even this one was in decent shape, but nothing could stop a wrestling mat from stinking.

However, I couldn't let the smell distract me. I had an advantage because I was smaller, but was also a disadvantage at the same time.

She lunged towards me, and I ducked, letting her pass, though I couldn't keep her off me for long. We engaged in a series of kicking and punching.

I'd only been an agent for about two years, but I started taking mixed martial arts classes when I was very young. Most people my age would've still been training, but not me.

So once I graduated, at sixteen, because I skipped a grade and was born in July, S.H.I.E.L.D. picked me up right away. Six short months of training later, I was in the field, at the ripe young age of 17.

Life as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent can take away your soul, strip down your identity. It's not always a pretty world out there. 17 years and experiencing the world firsthand. No matter how hard it gets, I always go on. I am justified to do what I do.

I'd never killed. Never, in my two years working for the place that makes killers. My slate Is clean. That's why my weapon of choice is a knife. They're dipped in a special kind of poison that'll knock someone out for hours when it cuts their skin. It gives me a shortcut in combat. I only need a tiny, little cut.

Although I didn't have my knives, I still couldn't give up.

I became more focused on avoiding Larissa's attacks than countering them. Rolling on the floor, underneath the other girl's legs, my gaze falling upon one of the large wooden beam supporting the ceiling.

I sprung up and jumped as high as I possibly could. My hands caught on the beam, and I wrapped my arms around it, pulling my chest close and started to bring my legs up as well.

Larissa took a hold of my bottom limbs and yanked them down, and making me fall down to the floor eight feet below. I groaned, and began to cough, the air completely knocked out of my lungs.

A look of triumph crossed her face as Larissa stood over me.

"Never give up. Giving up is never an option."

These words had been drilled into my head, not by any of my Supervising Officers, but the best coach I've ever had- my father. "Life is going to hurt sometimes, but you gotta keep going."

Every time I've ever had an injury, or felt hurt, those words got me through it. They could be applied to something as petty as a spar to the loss of a loved one.

No giving up yet, Matar. I told myself.

With one leg, I kicked the back of Larrisa's knee, making it give out. She fell flat on the ground next to me. As I regained my breath, I crawled to her, and pressed my right arm into her chest.

"I win." I wheezed before sitting back on my legs and steading my frantic breathing. I could handle very many painful things, but not having oxygen put me out.

Larissa clambered to her feet, massaging her shoulder. "I had you."

I grabbed her offered hand and pulled myself up. "And then you didn't." I said, grinning wearily.

"You got lucky." Larissa replied, which I didn't doubt. Had I been in the field, with guns, I would of had a bullet in my head.

"One day, I won't need luck to beat you." I declared confidently.

Larissa chuckled. "One day. Right after you kiss Tony Stark."

I gagged. "Never."

"You probably will. Anything can happen."

"Not that." I said, thinking of the age gap, and Pepper's reaction, which was mainly just amusing.

"I bet you fifty bucks that'll happen in the next ten years."

Ooh. Gambling. "Deal."

And we shook.

***

I had dreamed of death before. Whenever I fell asleep in the field, on an operation. With S.H.I.E.L.D., the air positively stank with death. It filled my mind, my dreams. Even in the control room, where the missions were organized. Death. Destruction.

I didn't always agree with the way S.H.I.E.L.D. worked. It could be corrupt at times. Maybe, if I worked my way to the top, I could eradicate the corrupt morals. When the organization fell, and Phil Coulson took over, I felt hope. This was a new opportunity to become cleaner, in a sense.

My dreams were always strange. I don't need death for weirdness to settle in. My family did that for me.

I came from a very broken past. My own mother described me as "a minor fluke in an otherwise perfect marriage". One night. My step-father, Derek, left town, my mother got intoxicated and nine months later, I was born. And not even worth raising, much less a divorce. Pepper got a perfect family. I lived with Dad since the first week I was born, in New York, a city I've never loved. I'd much rather been born in Michigan.

The most I ever lived with Kendra was two months during the summer. I hated it. I loathed leaving home. Pepper got a lot of that anger taken out on her, which is unfair, I'll admit. But I had other things on my mind, more important things than a blown-up relationship.

I needed to focus on school. S.H.I.E.L.D. was my goal, and I was determined to get there. My father also got married, had a son. I was happy. I didn't want Kendra.

Then the son died. That took up too many years of my life to get over.

I didn't need Kendra to create problems to be in a nightmare. I lost at lot of emotional strenth over the years, and I couldn't afford to waste it on a lost cause.

I thought I had really bad dreams, but truly, they weren't any worse than reality. That's enough to make anyone go insane.

And I probably am.

I looked at my reflection in the mirror, checking if the dark circles underneath my eyes had faded any.

Friday morning. Time to meet the Avengers.

Life was about to get a lot more crazy.