"Take the gun out, cop," Travis demands.

"I would be offended if I were a cop." I said. "And on the job; which I am not."

The train had detached from the passenger car—I believe that is what most people would call it—leaving us ten feet away from the subway. I kept refusing to take out my gun, while lying I didn't have one due to failing a test.I did fail a test, and, I stole the gun. People thought I had the correct license to use a gun and all I had to do was continue the act.Not even my boss knew how I got my hands on a gun.

That is actually a funny story how he came to find out I had a gun.

I held the gun, shaking, as the shooter had collapsed.

My boss, Fredrick, looked up towards me with a puzzled look.

"When did you get a gun?" Fredrick asked. I opened my mouth to reply but nothing came out. He lowered his unusual thin eyebrows. "...I don't want to know."

That was only a couple months ago.

"You,goth girl, turn the lady's bag upside down if you want to live." Travis said, threateningly.

The goth girl, a teenage girl with yellow streaks in her hair,came over then grabbed my bag.

The Goth girl turns it upside down and everything fell out including my flip phone and my rusty-not-very-cooperative gun that won't even work in some instances. The gun didn't go off but it sure did let out a late bullet that hit a empty seat.Travis looks towards me with this 'you are a liar' expression on his face.

"Funny story," I said. "It really doesn't work a lot."

The gun sure as hell found itself useful in times when it is not needed.

"You, goth girl,pick it up!" Travis orders.

"I have a name," The Goth girl said.

"Oh, then what is it?" Travis asks.

"Mary Popp—" Mar starts. Yes, this is the Goth Girl speaking.

"You're not a Immortal British nanny," Travis interrupts.

"My name is Mary Poppers," Mary said, with a glare. "And I am totally against guns."

The hostage situation started at 1:25 PM. So the thing is that time flies fast, generally, and most people believe it goes slow in a situation like this. Which to be honest they are pretty right. It is 1:50 PM right now—to people who are feeling tense and trying to figure a way into this train to establish some form of conversation with Travis—to the outside free world.

"Give me the gun, Poppins," Travis demands.

"Poppers," Mary sharply corrects Travis. Mary rolls her eyes. "I get this ordeal every day."

"Do what he said, Poppers!" Burt shouts.

"I have the right to make my own decision,little boy," Mary said, holding the gun as though it had an infected piece of bread inside. "I refuse to vote on giving him the ugly—and ewey—weapon."

A loud gun shot rang and Burt screams like a little girl.

"My arm," Mary said, glancing to her left elbow. She looks up from the bleeding wound."It is bleeding."

Side note; Mary's right hand is holding the stubborn gun.My phone rang right as the poor girl fell over landing on the floor knocked out cold.

"Damn it, Sarah Jackson," I muttered seeing her name appear on the screen. "I am busy."

"Answer it, liar chick," Travis name calls me.

I see Sarah Jackson's name on the screen. Bingo; I knew Sarah too well.

"You mean Chick Fibster." I correct Travis, picking up 2012 styled phone that is ringing off the floor.

"Same thing!" Travis said, sharply.

"No, it isn't," Burt said.

"Yes, it is," Travis argues. "In the Oxford Dictionary 'Liar' means some-one who lies."

"So does Fibster," Burt argues back.

I click on the green button and put the phone to my ear.

"Emily!" Sarah yells over the phone. "WHEN DID I TELL YOU TO SPREAD NEWS ABOUT MY POWER?"

I had a short laugh.

"Nice," I said. "Calling right in the middle of a hostage situation and all you care about is your secret being told."

"I told you not to tell," Sarah said.

I roll an eye. I don't recall anything about Sarah telling me not to tell someone about something. I guess she might be thinking of the wrong person or believes that I witnessed Sarah do something during the work week then called The Storm Lady.There is a lot of 'somethings' around Sarah that I really don't understand.

"Sarah,is there any red flags going on in your head or is there slow traffic in your brain?" I ask.

"You told THEM." Sarah furiously said.

"Told who?" I ask, puzzled.

"THEM." Sarah shouts.

"Who is them?" I ask,lowering the phone. I turn my attention towards Travis. "She's not a cop...Sarah is a...a little case of ignoring the emergencies."

"She is a cop," Travis said. "You just told her."

Apparently, for some reason,not everyone outside this train is aware there's a hostage situation going on. I put the phone to my ear.

"Listen, Sarah," I said. "I am aboard a train that has a boy with a bomb in his backpack and two guns." I honestly do not understand how Travis is able to hold two guns in his hands without any of the other passengers attempting to take action. "And I have no clue what you're referring to. I only told The Storm Lady which direction you went."

My watch reads 2:15 PM.

Damn, time really flies by.

"Is that the card you're playing, really?" Sarah asks.

"It is not a card," I said.

"Think I can fall for something like that? I am not that easy to fool, " Sarah continues. "Stop avoiding the question and answer me, Emily!"

"Sarah..." I lower the phone to Travis. "Hey maniac; do you care to have three arms?"

"Code word!" Travis said, shooting at the phone.

Ah great, there goes my phone.The bullet landed right in the screen shortening out the power. The phone, itself, shut down and some electrical sparks shot out so I dropped it. My first week in Marvel and I have destroyed my first phone.I wonder how exactly the train is detached from this part and there is not a person aware.

"If you have a bomb; why have you not shown it?" Tyrone Forster asks. He has a T-shirt with a picture of a Bulbasaur on it. We've had numerous conversations about how Bulbasaur can defeat Squirtle using razor leaf.

"Because I want the authorities to see I mean it!" Travis said.

"And...they're not seeing it," Tyrone said.

"Shut up," Travis said.

"No, I will not," Tyrone said. "I will not shut up. Where is the authorities you have requested for?"

"They're spying on me." Travis said, with a quick threatening glare towards Burt.

Burt shook his hands back and forth in front of himself defensively.

"He's lost his mind," Burt said. "He just came back from playing Football. Travis hurt his head one too many times."

"I am quite sane," Travis said. "I am doing this for ..." I'll spare you the bunch of gibberish that fell out of his mouth. "And they want to be taken seriously."

"Then show us the bomb," I said. "If 'they' want to be taken seriously."

Somehow, without breaking a sweat, Travis takes the backpack off his shoulders then carefully drops it to the floor. It seemed obvious to me that somehow had approached Travis on the streets to do this rather bold and reckless move.Burt had that look in his eye that indicated he is thinking the same thing.Who knew that two people, of different ages, can think the same thing at once.Tyrone tried to be a hero but Travis shot him dead at the head.Burt's fear is so obvious I can't really put into words.Nothing can be put into words when a child witnesses a adult be murdered before their eyes.

Travis didn't flinch.

"Call your superior," Travis demands.

"I...don't have a operating phone with current day phone numbers," I said.

"How big is the explosion effect?" I ask.

Somehow, throughout the tension, I got my bag full of all the items that were dumped out. Go figure.

"Bada-boom," Travis said, maniacally.

"That means you need to be 5 miles, or blocks depending on how you measure the subway tunnels, away from the train," Burt translates. "And there is a good chance you're not going to survive."

"That's what I am counting on," I said, with a small smile.

"You are nuts," Mary said, as I get my bag stocked up with everything that had been shaken out of it.

"Being nuts runs in the family," I said, putting the black strap along my shoulder.

I grabbed the bookbag that is ticking; tik tok, tik tok,tik tok.

I ran out with the backpack in hand fleeing the crowded train.My bag repeatedly smacked itself against my side. It made me wonder why I decided to get a small bag that had a strap hugging along my shoulder. The backpack feels heavy in my arms instead of being light—as most of the time when I am lifting heavy objects they feel light as a feather—putting a lot of weight to my elbows. To be certain I am not entirely sure how weight effects the elbows when the hands are doing the heavy lifting.

"Faster!" I mutter to myself.

God, this is a lot of running.

I look down to my watch using it as some good idea to how far I might be.

It is 2:43 PM.

The bomb beeps, so I came to a halt turn then took the backpack off my back. I put the backpack on the ground pushing back both sides to the backpack to reveal the flipping red haunting numbers.I had a look at the countdown that reads thirty seconds. Thirty seconds to think back on the past? What the hell! I have a really long life so there's not much that can be thought about for a entire minute.

I closed my eyes expecting for the worse.

When the worse did happen after closing my eyes; literately.

A large explosive sound made my ears become deaf, temporally, and my world turned into darkness.Not a sound made itself apparent.Suddenly I could see the ceiling to the train tunnel being the gray of boringness as usual. I blink pushing myself upwards seeing my feet coming together by rocks resembling in their shape. I hold my right arm up to see it is drawing scattered rock towards itself repairing the terrible damage that had been done.

"What the..." I said, in much shock.

My hands are restored and I fiddle with them as the rocks fell into place.

Marvel is good at one of these scenes in their movies—only the clips that I've seen—to show how a character learns their power.

My watch reads 2:50 PM.

__ __ __

"Who are you?" I ask, seeing the old man sitting patiently at the table.

"Odin Borson of Asgard," Odin said.

"Odin as in the Viking's protector?" I ask.

"That was a long time ago," Odin said, with much amusement. "Viking's don't roam Midgard."

Let's say there's something tied to Odin and Santa Clause; but not because of his mighty white beard.There's a good show called The Librarians that currently airs on TNT and had a Christmas episode—that was really,really, really late—centering around a couple of people who go around saving the world twice in one week before Friday.

"If you say so," I said.

"I come because of Loki." Odin said.

"...If you send a British Bull Dog for Loki in my apartment; go to a different hotel," I said.

"I can send you back to your realm." Odin said. "Your right version of Midgard under the condition you bring Loki to this stadium, when you are close enough to him that he won't be suspicious. This stadium is in New Mexico.A rather old stadium once used for Football. It has numerous holes occupied by many hunks of metal sticking out."

"New Mexico...sounds familiar." I said,sitting down into a chair.

"Thor was there; for awhile." Odin said.

I snap my fingers.

"Comic-con!" I said. "That's where I heard people talk about it a lot, and, your son." I had to take a sigh and remind myself that Odin isn't very much into the culture of 'Midgard'—I swear I've heard it somewhere around Boston—as many Asgardians. "Sorry, I...I have a question."

"Then do ask." Odin said.

I chop off my finger using a knife.

My finger, turning into a rock, broke into pieces and traveled back up onto my arm turning back into a middle finger.

"Am I a mortal or a god?" I ask.

The shock on Odin's face faded into the old man of knowledge yet interest.

"You're a Rock Giant." Odin said. "Under a powerful spell that makes you live as a Midgardian and partially as a Rock Giant." He paused for a dramatic effect, I guess. "I can see everything; your future, Miss Strange,is quite interesting."

I look around, blinking, then rub my eyes.

"I don't quite understand." I said.

"You're under a spell; and you can choose to live as a Midgardian or a god." Odin said. "When someone, who does not know what they are doing, use magic on you; the decision is in your hands alone."

"How bad is this of a spell?" I ask.

"A powerful spell." Odin said. "You're a rarity."

"Thirty-eight years old and I am a rarity." I said, with a little laugh. "How unremarkable."

"You may not understand; but your parents are not Midgardians." Odin said. I am starting to understand that Midgardians mean people who have a shorter lifespan than Asgards—who are gods—also considered mortals. "They are Rock Giants; they hail from Boulderheim." I made a weird look. "Your father put a spell on you. You may be thirty eight, however, to me you're six hundred twenty." I raise one of my eyebrows. "You look as though you can blend into any era."

"That doesn't mean I am six hundred twenty." I said.

"Call your parents." Odin said. "And make the decision yourself."

Knowing my parents; they would lie, and lie, and lie.

"I prefer to live as a human than a Rock Giant." I said, folding my arms.

Rock Giants sound ugly, huge, and towering, and creatures not to mess with.

"Rock Giants are the same height of Frost Giants." Odin said. "From Jotunheim."

"Jotunheim." I repeat.

"Yes, it is the realm Loki hails from." Odin said.

"Oh right." I said, acting like I knew. When really I did not know. "He's an icecream giant."

"Frost Giant." Odin corrects me.

"Yeah, that's what I mean." I said, nodding.

"He's made not made of ice and cream." Odin said. "But what I can do for you is what I see as a promise."

"Then do tell me." I said.

"What if you could shift to both?" Odin asks. "Walk around in the form you're comfortable with and the other you can choose to use and appear as."

I blink, and blink, and blink.

"Both...what?" I ask.

"Midgardian and Rock Giant," Odin said.

"Sounds good," I said.

"You won't notice the change," Odin said.

Then he was gone in a blinding light. In exchange for going home; I must take Loki to a old stadium in New Mexico. And that I quite possibly made the worst decision to let Odin make me a shifter to only two forms which is honestly fair.When you think about how gods screw up deals every so often between ordinary mortals in fictional tales. I walk into the bathroom.I look at the floor mirror. I loosen my hands, calming my mind about what happened today.

My eyes turn crystal blue, and my skin became gray as stone.

My hair remained the same shape, parts of my face stood out in bumpy shapes, I could feel the lines using my hands on my face.My face feels hard as granite. I lightly tap on my face only to hear a slight echo back. I wasn't aware that stone could make an echo until mow. I look down to my hands to see they are rocky like. I held my hand summoning a unique rock that took on the shape of a duck.

"Aww..." I said, in awe.

But when I touched the duck shaped rock; the rock merged into my hand making a tingling sensation.

"Damn it." I said. My face, skin, and hands return to normal as did my eyes. I look towards the mirror feeling better about today. "I am coming home, bro."

I share a smile to the mirror feeling confident that this will be successful. If I don't fall for that Frost Giant then it won't be so hard trying to get home. Home is where everything makes sense and I can forget about the truth. The truth that I am not human.

Nor is Lewis.