Moral of the Story

Chapter 7

"My name is Director Nick Fury of S.H.I.E.L.D. a secret division of the U.S. government. And around this time last year, someone hacked our system. The only person with the capability to do that is Mr. Stark here. There were a few search queries we were able to recover. They were all related to superhuman abilities that can heal or transfer physical harm. Around then, the 'X-Men' vigilante team started slowing down, switching out their strongest members with a noticeable lack of two of their constants, Cyclops and Lifemender." Director Fury remained still, arms crossed.

Crap. He knows everything, down to the name I was given, "I-I'm sorry, I don't believe I follow."

"You are Lifemender, Mx.-"

"Kyrie. Call me Kyrie. Just, please, stop butchering my last name."

"My apologies, Mx. Kyrie." His voice rang with sarcasm, intentional or not. He walked about a third of the distance between where he stood initially and where I stood while extending his arm gesturing to me, "We at S.H.I.E.L.D. need your, unique abilities. We recently found an operative who has been missing for quite some time. We recovered him about a month ago, but he's still unconscious. That is where you come to play."

"Let me guess, you want me to what- make him conscious?"

"Basically."

"I can't do that."

"I'm sorry, this isn't a request."

"No. As in I physically cannot bring him back into consciousness. I can heal physical injuries and illnesses, but what you're asking of me isn't something my powers can do."

"Well, if that's all you came to ask- leave." Tony piped up, moving from behind his desk to his mini bar, drink in hand.

"Unfortunately, due to your past helping a vigilante organization I'm afraid it's between this and prison." Tony choked on his drink, "You don't need to wake up the agent. All you have to do is one- sign an NDA and two- show up and do what you can. If things don't work out the way the science geeks want I won't hold you accountable but your participation is required."

"Okay." I breathed heavily, fidgeting with my hands, "If this doesn't work none of the fire will be blown back my way?"

"Everyone involved has already signed an NDA regarding what happens while on site. I know what happened in Milan, if someone has loose lips they will be taken care of. You will be as safe as I can promise." I was trembling, on one hand, this could lead to another purge of mutants, I could be tested on again, or maybe I could just go to prison, "I know damn well your shoes are not that interesting."

"The last time I was involved with the U.S. Government I was tested on and treated with less dignity than a sewer rat. How am I supposed to know that it won't happen again? That all of this isn't just an elaborate path to resume your testing?"

"I'm sorry, testing-" Tony tried to speak.

"Trask, his associates, and all personnel who supported Trask's actions have been terminated and replaced."

I couldn't help but chuckle, he must be used to having the information that when there's a gap he doesn't even know to fill, "I'm aware. Are you aware that I'm twenty-six?"

Silence filled the room, I couldn't tell if the director was trying to piece together this puzzle or do the mental math.

"Can someone explain what is happening?" Tony spoke, finally getting a full sentence, "Trask was a businessman in the late sixties-early seventies before he was found selling national secrets to foreign offices. What does he have to do with- well, whatever this is?"

Fury and I both shifted to face Tony, "Mr. Stark, that is the public reason for his removal and imprisonment. Not to say they were false accusations, but he was far more involved with the Government than most know. Bolivar Trask was conducting highly-illegal experiments for the U.S., of which all subjects were of the genetic group known as 'mutants'. He was ousted after a mutant saved the president's life."

"Okay, but then Kyrie was born a decade and a half after Trask got-"

"I understand that. But if it wasn't Trask then who"

"Does it matter now?"

"It does, but not as much as getting you to the triskelion."

"Then let's go."

After spending the rest of the day packing, then on a five-hour flight, topped with a thirty-minute drive, I stood in front of a behemoth of a building. Three concrete columns, joined together by a central cylinder in what must look like a radiation symbol from above.

The three of us, and the redoubtable presence of the two men's security teams. As we crossed the bridge over the river leading into the facility the Director spoke, "This is the triskelion. You'll be working in one of the secure underground levels. If that's alright?"

"I'll be fine, I think. Probably..."

Tony practically huffed behind me, followed by a noticeable uptick in his pace to walk in front of the director and me, "Well then, if you're fine with it, I'd like to hurry this along. I will need my secretary for a fair bit of work."

"Calm your shit, Stark. My business with Mx. Eirsson."

"Then let's get this over with." I walked past Tony and towards the lobby.

From even a few yards off I could see the inside of the building, the first visible story was somewhere between millennial gray and beige, but as soon as the front doors I saw the second story was painted black with natural wood accents- the opposite wall an off-white painted brick- sleek and withdrawn.

After all my ogling Tony nudged me with his shoe to let me know I was falling behind. I followed him and the director towards an elevator that, apparently, had a keycard reader. The heavy metal doors opened with pristine smoothness Tony and the director stepped in after a moment I stepped into the elevator with them, two MIB-looking men stepping in with us, and watched the director as he pressed the button labeled B3.

The descent was silk-smooth, the stop slight and subtle before the doors opened into a sterile, metal corridor. Director Fury walked through the twists and turns of the passage with efficiency- I struggled to keep up with him, almost hitting a few corners along the way- before he opened a door and motioned for me.

I walked through the doorframe into a flat, white room. There was a medical bed in the middle of the room, surrounded by hospital machines, occupied by an almost-too-tall blonde man I recognized from Logan's lectures.

"Director?"

"Yes? Is there a problem?"

I turned to face him, "You never said my 'patient' was Steve Rogers, Captain Rogers, Captain America..."