#ALL SHIELD PERSONNEL

[callmeoperator]

"Oh, yep, this is definitely broken and we are not moving." Micah looked up from the elevator panel whose buttons he had been pushing futility.

"How long do you think it will take maintenance to notice?"

[agentsterling]

"Alright. Sector secure. Let's pack it up and meet at triage." Sterling called over his headset radio to his fellow agents. He didn't go on field missions so much anymore, but he never passed up and opportunity to help evacuate civilians during Avengers battles when they needed extra agents on the scene. Not only was it rewarding while still getting that adrenaline rush of field work, but he and Barton got to drop out for food after if neither of them were in need of hospitalization.

He stepped carefully over a pile of rubble as he went to make his way back to base camp and check in with the other teams.

[infiniitefrequency]

"Yeah, nice try but no, I'm gonna have to write you up for this."

[shieldmagicops]

"If you could keep up the cover fire a little longer, I'd appreciate it. I'm very busy telling the laws of physics to sit down and shut up right now."

[agentdianaboston]

"Morning, all. I brought coffee."

"...I actually don't know what kind of coffee people drink, so it's kind of a hodgepodge."

[transmechanicus]

The description here confuses the hell out of me like i know this is the Blood Games and Custodes already have unlimited authority, but what's this about bribing a tech priest and taking control of a battlefleet solar ship, like are those ppl involved not going to be killed for helping with this training exercise??

I must say the author of the codex fluff story has managed the impossible: they managed not only the first canon appearance of a female custodes, but she also is a fan-favourite now.

[circeyoru]

The Only Reason

[Yandere!Sung Jinwoo x Worker!Reader]

Note: I have no idea what to call this AU, but I don't think a lot of people will read this so... Haha~ Mental AU? Chaos AU?

Update! This AU is called Mana Chaos AU! Plus there's Part 2 up!!

Part 1 (here) 一 Part 2 — Part 3 — Part 4

Once, the world’s strongest Hunters were revered as humanity’s saviours and heroes for the weak and ordinary. They were once treated like celebrities and hold the highest power and authority. They were respected, praised, and idolized. They still were, now, with a hint of fear.

It all happened due to the infamous incident now dubbed as <The Outrage Incident>. It happened like any other day, in any other country, in any other city. But to only that one strong Hunter. He was an S-Rank Mage, a successful and loved one at that. The story goes like this. 

One day, this powerful Hunter was out on the street enjoying a day off, but something set him off and he used his powerful ability to set things right. It would have been the end of it since an S-Rank’s threat was enough to make the majority crumble. However, his power got out of control and caused an outrage to his being. He was using his powers in public and there was no dungeon outbreak or monsters nearby for him. No amount of justification could calm the public.

After that one incident, other countries’ S-Rank or higher started to experience a similar issue. The worst case was that even Healers of their level didn’t escape such a phenomenon. Soon, the public feared the strong protectors they once saw as shields and swords against the gates. 

Researchers and scientists were put to work quickly to investigate why and how this issue was happening now. The answer was in the overflowing mana levels within their bodies that couldn’t be contained since the human body was weak and frail for such a change. Addition to that, it correlated to the Hunter’s emotional level and their control. Institutions were built to imprison house the S-Ranks while monitoring their situation. 

Whenever an S-Rank’s mana levels and emotions show signs of <Outrage>, a term they now use to describe the Hunter going haywire with their powers on everything and anything around them, they will be sent to a dungeon alone. In the people’s eyes, it was better for that one Hunter to die in battle than kill innocents. Because at first, it was only the S-Ranks, but then some A-Ranks would fall victim to <Outrage> as well. 

The professionals have named the correlation as Emotional Mana, EM for short, which made way for the Emotional Mana Institution, EMI for strong Hunters. The Hunters were treated like mental patients or worse, forced into a straitjacket and some had a muzzle for certain Hunters. These were specially designed and created items that limit and restricts a Hunter’s use of their powers and abilities. 

It was a miracle that someone managed to create such equipment. That someone was also targetted by the S-Ranks after being announced and killed for such a disrespectful act, still the blueprints and prototypes were created and other talents that took over were able to finalize the perfect form.

“Personnel 002, you were specifically requested by SM-10.” 

You looked up from your laptop and paused in your rapid typing for just a few second before you looked back to your screen and continued typing. That code name was to protect you and everyone else that worked in EMI or have some form of connection to it, so that no innocent is sacrificed for the greater good. Still, you can’t get used to it nor do you want to. “I’m busy.”

“Please… SM-10 is way too picky with the people that enters his cell.” This person, Supervisor 843, was one of the newest employee to join the crew. Though, unlike the name of the duty, they were people that were disposable hence the frequent newcomers and high number. “Please help me.”

You sighed and glared up at the person who had a mask over their head and a voice changer to mask their identity. Though, with the way they were speaking, you could deduce this person was a ‘she’. You got up and snatched the file extended to you. Just when you thought you could rest and work in peace, trouble comes knocking on your door. “Get me a drink and some refreshment, I want to see it on my desk by the time I’m back.”

“Yes? Yes!” Supervisor 843 bowed and clapped her hands together, “I’ll do so!”

As swiftly and automatically, you made your way through the hallways and doorways, tapping your access card to unlock needed doors and lifts for your travel. On the way, other Supervisors nodded their heads and bowed in your presence when you walked by. Unlike them who wear a uniform, you only have a lab coat over your usual outfits. You don’t even have a mask or voice changer. 

Why?

You stood in front of the door that was labelled in bold ‘SM-10’, meaning the 10th S-Rank in Korea that belonged to the Mage class. The guard dressed in black from head to toe nodded their heads at you before they started unlocking the various security checkpoints and locks for you to enter into a battlefield in its own right.

“Will one hour be enough, Personnel 002?” One of the guards asked.

“Not sure, just be alert in case I need to rush out.” You spoke stoically with indifference.

Step by step, you walked in, announcing loudly of your arrival to the individual inside. The doors closed behind you and locked you inside with what everyone feared. You sighed and put away your glasses since there was no need for it right now. The room was eerily silent and cold, something you were long used to. 

You took a few more steps, walking deeper into the room where it seemed to get darker and darker even though the lights in all housed Hunters would be on 24/7 to monitor their actions and activities within the room. 

Just when your vision failed you to the point where you can’t see what was in front of you, you were enveloped in a pair of strong arms, your entire form effortlessly pulled back till your back was pressed against a firm wall of muscle one would call chest and abs. Hair tickled one side of your cheek and neck, you felt a breath cooed before a deep voice rang in your ear, “I’ve been waiting for my favourite Personnel~”

It wasn’t at all odd that your name was called as well, if it was someone like him, he’d know everything there was to know. In fact, everyone should be worshipping him right now for his controlled and well-mannered behaviour. Especially when he could have destroyed this entire facility and killed everyone in it within seconds if he so wished. 

“Jinwoo. I need to work, don’t bully the newcomers.” You sighed while looking to the side as if making eye contact with him. 

“I like it when you call me by name and not some code, thanks for that.” Jinwoo hummed as he played with your fingers. “I guess I’ll think about it. It’s a bit bored here, you understand.”

“You removed your straitjacket again.” You let him fiddle with your fingers as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. “You’ll get caught one of these days and then it’ll be game over.”

“Igris helped me remove it. You know how they are with seeing me constrained and imprisoned here.” He chuckled and leaned back, but it turned out he was just taking a seat, presumably on his bed since you still couldn’t see anything in the darkness. “Don’t worry, I’ve made sure no one could see me free and they didn’t kill anyone. Yet.”

Every Hunter that was admitted into the EMI was evaluated and thoroughly investigated to create the perfect profile for reference. All their fighting style, powers and abilities, weapons of choice, gear type, and any other detail was accounted down. It was all for people to be prepared in case one would have an <Outrage> and they were needed to be countered by weaker Hunters. 

For Jinwoo, however, his profile was lacking to put it in the best terms. His mana levels were unmeasureable, yes, so he was placed as an S-Rank. Though, his powers and abilities were unknown. Since he was a Reawakened Hunter, most would assume he was the same class as he was as an E-Rank; a Fighter Class. But he exhibit <Telekinese> and <Shadow Manipulation> so he was placed as into Mage class.

That wasn’t even the tip of the iceberg. 

You saw through his innocence and lie, uncovering his true powers and abilities. To be honest, even if you told your higher-ups of Jinwoo’s secrets, there was nothing they could do to counter it. Jinwoo was a league of his own and only you knew it. He was no mere S-Rank, he was definitely a National Level Hunter.

Ah, yes. The question as to why you don’t wear a mask or bother having done anything to hide your identity. It was not because you’ve been in one of the people who has been in service of EMI for the longest time or wanted something as shallow as respect from the newcomers or other coworkers. It was completely because you knew it was useless to hide when someone like Sung Jinwoo had his eyes on you.

“I’ll try and arrange a dungeon for you to raid.” You marked down on your phone while Jinwoo continued to treat you like a teddy bear.

“You have to join though. If you don’t…” Jinwoo’s voice went deeper as glowing eyes stared at you from the shadows, “I don’t know what I’ll do to get your attention…”

You nodded, pushing down the urge to flinch or jerk away from him. It was normal, something you expected but still unnerving to hear with your own ear from his lips. You swear this place made the Hunters mad in the head, it was a place that made them sick and mentally ill, it wasn’t actually helping them at all. “Yeah, of course. I’m sure everyone will be relieved to hear it.”

Jinwoo smirked as his arms tightened around you, his face buried between your neck and shoulder. “You’re the only reason I stay here. Remember that. If you leave here… Leave me… I’ll do what Thomas Andre did to America.”

Note: I can't help it, it was supposed to upload the requested ones first, but then this idea hit me like a truck (without the isekai part), so now here it is. There are like 2 requested stories written and ready to be posted, but I'm double checking and stuff. Hope you like this AU/idea.

Circe Y.

My Works: MASTERLIST

Taglist: (none at the moment)

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Halloween! Would love more of F is for Frankenstein! 🧟‍♂️

a continuation of 1

Twelve hours later JARVIS has brought him up to speed on what was clearly the weirdest week of his life, the fabrication units are working on a better container for his corpse than the damn suit, and they’ve identified nearly a hundred ways that this plan isn’t going to work.

JARVIS isn’t deterred.

One of the advantages of being a synthetic person is that he can’t feel exhaustion physically, although this whole experience has confirmed that he can feel it mentally. The downside to this is that he doesn’t have any sort of natural que to alert him to the passage of time.

Which means he doesn’t have any idea how long it’s been until it occurs him to check and he frowns. There’s something not quite right, besides the obvious. “Did you – shouldn’t I have gotten some calls or something by now? What did you tell them?”

It’s been almost twenty four hours since he died. Even with the clean up from a massive alien invasion to see too, he’s sort of expected someone to reach out to him. Agent Coulson is such a stickler for timely debriefs –

Ah. He was such a stickler for timely debriefs. Tony isn’t the only one that hadn’t gotten out of this mess alive.

“Sir has received eighty nine assorted calls and texts from Miss Potts, fifty three from Colonel Rhodes, one hundred and twelve from Mr. Hogan, and seventeen from various SHIELD personnel. Two of those are from Director Fury personally. There have been close to a thousand from various news and media companies, but those have been ignored and deleted per Sir’s standing orders.”

It’s amazing how well he’s able to synthesize and interpret emotion. He’d installed a rudimentary AI into – well, himself, he guesses, and that combined with the memory dump is really exceeding all of his expectations. He knows this because he’s appalled. “JARVIS! What the hell? If we’re going to convince the world I’m not dead, we have to talk to people!”

“Is that what we’re going to do?” JARVIS asks.

There’s steel in his voice, a warning buried in there. TONY’s heard that tone before but never, ever directed at him.

Except it’s not. Jarvis would never talk to Tony Stark like that, but he’s not Tony Stark. He’s just one more robot and AI for Jarvis to corral, although sophistication wise he’s several steps ahead of his helper bots. Except he might not be, because not even Butterfingers would be dumb enough to agree to something like this.

“It’s not going to work,” he says harshly, because it isn’t. “But yeah, I guess that’s what we’re going to do.”

“Calling Miss Potts,” JARVIS says promptly, and Jesus, that’s not what he meant at all.

“Don’t,” he hisses, but of course it’s too late and Pepper picks up immediately.

“Tony?” she asks, voice shaky and hoarse and faint. She’s been crying. She’s been crying hard enough that it’s stolen her voice and he knows Jarvis was focused on other things, but he could have at least sent her a text. “Are you okay? Where are you?”

He breathes and then leans over, elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. He doesn’t even have an omelette to hide behind this time. He knows he’s dead and he’s seriously considering the idea that this is hell.

“Tony?” she repeats, voice going up several notches in the way he hates. She’s afraid. He hates when she’s afraid.

He forces him mouth to move, forces words pass his lips. “Hey, Pep.”

“Oh god, Tony,” she says and then there are tears again. He wishes he could hold her, could kiss her tears away and could fold his arms around her delicate shoulder and tuck her beneath his chin, keeping her safe and keeping her close. Except he can’t do any of that, because he’s not Tony Stark. “Tony, Tony – you left so quickly and we couldn’t find you and no one’s been able to get in contact with you and JARVIS is offline in the tower and – where are you? Are you okay? I watched you fly that bomb into the portal, and,” she has to cut herself off to try and keep from crying again.  

You watched me die, he thinks, although he obviously doesn’t say it. “Hey, breathe for me, okay? Deep calming breaths, I know you have a lot experience with those around me-”

“Don’t tell me to breathe!” she snaps. “Where are you, Tony? What’s going on?”

He hesitates. They haven’t discussed this, and they really should have before JARVIS put that call through. Unless this is a test, and wow, his AI are such assholes. That old curse about having kids that are just like you is making more sense by the second.

“Something happened to my memory,” he says, which is probably the only true thing he’ll be able to tell her and will hopefully cover the gaps of things that JARVIS couldn’t tell him. “I got here and passed out and I just woke up and I panicked and I don’t – I saw space, and the – the aliens, which is so weird to say Pepper, I need you to fully appreciate how weird that is, but my head is killing me and nothing makes sense. The last memory I have on Earth is us running final checks on the clean energy prototype.”

He's a terrible person. Or, well, a terrible android. Whatever.

“Where is here?” she presses, her voice softening and strengthening both. It’s always so much easier for her get her bearings when she’s the one taking care of him, which is probably why she’s always so steady. She’s always taking care of him. “Where are you, Tony?”

There’s no getting around this one. Jarvis probably won’t be happy about it, but TONY isn’t really happy with him right now either. “Malibu. I’m at the Malibu house. Sorry, I don’t know why I came here – I mean, I really don’t, I was blacked out for most of it. Give me a couple hours for everything to stop spinning and I’ll head back to New York. Wait, are you still in New York? You were going have to leave early for that thing after we tested the prototype-”

“I am in New York now,” she says, almost sounding calm. “Do not fly the suit if things are spinning Tony, I swear to god.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine, just a little spinning, you’re so dramatic-”

“Tony!” she interrupts, but the hitch in her voice is laughter instead of tears. “God, Tony. I’m so glad you’re okay. I love you, so, so much.”

If there is a hell for androids, that’s where he’s going.

“Yeah,” he says, “I’m glad you’re okay too, Pep.” He can’t say it but he has to say it because Tony would say it, because Tony loves saying it, because he loves her so much that it sits heavier on his chest than the arc reactor ever could. “I love you too.”

He stares at his hands for a long time after the call ends. His fingerprints are Tony’s, of course, and his hair is Tony’s and his memories are Tony’s and this feeling that he wants to call love belongs to Tony too. None of it is his.

Well, except the guilt. That’s definitely his.

“Incoming call from Colonel Rhodes,” JARVIS announces.

“Answer it,” he says. Why is he so damn tired? He’ll have to run a diagnostic on his processors later.

There’s nothing but harsh breathing down the line, filling every corner of the workshop. TONY thinks, maybe a little hysterically, that it’s the only breathing happening here. He’s designed to mimic it, but it’s nothing besides that, mimicry. “Hi Papa Bear, how are things?”

The heavy breathing stops, for so long that TONY wonders if they got disconnected, then Rhodey bites out, “I’m going to kill you, Tony! I’m too damn old for this, you can’t keep giving me heart attacks every time I take my eyes off you!”

Too late. Tony’s already dead.

“You’re only two years older than me,” he says. “If it weren’t for me, you would have been the youngest freshman at MIT. Besides, a heart attack or two is character building, I’ve had like. Seven. Ish.”

“Reminding me how many times you’ve almost died is not your smartest move right now,” Rhodey says. “Tell me you’re okay.”

It’s a demand, an order, firm and unyielding like he’s one of Rhodey’s underlings. Except that Tony was giving orders way before Rhodey was, with the whole running his own multi-billion dollar business thing, and that tone of voice has never worked on him. Still, he says, “I’m okay.”

“Tony,” he says warningly, clearly not believing him, which is fair enough. He is lying.

TONY sighs, hanging his head like he can stretch the tension out of him, but that’s not how things work anymore. He’s vibranium and silicone and some other interesting materials and all his tension is mental. “Sour patch, I’m fine. Okay? Confused as all hell, but I’m okay. I’m sorry I worried you. I really didn’t mean to.”

“You never mean to,” Rhodey says, but his voice has softened and lowered. It sounds like he’s holding the phone even closer. “You almost never mean to.”

“It’s just difficult, is the thing, because you’re a little prone to worrying, a worrywart, as your mother might say-”

“My mother worries more about you than me and always has even though I used to be only one us getting blown up,” he says.

TONY pauses, considering. “Well, she is a smart lady.”

“Damn straight,” he agrees. “Pepper says you’re in Malibu. I can be there in two hours.”

“No!” he shouts, then winces. His eyes skitter over to the suit holding Tony’s body. They need a plan and that plan can’t involve Rhodey being here in two hours. “Don’t. Stay with Pepper. Please.”

“She’s fine,” Rhodey retorts. “You-”

“I’m fine,” he interrupts. “I’m fine, she’s fine, we’re both fine, except she’s in the city that was recently invaded by murderous aliens and I’m not and I have a suit of armor with repulsor technology and she doesn’t, so. Stay with her. Please.”

The silence drags on then Rhodey lets out an aggravated sigh. “Fine. But get your ass over here and if you miss another call from either of us I’m heading over, no matter what you say.”

“Sir yes sir,” he says.

He expects Rhodey to hang up on him then, but he lingers, nothing but his real, non synthetic breathing on the other end. “You really scared me this time. I saw the news reports and then we couldn’t find you-”

“Hey,” he says softly. A bomb and Tony disappearing and Rhodey unable to anything about it. Tony wasn’t the only one of them that had nightmares after Afghanistan. Neither of them had ever been particularly good at sleeping, but it was nearly impossible those months after, when he and Rhodey were fighting and Tony was hiding Iron Man and they still crawled into the same bed because Rhodey got frantic if he reached out in the middle of the night and found the bed empty. Which he often would, considering how much time Tony was spending in his workshop.

They shared a bed more after Afghanistan than before it. Rhodey had been willing to risk the paparazzi and exposure if his other option was staring up at his ceiling and having a panic attack about Tony being gone. Tony had been bitter about that, which certainly hadn’t helped their fight about weapons manufacturing any.

Pepper’s nightmares had been easier. She’d only been his assistant and friend at the time, after all. She would call him at two or three or four in the morning – or all three – and have some sort of urgent question or something for him to sign and he just went along with it because she just needed to hear his voice to fall back asleep and he’d learned after the first teary voicemail and alert from JARVIS that when he didn’t pick up, her vitals were out of acceptable range, per the prototype StarkWatch on her wrist.

It wasn’t until after they got together that she told him she actually drove to his house most nights and called him from her car rather than her bed. Just in case he didn’t answer, which wasn’t logical and didn’t make any sense at all but Pepper hadn’t pretended it had.

They’d all gone a little crazy, after Gulmira, but they’d settled.

But this is going to bring it all bubbling up and if TONY doesn’t figure out a way to reassure them then they’re going to want to stick close to him like they had before and he can’t let them do that. He can’t keep up pretending to be Tony forever and it’s going to be either Pepper or Rhodey who figures it out. He doesn’t need to help that process along at all.

Except that since they watched Tony fly a nuke into space and then hadn’t heard from him in two days, that’s basically impossible. The fact that it wasn’t three months and from their perspective he’s actually fine is going to help, but the level of damage control he’s capable of here is fairly minimal.

Still, he has to try.

“Honey,” he says, making his voice soft and warm like Tony only does when they’re alone. He doesn’t know where Rhodey is now, if he’s somewhere private, but he doesn’t hang up or stop him. All the stupid nicknames were fun and genuinely affectionate but they were also cover for the times that Tony slipped and called him something he shouldn’t, a little too genuine and not quite kitsch enough to pass muster. “Love, it’s okay. I got my head knocked around some, that’s all. And because I freaked out and ended up on the wrong side of the country, I need you in New York, doing what I can’t. That’s all. I’ll be there soon.”

If there’s a hell for androids, TONY is going there and the hellfire will be hot enough to melt his vibranium core, which, you know, is going to the be least of what he deserves.

“I love you,” Rhodey says. TONY closes his eyes. “You know that, right, baby? I do.”

It’s a bad, bad sign that Rhodey is the one using pet names, especially over the phone. “I know. Of course I know. I’ve always known.”

Over two decades of secrets and hiding and fooling around with women he didn’t give a shit about, before Pepper, and through every lonely, angry, desperately sad moment of it, Tony had known that Rhodey loved him. He wouldn’t have put up with that shit for anything less.

Tony died knowing that Rhodey loved him. TONY is sure of it. It’s the worst sort of cold comfort and he’s glad that he can’t offer it.

“I love you,” TONY echoes, because Tony’s been saying it for twenty six years and there’s no good reason for him to stop now.

Except that Tony is dead. He’ll never tell Rhodey that he loves him again.

One day Rhodey and Pepper will find out that the truth and know that while they heard Tony’s voice telling them what they needed to hear, while they let relief nudge out the fear, Tony was dead and cold and gone.

He hates this. This wasn’t what he was programmed for.

This isn’t what Tony would have wanted. But until he can convince JARVIS of that, they’re all stuck in this hell of the AI’s making.

[qiu-yan]

just to be clear, my own position on the issue of post-sunshot yunmeng jiang is as follows:

post-sunshot yunmeng jiang was politically weak. yunmeng jiang - which had suffered the near-absolute massacre of all of its personnel, fought through an entire war, was occupied by the enemy for a significant period of time, was now led by a teenager with almost no political experience, and was now the sole great sect excluded from the alliance implied by the venerated triad - was weak in terms of manpower, available resources, and political position. yunmeng jiang was not "flourishing" after the sunshot campaign; the mere 2-4 years between the fall of lotus pier and wei wuxian's defection from yunmeng jiang does not provide enough time for yunmeng jiang to recover to a stable position from near-absolute annihilation and lengthy enemy occupation. the claim that [the draw of wei wuxian's demonic cultivation singlehandedly resurrected yunmeng jiang's manpower and political power] also does not make logical sense, because wei wuxian was not actually teaching anyone demonic cultivation.

by contrast, post-sunshot lanling jin was the strongest and most stable political entity in the cultivation world, given that lanling jin was the sole great sect still led by a politically experienced member of the previous generation instead of a teenager, given lanling jin's prewar levels of wealth, given that lanling jin did not suffer a direct attack by the wen like yunmeng jiang or gusu lan, and given lanling jin's relatively low levels of participation in the sunshot campaign.

post-sunshot yunmeng jiang could not have politically afforded to officially protect wei wuxian and the wen remnants after wei wuxian liberated said remnants from the jin-run qiongqi pass labor camp. officially shielding wei wuxian would entail keeping wei wuxian as the head disciple of yunmeng jiang; therefore, officially shielding wei wuxian would mean that the head disciple of yunmeng jiang attacked and killed members of lanling jin and other affiliated sects. this in turn would then entail yunmeng jiang making an enemy out of lanling jin. furthermore, given that public opinion was already turning against wei wuxian, and given lanling jin's ties to the other three great sects through the venerated triad sworn brotherhood, this in turn makes it highly likely that yunmeng jiang would end up standing against the rest of the entire cultivation world - which is not a situation the weakened yunmeng jiang could survive. in better-case scenarios, consequences of this could include yunmeng jiang paying massive restitutions to lanling jin and/or all the other sects whose members wei wuxian harmed; in the worst-case scenario, this would entail a second fall of lotus pier.

yunmeng jiang is a political entity made up of human beings. yunmeng jiang is not some shiny bauble that exists solely for jiang cheng's personal satisfaction; rather, it is an organization made up of human beings whose lives have moral value. to say "yunmeng jiang would be put into danger" is to say "the disciples of yunmeng jiang would be put into danger;" to say "yunmeng jiang would not survive" is to say "the disciples of yunmeng jiang would die."

a leader's first and foremost duty is to his own people. by the social contract theory, the people consent to give up a portion of their freedoms to the state in return for protection of their rights by the state; the state is afforded the authority to govern the people only through the agreement that the state in turn acts in the best interests of the people and their rights. jiang cheng's mandate to rule the disciples of yunmeng jiang as sect leader jiang, therefore, is derived from the mutual understanding that he act first and foremost in their best interest - that he put their safety and their wellbeing above all else. while an individual hero is free to choose a moral framework that does not center consequences as the source of moral judgment, a leader instead is duty-bound consider the consequences for his people. if jiang cheng had yunmeng jiang side with wei wuxian despite the danger this would put yunmeng jiang into, and/or if jiang cheng left yunmeng jiang to stand alone with wei wuxian, then he would be abandoning his duty as sect leader jiang to protect his people.

both wei wuxian and jiang cheng understood all of the above. when jiang cheng goes to confront wei wuxian in the burial mounds after wei wuxians' attack on the qiongqi pass labor camp - a situation in which jiang cheng has no reason to be dishonest - jiang cheng does not call the wen remnants evil or say that they deserve to die. rather, he says that "if you insist on protecting them, then i cannot protect you" - to which wei wuxian replies that, in that case, jiang cheng should let him go. this specific word choice implies that what stops jiang cheng from siding with wei wuxian is not hatred of the wen remnants alone, but rather the knowledge that he does not have the power to successfully protect wei wuxian and yunmeng jiang if wei wuxian insists on protecting the wen remnants. jiang cheng's words are an admission of his own lack of power, not his hatred.

i believe that multiple interpretations of the text are possible, as is the case with almost all fiction. the above is my own interpretation of the text and what i believe the text most logically implies.

[callmeoperator]

"-A medical team is on the way. I just need you to stay with me now until they get there."

"Tell me a story. Just... humor me on this one, alright?"

[agentsterling]

Again

Dressed to move in a SHIELD issue t-shirt and black sweat pants, Sterling breathed hard as he stood there, fists raised and feet bare. It was probably the most under-dressed anyone in SHIELD had ever seen him outside of his own home but he had learned to dress down a bit in his short time undercover. It was something he tried not to lose when he came back despite his love affair with suits and formality. 

“Again.” He panted, stepping back into a fighting stance to initiate the next sparring round. He was already a bit roughed up but he was trying very desperately to keep up with field training despite having been promoted to department head. People kept telling him that as a department head he didn't need to go into the field but they didn't understand how much trouble followed him. He needed to feel ready. Everyone around him still seemed to see him only as a desk jockey despite the years he'd given to SHIELD and the pain it gave back. Baby Agent. Field Rookie. Sure, the desk is where he felt most comfortable but he needed this. 

He needed this. 

“Again.” 

[infiniitefrequency]

“A large percentage of day to day arrests in Hell’s Kitchen are against the homeless population. Even more so people of color, and/or lgbtq+ youths. I am documenting this for one of my classes ... and to send anonymously to the media.”

“Studies have also shown that the majority of white males that gravitate towards law enforcement, do so because they see it as being in a position of power and control, rather than to serve and protect.”

[shieldmagicops]

Wednesday mornings were for meditation. While the sessions was aimed at his junior agents, a recent conversation had made Augustine realize than opening it up to SHIELD at large might be a good thing. Many an agent could use a moment to focus their thoughts, a moment of peaceful breathing.

He hoped the flyer he posted in the breakroom might draw in someone who needed it. Some parts of SHIELD seemed wary of his department.

The large room, normally used as a space for casters to practice their craft, had mats set out for the comfort of the participants he hoped might arrive. Augustine took a seat on a mat, cross-legged and eyes closed, at the front of the room. Now to wait.

[frozenchihuahua]

Chapter 1-

Lieutenant Simon “Ghost” Riley, sat in the therapist's office, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the clock on the wall. Mandated therapy sessions, ordered by John Price, felt more like a punishment than anything beneficial. He was determined to make this as difficult as possible for the new therapist.

“How can someone be late for the first session?” he muttered under his breath, fiddling with a pocketknife in his hands.

The sound of the door opening interrupted his grumbling.

“Sorry I’m late!” A warm, apologetic voice filled the room. “It’s pouring out there, and I forgot my umbrella.”

Ghost looked up to see his new therapist enter. That wasn’t what he had expected—young woman, younger than him but not much, with rain-soaked hair but somehow a soft demeanor. She set her things on the desk without a hint of formality, she placed a dry towel underneath herself, then plopped onto the sofa opposite him, smiling despite her damp clothes.

“Simon Riley, right?” she asked, still catching her breath. “I’m Y/N L/N, you're therapist like you may see. I’ve been working with military personnel, so don’t worry—I’m familiar with all the jargon...probably.” she chuckles.

“Simon.” he replied curtly, studying her with skepticism.

Y/N didn’t seem like someone who has competencies to this. She seemed too carefree for this. Still, Ghost immediately put up his defenses, He was damn irritated by this 'forced' therapy.

“So, how’s this supposed to work?” he asked with clear sarcasm. “Am I supposed to lie on a couch and tell you about my feelings?” He added a bit of irony to the last word, his tone dripping with disdain.

Y/N laughed lightly, she wasn't affected by the man's sarcastic tone. “No, not at all. At first, you can talk about whatever you want or just sit there, and do nothing.” she said calmly. “” Real” therapy doesn’t usually start until a few sessions in. For now, I’d just like to get to know you a little.”

Ghost raised an eyebrow in disbelief. She was nothing like any therapist he had encountered before...she’s strange, without a shadow of a professionalism. “You really think you can get to know someone in…” He glanced at the clock and groaned. “…fifty minutes?”

Woman smiled wider, as if she were secretly waiting for every one of his questions. She leaned slightly towards him.

“Enough to get an idea” she said with a shrug.

Ghost rolled his eyes, his irritation drip clear in his posture.

“Well, my day’s been fucking crap” he said bluntly. “Had to come here, on a completely unnecessary..." The man smirk, "therapy".” He paused before grudgingly adding, “And yours? You got completely soaked.”

She chuckled softly. Wet blonde strands stubbornly stuck to her face.

“Well, mine sucks, i’m soaked and cold” she admitted, glancing down at her damp coat. “But look outside, it’s pouring, yes, but in here it’s dry and warm. We’ve got tea, so it’s not all That bad.”

Her casual, almost cheerful demeanor threw Ghost off balance, her behavior made him nauseous; he was already fed up just thinking about the fact that he couldn't quit this shit.

Ghost sighed deeply, the sound carrying his frustration. He shifted in his chair, leaning back with an air of defiance as if challenging the woman to prove this wasn’t a waste of his time. He studied her again, her calmness almost irritating in its simplicity.

"You don't seem the type" he said abruptly, voice low but pointed.

Y/N tilted her head, her curiosity genuine. "The type for what?"

"Therapist." he replied bluntly. "You look too soft for this line of work."

Her lips curled into a faint smile, not offended but amused. "Soft, huh? I’ll take that as a compliment. But really? Maybe you’ve got me all wrong."

His brow furrowed. He didn’t like being wrong, though he wouldn’t admit it. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his mask a shield for the flicker of interest her words stirred.

"Is that so? Enlighten me then."

She crossed her legs and clasped her hands together, her demeanor still light but now carrying an undertone of seriousness. "Well, Simon, i’m not here to fix you or tell you what to do. My job is to create a space where you can feel... human again, if you want to. That’s not easy. That’s damn hard when you’ve spent years building walls so thick you can’t even see daylight anymore."

He stiffened at her words. "You think you know me?"

"No no, not yet." she replied, unflinching. "But I know the type. i’ve worked with soldiers, operatives, people who’ve seen more than we ever think. And the one thing I’ve learned? Everyone’s got a story. And those stories weigh heavy, whether you admit it or not."

He scoffed, leaning back again, arms crossed once more. "So what? You think I’m just gonna spill mine because you’ve got some fancy degree and a couch?”

“No.” she replied calmly, mirroring his posture with a subtle confidence. “What I want is for you to talk to me like an equal by the time we’re done here, no pressure. Just two people having a normal conversation. So, instead of diving into the deep end and dredging up traumas, let’s start with something simple. Let’s just get to know each other.”

Her tone was steady, her words deliberate but she wasn’t trying to pry or force her way past his walls. Instead, she was extending a kind of olive branch, offering to meet him on common ground.

Ghost raised an eyebrow, skepticism etched into every line of his body. “Get to know each other, huh? Bullshit, what’s that supposed to do?”

“It’s suppose to keep us from wanting to kill each other over the next year.” she said, offering him a convincing smile, one that seemed to almost lighten the weight in the room. “Either way, we’re stuck with each other for the year.”

"Great." he muttered dryly. "A year of this...”

~Gusy i'm not a therapist, the whole story is pure fiction, just have a good time while reading!

English is not my first language, if i made a mistake, please let me know.

- Chapter 2 - ⬇️

[arlana-likes-to-write]

Medusa

Summary: When Fury calls you into his office, you expected to be in trouble not to be offered a spot on the team with the Avengers. Unfortunately, you have a secret you want no one to know about.

Relationships: Avenger x reader (platonic)

Warnings: implied sexual assault, reader is a mutant (similar powers to Mystic), memory loss, mention of death, protective Avengers, fluff, small amount of angst

Medusa tattoo is often interpreted as representing strength, power, and female empowerment. More specifically, some people get a medusa tattoo to indicate that they are a survivor of sexual violence and to symbolize their own empowerment

You thought you were getting fired when Fury called you into his office. You racked your brain for any possibilities that could have led you here. All your mission reports were completed and handed in. You passed your certifications with flying colors. Maybe that dipshit agent reported you. What was his name? Tom? His hand drifted a little too low for your liking during training, and you punched him in the dick. Maria didn’t even bat an eye as he rolled around the ground in pain. “Why do you look nervous?” The director asked.

“Am I in trouble, sir?” You questioned. He folded his hands and rested them on his desk.

“Did you do something that would warrant you being in trouble?” You shrugged. The man rolled his one good eye and pointed to the chair. You sat down, a knot still formed in your stomach. “The Avengers have a mission, and I think your skill sets would be helpful.” He handed you a mission report. You opened it and glanced at it. There wasn’t a lot to go on. The Avengers were looking to get into a HYDRA base that was continuing experiments on misguided individuals. The problem was they needed to find out where the facility was located.

“In 3 days, there will be a party in DC where a few suspected HYDRA personnel will be there,” Fury explained. You looked at the man, still confused about why he believed you were the right agent for the job. “The team has someone in custody invited to the party.” There it was. You closed the file and handed it back to him.

“Do they know?” The question was burning on your tongue since he said you would be joining the team.

“Do you think I’d tell them?” The man looked offended. He was the only one that knew of the scars that covered your body. “No, they only know of your skills as an agent.”

“Nick,” you sighed, sinking deeper into the chair. You were the only one that called him that. He took on a father role when he found you. Instead of turning you in, he adopted you.

“Jr,” he rounded his desk to stand before you. “I wouldn’t have suggested you if you weren’t ready.” You looked at him. His one good eye softened slightly.

“When do I leave?” A smile formed on the man’s usually stoic face.

“As soon as possible. Maria is waiting for you at the compound.” You smiled; at least you would have a familiar face there. “You got this kid.”

*

“There she is!” Maria was quick to rush over to you and bring you into a hug. You saw Natasha walk over to you behind her shoulder. “The big man finally let you join the big leagues, uh, jr?” You rolled your eyes. Maria always liked to tease that you were Fury’s only soft spot. Hell, you were her soft spot, too. Once the agent released you from the bone-crushing hug, you faced the Black Widow.

“Natasha,” she offered her hand, and you shook it. Of course, you knew who she was. “Maria has not stopped talking about you.” You glanced at the agent, but she shrugged her shoulders. “She called you, Jr.,” the Black Widow slowly said. Are your parents agents?” Maria snorted but covered it up with a cough.

“Technically, yes,” you said. The redhead gave you a look for you to continue. “The director adopted me when I was 14.” Natasha’s eyes widened, and her head snapped to look at Maria. The agent cringed slightly. You knew the duo were dancing around being in a relationship- many SHIELD agents talked about it. “It was need to know,” you said. “He didn’t want certain people to find out.” It was understandable. The man had a long list of enemies. Maria put her arm around your shoulders.

“The team is waiting to meet you,” she said. “Are you ready to show them what you can do?” You weren’t 100% sure if you were.

*

“This is the agent the pirate wanted us to bring onto the team,” Tony said as you entered the meeting room. There was an empty seat next to Wanda; you took it with a smile. “She’s a kid.”

“So is Peter, and you let him on the team,” Maria defended.

“I’d be carefully talking about Fury,” Natasha smirked. “You are looking at his kid.” The billionaire’s jaw dropped. You shrugged.

“I didn’t know he had it in him to reproduce,” the comment got him a quick smack to the back of the head by Rhodey. You cringed even though he adopted you, the idea- Nope. Not happening.

“Ignore him,” Steve said. “We are excited to have you on the team.” You smiled at the blonde super-solider.

“Director Fury was unclear on what you could provide for this mission,” Vision said. You made eye contact with Maria, who winked at you. “Can you provide some insight?”

“I’m enhanced,” you said. “I spent time with Charles Xavier to get it under control.”

“Can you show us what you can do?” Sam questioned. You smiled and nodded.

“Maria, pick one of them,” the agent smirked and pointed to Steve. Sighing, you stood up and walked over to the super soldier. He rolled back in his chair away from the table. All you did was hold out your hand. “It won’t hurt.”

“Will it hurt you?” he countered. His statement made you frown. That was different. No one ever asked how your abilities affected you. You shook your head. It never hurt, but it left you disoriented. Steve hesitated but connected his hand with yours. Nothing happened, and you dropped his hand. Then you changed.

You remembered a time before Fury sent you off to Xavier. Every time you grabbed onto someone’s hand, you changed. Now, you can control it and only use your powers when you want to.

No matter how many times you did this, you found it fascinating. You saw the world differently each time. Now, with the super soldier senses, the world seemed sharper. Steve was taller and stronger than you. It felt strange being him.

“Holy fuck.”

“Language,” you said in Steve’s voice. The color was drained from the man’s face as he saw himself in front of him. You looked at Maria with a slight nod, and she knew what you were asking for. She’s seen your powers with Fury.

“Jr, what program did Steve enter to receive the serum?”

“Project Rebirth. I was the only recipient of the serum developed by Abraham Erskine,” you answered. That was an easy question. An answer was easily found in his file or at the museum.

“What are we looking at here?” Rhodey asked. You looked back at Steve.

“Ask me something personal,” you spoke in your voice. He stared at you before his eyes landed on the soldier across from him.

“The fight where I first met Bucky, why did I pick a fight with them?” You smiled.

“They demanded a fee for crossing Tenth Avenue,” you wink before changing back. You watched as your skin bubbled, and then it stopped. “The director said you have someone in custody attending a party you need information from. I can get you that information.” Watching people learn what you could do was always interesting—a range of emotions passed through their faces- amazement, fear, worry.

“How long does it last?” Natasha questioned. She was looking at you with fear even though she masked it well.

“As long as I want it to,” you sat back down. “In 15 minutes, once I stop using it, all your thoughts, memories, and secrets leave my head.” You saw everyone relax.

“How did you get this ability?” You shrugged at Wanda’s question.

“I don’t know,” you traced the groves off the wood. “Not even the director knows. I guess it will forever be a mystery.”

Living and training with the Avengers challenged you. They pushed you harder in training, and you felt yourself growing stronger every day. However, they challenged you to be more social. You were an introvert by nature, afraid to gain the trust of those around you. Your mind might not remember what you were put through, but your body told a different story. Scars covered your body, which was then covered with tattoos.

The team was used to seeing you train in a long-sleeve shirt, never a tank top or sports bra like Natasha or Wanda. No matter how much sweat dripped down your back, you stayed in the long-sleeve shirt. It only came off when you were in the shower or the comfort of your room. They never asked, never forced you to do anything you weren’t comfortable with. They provided you with an extra bottle of water or a hug if you wanted one.

Early on, you also learned they were highly protective over you since you were the youngest full-time member. Even at the HYDRA party, that went well, and you retrieved the information they fused over you. To your surprise, they kept you on the team and didn’t send you back to SHIELD with Fury’s permission. You were enjoying your time with them, your secrets trapped away until they came tumbling out.

*

You thought you were in the clear. The rest of the team watched a movie, and you told everyone you were too tired. However, you left your room and headed to the training area. All you wanted to do was work up a sweat and then go to bed. So you punched at the sandbag, only wearing a sports bra and sweatpants—the rock music you played in your ears blocked out the world around you. You focused on how your knuckles ached at each punch and the beating of your heart behind your ribs. You loved training. It was a simple reminder that you were alive.

It happens on instinct. You felt a hand on your shoulder and grabbed it, flipping whoever it was over and onto their back. The culprit was Sam. You pulled your headphones out of your ears and heard the pained groan the man let out. “Fuck, Sam, you can’t sneak up on me.” You knelt in front of him. “What hurts? Do you want me to get Bruce? How many fingers am I holding up?” He groaned again.

“The only thing that hurts is my pride,” he sat up and rubbed the back of his head. “I like your tattoos. I didn’t know you had any.” You sat down as your hand shook. You were so caught up on making sure he was okay that you forgot about the little clothes you were wearing. He saw them, all of them. Did he know what they meant? “Hey, jr, are you okay? You’re shaking.” You snapped out of it.

“I feel like I should be asking you that question,” you chuckled. He rolled his eyes and reassured you that he was fine. “But wait, aren’t you guys watching a movie? Why are you here?”

“We are watching a movie, and I suggested we have ice cream,” which was no surprise. The world’s mightiest heroes had the worst diets and the craziest sweet tooth. “I drew the short stick of finding you to see if you want any.” Sam stood up and rubbed his butt. “And my ass took one for the team.” You took his outstretched hand he offered you and helped you up. “So, do you want ice cream?”

“No, I’m good.” You wanted to get some air. He frowned.

“Are you sure? You never say no to ice cream. I’m not upset about what happened. We can keep it between us. Please.” You hated how easily it was for him to make you smile.

“I’m okay, I promise,” you began to unwrap your hands. “Have a good night, Sam.” You threw the tap in the trash can on your way out.

*

“Did she want any?” Natasha looked away from her bowl to see Sam without you. He shook his head. “The more of us!” Tony cheered. Natasha rolled her eyes.

“Did you know Jr. has tattoos?” She heard Maria drop her spoon in the bowl, and the agent looked confused.

“How many?” Bucky asked. Sam was constructing his ice cream bowl. He topped it with whipped cream before he answered.

“Her entire right arm is covered. I couldn’t figure out what they were, but on her back was a portrait of Medusa.” Natasha’s stomach dropped. The ice cream she was eating no longer tasted sweet. It was bitter, and it made her stomach turn.

“Medusa?” Wanda questioned. “Are you sure?” Sam chuckled.

“Kind of hard to miss. It’s massive with all the snakes and shit. A little creepy if you ask me.”

“Why would she get a Medusa tattoo?” Rhodey asked. But Natasha knew. It seemed Wanda and Maria knew as well. The three girls dropped their bowls on the nearest surface and left the group. Each one ignored the shots of their names.

“FRIDAY, where is Jr?”

*

Your feet skimmed the water below. The cold summer air caused goosebumps to form on your arm. You had no reason to wear a jacket once you left the training area. If Sam knew everyone else was going to find out. “Hey, Jr,” Maria’s voice made you smile. “Can we join you?”

“Yeah,” you whispered. Maria sat on your right and Wanda on your left. Natasha took the empty spot next to Maria. “They guys didn’t want to join you on a midnight walk.” You tried to joke.

“They are eating their weight in ice cream,” you heard the smile in Natasha’s voice. “I also don’t think they know what it means.” Right. The tattoo of Medusa is on your back, and her Roman story is detailed on your arm. Medusa was a devoted follower of Minerva. She left offerings and offerings to the goddess but was never acknowledged by her. Then, another god wanted her attention: Neptune. The god rapped Medusa in Minerva’s temple, and in revenge, the goddess turned Medusa’s beautiful head of hair into snakes.

“I don’t remember getting the tattoos,” you broke the silence. “I don’t remember much of my life before Nick found me.”

“He found you when you were 14, right?” Wanda questioned. You nodded.

“He says I had them when he found me,” you shivered and soon felt the jacket Maria was wearing around your shoulders. “He was in Ukraine, outside of Lviv, for a mission or something, when he found me in a field surrounded by dead bodies,” you played with the sleeves of the jacket. “We think they are the ones that hurt me. Nick took me in without hesitation. He saved my life,” you sighed, placing your head on Wanda’s shoulder. “I kept them hidden, not wanting people to question or bring attention to them.”

“You don’t have to hide them around us,” Maria said, slowly taking your hand in hers. “You can if you want, but we will never judge or hurt you like they did.”

“I could help you find answers if you ever want to know the truth,” Honestly, the truth scared you. You were already so broken. What if it broke you even more? “You are not broken,” Wanda whispered. It was hard for you to believe that.

“Sometimes I get flashes of what happened to me. Mostly in the form of nightmares. I’m not sure what’s worse than my body knows something bad happened to me, but my mind doesn’t remember it.”

“I think that you had to endure the pain, which is the worst,” Natasha spoke softly. You looked at the Black Widow, who was staring at the water. It was rare that her voice was that soft.

“Do you ever wonder why it was you?” you asked her. You watched her body shake as she exhaled. Maria placed her hand on Natasha’s thigh.

“All the time, but you’ll go mad thinking about the what ifs,” she glanced at you with a smile. “I’ve learned rather painfully that hiding away what happened or pretending it never happened hurts more in the long run.” The redhead placed her hand on top of Maria’s. “You aren’t broken, weak, or lesser because of what they did to you. You are stronger because you are still here despite all of it.” It was like she was telling you these things but reminding herself. You nodded and found yourself looking back at the water. The world was unfair, cruel, and twisted. These women, whom you grew to admire, knew the pain you experienced in some way and the story behind the tattoos that covered your body. How many others experienced it as well?

Hurried footsteps forced you to stand up and turn around. It was Bucky, and you were surprised by the force that he had hugged you, almost sending you into the water. Bucky was never known for his physical affection. He showed that he cared in much smaller ways, with a small smile and a cup of hot chocolate when you had nightmares. Even in training, he ensured your stance was correct and that you were training at your best. Now you weren’t sure if you could go a day without a hug from him. He was warm and strong, and you felt safe. “Do you know who did it?” Your body tensed.

“They are dead, Buck.”

“Good,” he kissed the top of your head. “I’d go Winter Solider on their asses for you, doll.” You laughed and shook your head. “Also, sorry about this.” Before you could question his meaning, he picked you up and threw you into the water. You breached the surface with a gasp.

“What the-”

“Cannonball,” you heard Tony yell. It was the only warning you got as the billionaire ran down the dock and jumped into the water. The splash wet those on the edge, and you heard Natasha yell at him. He resurfaced and shook the water.

“I am sorry, darling,” you watched Vision pick up Wanda.

“Vis, no! No!” But it was useless. The android dropped her into the water next. You laughed, the sound echoing into the night. Bucky smiled, gave you a salute, and jumped in. One by one, the team entered the water by either being thrown in or jumping themselves.

A massive water fight broke out, and FRIDAY brightened the surrounding area so everyone could see. You weren’t sure how long the team was in the water, but you were the last one floating on your back. “Hey, Jr,” you looked at Natasha. A towel was wrapped around her shoulders. “We are having smores. Are you coming?”

“Yeah,” you swam over to the dock and pulled yourself up. Natasha put her arm around you.

“I’m proud of you.” You smiled.

“I’m proud of you too.” Yes, the world was evil, cruel, and dark, but your family made it a little brighter.

[thepartyresponsible]

prompt fill! someone asked for jason todd and truth serum. this was also supposed to fill the request for "who did this to you?" with phil/jason, but i didn't make it to "who did this to you?" part. sorry! i'm trying to keep these under 1k.

anyway, this one's a bit bleak, but educational. here, jason learns an important life lesson: if you go undercover as a criminal, sometimes people believe you. and phil learns to reorder his interrogation questions.

warnings for drugging people without their consent. the drug in question is a fictional truth serum.

- - -

Using this particular drug on a nonconsenting person is a crime in most of the world. A recent amendment to the Geneva Convention marked its use on prisoners of war as a war crime. There’s a blanket ban on its production and use in the European Union. In the United States, administration by law enforcement personnel was ruled a violation of the Fifth and Eighth Amendments.

But SHIELD is not at war. Nor is it a law enforcement agency. And Phil Coulson is not in territory controlled by the United States or the European Union. The man in SHIELD custody undoubtedly has rights of some kind, but the extent of those rights – and who might be obligated to protect them – is currently unknown.

“It’s messy,” he says, to Fury.

“It’s a mess,” Fury replies. “Clean it up.”

- - -

He’s younger than Phil expected. But he has no right to judge anyone for sending their young to die. After all, he looks older than Natasha, possibly older than Clint.

And Natasha and Clint might be dead. In some ways, SHIELD’s no better.

“Your name, please,” Phil says.

“Jason,” the man says, a slow, sleepy mumble, and then his eyes open, and the panic hits.

Phil’s grown familiar with panic. He’s seen it in civilians and soldiers, in diplomats and dictators. He’s seen it every time he’s encountered this drug.

When it was first developed, early adopters trotted out the old lie: if you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to fear. But everyone has something to hide. Everyone has a secret they would swallow their own tongue to protect, and here’s a substance that takes that choice away, a wonder drug that retains awareness while negating will. A life-saving torture device.

“Fuck you,” the man says, which is far more spirit than most manage.

“Jason,” Phil says, “my agents are missing.”

“Fuck you,” Jason says, again. “That’s what happens.” He’s double-blinking, struggling to focus. Phil’s done this six times. No one's ever managed this level of control. Usually, they’re drooling by now, spilling secrets and saliva into the collar of their shirts.

Something’s wrong.

“You’ll have to excuse me,” Phil says. “We must have miscalculated your dosage.”

- - -

Medical reports back half an hour later. There was no miscalculation. The man has a tolerance they assure him should not be possible.

“We gave him a second dose. He should be amenable now,” the doctor says. “If he doesn’t stop breathing.”

Amenable, Phil thinks. He explores the hollow inside him where the horror should’ve been. It’s a terrible thing they’re doing. He knows that.

But his agents are missing.

“Thank you,” he says. And he goes back to work.

- - -

“You know,” Jason tells him, glassy-eyed, barely looking Phil’s direction, “if you ask the wrong questions, I have to kill you."

It’s an interesting threat from a man who cannot lie.

“And what are you afraid you’ll tell me?” Phil asks.

“Identities,” he answers, chest rising slower than a sleeper’s.

“Ah,” Phil says. “Yes, we’ll get to that.”

“Batman,” he adds, unexpectedly. “Nightwing.” He swallows, clumsily. When he breathes in, he chokes. Phil watches him almost drown for a moment and then he reaches across the table and tugs Jason’s head forward so he can breathe.

He barely has the coordination to breathe, but the contact makes him flinch hard enough to shake the table. Phil wonders who made a creature like him.

“Who do you work for?” he asks.

“Nobody.” And then, almost smiling, voice dropping into a guttural growl, “Justice.”

Which could be good news. Killers with a mission are predictable, once you understand their cause. “And who decides justice? Who gives you orders?”

“Nobody.”

Interesting. Most freelancers don’t work at this level, and the ones who do should have extensive SHIELD files. “Who’s been signing your checks lately?”

“Checks,” Jason says, and laughs. “Fucking checks.”

He’s been thoroughly dosed with a drug designed to make him highly suggestible and meekly compliant. Phil’s starting to understand why capturing him was such a costly undertaking.

“Whose money is in your accounts right now?”

Jason makes a noise, some gusty grumble of complaint, and then lists off a dozen or so of the very worst people alive. The most interesting names are the ones Phil doesn’t recognize, but he’ll have to get to those later. The window is short; his time is running out.

A single dose is risky. Some people never fully recover their independence. They’re rendered permanently docile, suffering from a kind of chemical lobotomy that good people across the globe have outlawed. A second dose doubles the odds of permanent damage. After the third, some people won't even breathe without orders.

They’ve given him two already.

“These people who’ve been paying you,” Phil says, “which of them is paying you right now?”

Jason sighs. “Nobody pays me. I stole that money.”

“You---” Phil pauses, looks at his notes. He re-reads the names, marvels at the insanity of stealing from any of them. “You stole from those people?”

“Stole from ‘em,” he says, “killed ‘em. Well, killed some. Gonna kill the others. It’s, you know. A to-do list. I’ve been busy.”

Phil wonders if he’s been wasting his time, if he’s drugged a delusional man. “You don’t steal from people like that before you kill them.”

Jason tilts his head so he can look up him, furrows his brow in something that is almost a coherent expression of disdain. “You never have any fun, huh?”

Phil might be dealing with someone far more dangerous than he’d predicted. “You do this for fun?”

“Yeah,” Jason says. “And for justice.”

Justice, right. Of course. “And who taught you about justice?”

“My dad,” Jason says.

Which is good. Which might be helpful. Truth has its uses, but, in Phil’s experience, leverage gets more accomplished.

“And who,” Phil says, “is your father?”

Jason’s eyes track his direction but don’t quite land. His mouth closes and then opens again. “Batman,” he says.

“Oh,” Phil says. “Shit.”