THE TRISKELION
DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA
LOCAL TIME 1015 (EST)
Sasha Bordeaux stood at attention, squinting into the sunlight which reflected off the gentle waters of the Potomac. Her uniform was, as ever, impeccable; not a crease to be found. Her short, black hair was pulled back into a tight bun with not a strand out of place. Around SHIELD headquarters, Bordeaux was a respected -- if not exactly
well-liked -- presence. She had a somewhat warranted reputation for being uptight. Even Director Fury, a man so austere as to exemplify the word, agreed with the general consensus that she could stand to let her hair down more often. For her part, Bordeaux stayed the course. It was no secret that she had climbed the ranks quickly, making Special Agent in less than half the normal time, and many saw her closeness with Director Fury as a sign that he was grooming her for leadership one day. If that meant coming off a bit overbearing, Sasha could live with that.
Some twenty yards or so down the landing pad, the man who served as Bordeaux's model of professionalism stood with arms crossed behind his back. Colonel Nicholas J. Fury looked exactly like the reputation that preceded him: tough, unwavering, grizzled. If he had ever been a young man, it was almost impossible to see it. The silvering at his temples and ever-present shade of stubble on his chin were inseparable from the man himself. As he stood, the long tails of his trenchcoat whipped around in the runoff from the engines of the Quinjet that had just landed. He watched with an unflinching gaze as two SHIELD agents disembarked from the craft, carrying between them a silver casket draped in the American flag. After they had presented it at his feet, Director Fury dismissed them with a nod, and the agents carted off the casket towards the hangar.
While the Quinjet pilot continued to throttle the engine down, Fury turned on a heel and started walking back in Bordeaux's direction. Instinctively, she fell into step with him, knowing full well that he would neither stop nor slow down for her benefit. Without so much as a glance in her direction, the Director grimaced through his teeth and asked,
"Has the family been notified?""Coulson went to speak to the mother this morning," Bordeaux reported. For that, she was grateful. Phil was much better suited to the task of consoling a grieving mother, anyway; he possessed the sort of innate warmness that others often felt Agent Bordeaux lacked. She suspected that the Director was equally relieved.
"And the funeral expenses?"Sasha nodded. "Already taken care of," she assured him dutifully. Perversely, she briefly contemplated that the service would need to be
closed casket. The initial autopsy report had landed on her desk before she passed it along to Fury, and to say the agent's death had been barbaric... Bordeaux quickly put those thoughts aside, seeing no need to dwell on it. Whatever the manner, the
reason for the killing had been made perfectly clear. After all, it hadn't been a coincidence that the agent's right eye had been gouged from its socket. SHIELD had a great many resources at its disposal, but for an undercover agent who's just been blown, there's little that even Nick Fury could do for them. Sasha knew it weighed on him.
Once back inside, Agent Bordeaux ventured to speak. "Sir, if I may," she began hesitantly, "what happens now?"
Director Fury paused at the elevator doors. His back was to her, so Sasha couldn't be sure... but she thought she heard him sigh. There was a gentle hum as the elevator slowed upon approach. As it 'ding'ed, Fury turned his head, just enough so that Agent Bordeaux could see the corner of his one good eye. He met her gaze and said,
"Now, we need to make a trip. Go tell the pilot to keep the engines warm. Wheels up in ten."It wasn't in Bordeaux's nature to question orders, so she didn't. She merely watched as Fury stepped into the elevator. Before the doors could close, however, she worked up the nerve to ask, "Should I give him a destination?"
WIND RIVER RANGE
WYOMING
LOCAL TIME 1640 (MST)
Sasha Bordeaux was growing restless and having a hard time hiding it. As the unmarked, black SUV wound through the mountain pass, its engine quietly humming as it climbed, she sat in her seat and tried to distract herself with passing glances at the forested beauty all around her. Perhaps at a different time, she would have been able to appreciate the unmolested beauty, the promise of "the West" alive and well, but she found herself unable to concentrate on anything but her mounting frustration. Information was everything to a Special Agent, and right now: she had none. The Director had been evasive and distant ever since leaving the Triskelion, burying himself in reports and giving cryptic half-answers to all of Sasha's questions. Most agents would've chalked that up to "Fury being Fury," but Sasha knew him better than that. Until now, she had always been able to get a straight answer... so long as she asked the right question.
To the Director's credit, despite the fact that he hadn't looked up from his documents in nearly half an hour, he still managed to somehow detect Bordeaux's frustration. Without so much as a glance in her direction, he merely turned the page on his report and spoke aloud,
"Is there something bothering you, agent?""With all due respect, sir," Agent Bordeaux began in a tone that suggested anything but, "we've been driving for hours, and you still haven't told me what exactly we're doing out here."
Director Fury looked up from the file in his lap. His lone remaining eye studied her briefly, betraying neither reproach nor sympathy for his subordinate's annoyance. After a moment, he sat up in the seat and closed the folder.
"Tell me, Bordeaux, what do you know of Captain America?" he asked with the restrained insistence of a schoolteacher.
Bordeaux was taken aback. Knowing this was somehow a test -- and determined, therefore, to succeed -- she gathered herself and began reciting what she knew. "He was a propaganda tool from World War II. He and the other 'Invaders' were characters created by wartime cartoonists to inspire hope and sell comic books."
"And as far as public knowledge goes, you're absolutely right," Fury conceded.
"But I'm about to let you in on a secret that maybe a dozen living people know: they were real." He paused to give the revelation some air to breathe.
"The old stories about a German scientist, an experimental serum, the lone test subject? They're all true."Agent Bordeaux took a second to process this information. Her reaction was not one of surprise; she had been with SHIELD far too long to be surprised by anything. Instead, she answered curiously, "Then why make everyone believe it was just propaganda?"
"After the war, it was decided that Captain America was most valuable to his country as a covert asset," Fury explained.
"A disinformation campaign began, starting with the story that Captain America perished at the end of the war while saving the world from an Axis superweapon. Once the world believed he was dead, it was a simple enough thing to convince them that he had never been alive to begin with. All evidence was destroyed; folks who knew anything were silenced. Captain America became a ghost. And with each succeeding conflict, America unleashed its ghost: each time a different name, a different story. Any witnesses were discredited, made to look like paranoid fools furthering a decades-old urban legend. Americans got to sleep tight while Steve Rogers fought for them.""Until he didn't," Bordeaux observed.
Fury gave a little nod.
"Rogers is an old soul. By the time I met him, he'd been fighting for half a century without end, each conflict murkier than the last. It started to take a toll on him. He couldn't reconcile who he was with what the world was becoming, and he left."Agent Bordeaux narrowed her eyes, suggesting, "But you're not telling me everything." She thought she detected a hint of surprise on Fury's face, but his features were so damn difficult to read that it was impossible to tell. Even still, she saw fit to press a little harder. As she motioned to the blur of green passing by their windows, she said, "If you're someone like Rogers, you don't come all the way out here because you're looking for a taste of the simple life; he's secluded himself for a reason." Satisfied with her deduction, she added, "Besides, SHIELD doesn't just let people walk away."
"They do when those people can single-handedly topple regimes," Fury countered.
"Steve Rogers is not the sort of enemy you want to make."That made enough sense, Sasha supposed. The next question was an obvious one. "Then, what makes you think he'll be our ally instead?"
"Because deep down, Rogers is like me; he's a soldier," the Director answered.
Before Bordeaux had time to reflect on that, she felt the SUV slowing. For a moment, there was nothing to see out the windows but more trees until the road opened out onto a clearing. There, atop a small hill, was a modest log cabin. The roof was lined with solar panels, and wisps of smoke curled up from the chimney. A lone car was parked in front of the house: an old pickup truck that might've been cherry red once before half the paint chipped off. In the distance, Sasha could make out the shape of a well near the treeline. This place was so far off the grid that she was
almost surprised Fury had found it; just another testament to the power of SHIELD surveillance.
When the car finally pulled to a stop, Agent Bordeaux stepped out alongside Director Fury and their two accompanying agents. None of them were visibly armed -- by Fury's request -- but she knew the Director, at least, had a sidearm holstered beneath his trenchcoat. Unsure of how SHIELD and this Captain Rogers left things, she didn't know if he'd need it... nor whether it'd do them any good, if the old stories about Captain America were to be believed. The Director instructed the two agents to stay with the car and began trudging up the gravel driveway. Sasha followed. They hadn't made it more than ten paces before the door to the cabin opened, and a dark shape came rushing out.
Bordeaux's hand snapped to her waist, searching for a gun that wasn't there. For a second, panic kicked in until a shrill whistle cut through the clearing and stopped the shape in its tracks. Now that it had stopped moving, Sasha could see that it was a dog, a chocolate Labrador who glared in a less-than-menacing way at them. With the immediate threat contained, Agent Bordeaux looked past the lab to the figure standing in the now-open doorway. Tall, broad-shouldered, and sporting a thick beard the color of straw, the man who might've been Captain America issued a command,
"Scout, here," and the dog bounded back towards the cabin.
Director Fury was the first to break the silence that followed.
"It's been a long time, Steve.""Perhaps not long enough," Rogers answered. After a moment, he said,
"Well, it must be important if you came all this way. Go on; say your piece.""Aren't you going to invite me inside first?" Fury challenged.
Rogers narrowed his eyes. Fury was clearly testing the boundaries, but he hadn't overstepped them yet. Taking a moment to survey the team, Rogers returned his gaze to Fury and declared,
"Fine. But only you. The rest wait outside."The Director agreed with a nod. Agent Bordeaux made a move as if to protest, but Fury froze her with a look. She didn't like it, but she wasn't left with a choice. Arms crossed, she watched helplessly as Director Fury made the trek up to the cabin alone.
nitemare shape
Sep
Fetzen
Morden Man