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When a Beetle Flees a Battle...
She wasn't sure how long she had been running, but it had almost certainly been far too long.  Days of looking over her shoulder, stealing power from electrical grids, eating sparingly of what small food stores she could take with her, days of running.  She hadn't seen any of the Masters of Evil in at least a day, but that didn't mean they'd forgotten about her.  Not by a long shot.

But she had finally made it to New York City, finally made it to Avengers Mansion.  She had to let them know.  No matter what it cost her.  The Masters had to be stopped.

Why had she ever hooked up with them in the first place?  Because she'd been bored.  Because it sounded like a good way to get a cheap thrill.  And then, almost from the first outing, she'd been appalled by what she'd  seen.  She'd thought they'd just do things like rob banks or steal pieces of technology or something.  She never expected to get caught up in vendettas or associating with murderers.  And so she'd done what she could to mitigate that.

Until they'd tried to murder the Rogers boy in a public spectacle.  And that had been the last sign that she hadn't belonged there, ever.  But she'd stayed, because she thought maybe, just maybe, she could keep track of them, try something, maybe get some of the others to walk.

But she couldn't.  They weren't like her.  Weren't redeemable.

And when she'd tried to contact SHIELD about the ambush at the prisoner transfer... she'd gotten sloppy and gotten caught.  But she was here now.  Safe... enough.

And terribly close to being out of power.  As she cleared the top of the mansion gates, her wings shut down, sending her crashing into the lawn below.