𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐋𝐘 - 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬.

prologue.

...:::**•°✾°•**:::...

THE MOMENT LUCY knew that she wasn't destined for a normal life was when she was gifted her own handgun on her 10th birthday.

A Smith & Wesson M&P pistol, standard issue from SHIELD. It was gently used by her mom, evident from the worn out rifling, but the barreling was long and slender. It allowed the gunpowder expanding behind every bullet to increase the exit velocity: in simpler terms, covering farther distances and penetrating power. The first thing Lucy did with the pistol was revamp it with pink paint strokes and animal stickers.

Her other mom, Bela, found the gift to be quite distasteful, especially for Lucy at her young age. But Francesca saw the gift as more of a symbolic gesture. Lucy recalled her words, tattooing them on her heart.

"She's not going to use it . . . yet." Francesca chuckled lowly. "Not until I teach her. Besides, she needs this, cariño. She's gonna blow everyone away."

'She's gonna blow everyone away.' And so Lucy would.

Most people would have spent their 19 years studying for college, but Lucy spent her long and gruesome years put through boot camps, strength & conditioning, and eventually covert operations.

To this day, her piston sat on her nightstand in her room, a reminder of why she became a SHIELD agent: to fight for her familia and to protect the interests and welfare of the people.

One would probably ponder why Lucy wouldn't use her pistol anymore, but needless to say, she was more than well equipped to handle the dangers that threaten the natural world.

Much like today: the sun beamed down hard on the coast of Somalia, the warm and expansive brown sand making it difficult for her to trudge through. Beaded with perspiration, Lucy surveyed the scene to ensure that there weren't stragglers left before the wave came.

Cries of terror filled her ears. Her head moved wildly to try and locate where the screams were coming from. Lucy's chestnut eyes eventually fell on a little boy, whose leg was trapped under a fallen tree branch. She doesn't hesitate to sprint over to him, crouching down to his level.

Her voice dropped a few octaves, wanting to come across as nurturing and gentle. "Waad ficantahay. Waan kor u qaadayaa. Sáddex, lába . . ków!" ("You're okay. I'm gonna lift it. Three, two . . one!")

All at once, Lucy mustered as much strength as she can, lifting with her legs as she strained her arms. There was soon enough space for the boy to slip out his leg. Lucy's heart ached as he sniffled: he nursed his leg, and by the looks of how swollen he was starting to become, Lucy feared he wasn't going to be able to walk.

"Qabo." ("Hold on.")  Lucy lifted the boy into her arms, making sure her arms were secured deeply behind his back. The frightful boy naturally clung into her shoulders. Her eyes followed where his eyes were looking past behind her, and when she sees the ten feet high tsunami beginning to hurtle towards them, her senses were heightened.

Her sympathetic nervous system was going crazy. She knew that running was futile: there was no certainty that if Lucy started running in the other direction with the child in her grasp that they could hope to make it. There was no running from a tsunami this gigantic.

But Lucy knew she could beat it.

Slowly, but hesitantly, she persevered towards the tsunami. The boy buried his face in her shoulder, and Lucy could feel the slight tremor of his body within her arms. But her face was fierce and determined.