SHIELD the acronym for Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division is an espionage and security organization that defends Earth and its people from groups that pose advanced technological—and sometimes supernatural or extraterrestrial—threats. It is an example of the best of intentions and the worst of abuses. SHIELD is the ultimate evolution of FMWLOA (Fum-Loa) or “Fuck Me We Love Our Acronyms”, the central purpose of every intelligence agency and intelligence adjacent agency to mask itself behind an acronym, to shift responsibility one degree farther from themselves. Agents of any of the acronym agencies rely on the psychological power of FMWLOA to allow otherwise gifted critical thinkers with the kind of moral character that allowed them to be selected for training and employment in the shadows beyond both morality and law in the service of whatever greater good they take their oath to, to follow some truly questionable orders serving some questionable short term policies and goals with some truly questionable allies of the moment, secure and certain they are saving their country. Agents of SHIELD serve more than America, they serve humanity against things mankind is not equipped (yet) to deal with. SHIELD agents have access to more power than street level superheroes, or one star general, more secrets than most lesser agencies deputy directors, and technology that no government on earth can command for itself. Mostly because SHIELD has learned the hard way not to trust them. As the ultimate expression of FMWLOA, SHIELD is home to the greatest temptation for abuse in the history of mankind. The moral compass of this agency was set early by Agent Carter, herself one of the few survivors of the task force that gave SHIELD Captain America, and handed Hydra its first destruction.
The position of director of SHIELD is the single most abusable position on earth, as its checks and balances are themselves so deeply a part of the shadows behind governments that they are the most likely sources of internal corruption, and largely only serve as a check to external sources (as in the alien infiltration or Hydra infiltration which know SHIELD is the major bar to their success). The sad reality is the director of SHIELD has restrained, and occasionally put down the board to whom they supposedly answer. To take over as director, Agent Carter ignored the ambitious and talented department heads that served her and took her most dangerous tactical asset, Nick Fury, and dragged him kicking and screaming, in one case literally, into the office to learn to manage the human machinery that keep SHIELD operational. In her words, no one who wants my job can be allowed near it.
Peggy Carter may or may not live up to her legend. I was never cleared for any of those files, but I will tell you this, she can pick people. Nick Fury hated the rot that turned most of the national intelligence agencies into political tools staffed with yes men that spun the actual intelligence they gathered so hard to meet what their bosses wanted to hear that no amount of critical intelligence survived transmission through even one level of authority. It was Nick’s contention that if a CIA or FBI agent reported to their handler that there was an iceberg the size of a city growing towards New York harbour at a mile a minute, the supervisors would be so afraid of contradicting their own bosses warnings about global warming that they would spin the report so hard that by the time it reached the top the agent’s report would be of a severe drought expected to affect the East Coast, and severe risk of urban heat stroke. Nick’s answer was simple, if you ever had intel that you were afraid to pass up the line, you kick in my goddamned door and give it to me. If you are wrong, I will come down like the hammer of this god I know on whichever of your bosses left you scared to pass along time sensitive intelligence, but your ass will be fine. If I find you sat on intelligence because you were afraid to pass it up the line and couldn’t find my goddamned office I will shoot you myself.
As an agent, I took Nick Fury’s open door policy as the difference between other organizations and us. Nick Fury was the man at the top, but he wasn’t one of them, not one of the boys with the school ties, soft hands, and stock portfolios. Nick Fury was us, a street level agent willing to go down into the seedy underbelly of society to seek out threats no one else could handle, and lead the door kickers himself when the time came to take them down. I felt pride to be one of his. Honestly, Rick Jones was pre programmed to follow SHIELD doctrine like a dog, but given three whole brains to examine it, while the organizations goals were lofty, the individuals inside it worth trusting were both few in number, and gathered both personally by, and kept close to, Nick Fury. Having shaken off my conditioning, I trusted the guy even more. Humanity was at risk, SHIELD was compromised, and there were aliens inside the agency meant to protect them from aliens! The only man I could trust was, well, Nick Fury.
I spent a long time figuring out how my belt thing worked. As a Kree I had pre-programmed knowledge of technology so far beyond what Rick Jones, Agent of SHIELD, had access to that I felt as stupid as one of the FBI counterterrorist teams brought in to augment a SHIELD strike force. I am not supposed to be ignorant of alien tech, SHIELD are supposed to be able to reverse engineer it and turn it to our own uses! Turns out the Kree have been doing this for thousands of years and what was programmed into my mind by the Supreme Intelligence was enough that maybe I should start reading some of Reed Richards published papers; I could probably at least understand them now. Not that I am a genius. No, I just have knowledge of a technological society that spent thousands of years mastering the principles that Reed Richards put together in a few months of obsession. You can see why Doctor Doom wants to knee cap the stretchy little geek. His brain is just enough to make everyone else feel like they need to start wearing dunce caps.
The belt holographic projector that my Illithid brain had been programmed to use wasn’t a projector, it was a program storage device. The holographs were a combination of light and force shaped and projected by my telekinesis. The belt device simply stored various templates that I pre-programmed into it, making the projection of the illusion faster, simpler, and automatically compensating for movement, illumination conditions, and contact with active sensors. What was really interesting is the Mind Flayer programming that I had teaching me how to use the device was WRONG. Illithid teachings told me that the unit could only store one illusion, and had to be reprogrammed on the mother ship or its portable node for advance bases. That was nonsense, it was not only wrong, it was illogical. The ship or base model would require the same input as the belt device did, all the input was from the Illithid’s own brain, and all the software and hardware for doing the work was in the belt. The Mind Flayer programming forced them to use maybe 20% of their own technologies capabilities, while making them dependant on centralized command for things their own agents required for survival in the field. I mean, I work for SHIELD, so I get paranoid. I am Kree, so my little blue fascist heart was bred to love central authority, but that is just stupid. If anyone had any doubts the Mind Flayers were not in charge of their own empire, the belt holographic units that provided their ability to infiltrate their targets should prove they are being screwed hard by their true master.
What I had for clothes was, well, bad for infiltrating SHIELD’s downtown headquarters. I had a HYDRA officer combat suit that had torn when my body undid it’s transformation into human.
The bright green body armour with golden stripes running down to and past my golden utility belt forming a big H (for Hydra). The uniform top had split at the V neck sealing as my chest went from human 42” to 54” and my height up to 6’8”. I tested my weight and came in at a slim trim 406lbs, so there was something seriously wrong with my density. Now it split wide at my shoulders to show off enough of my pecs that if I was a woman, the nip slip would be a serious risk. The deep V lead down to a black skull with what are supposed to by Hydra tentacles coming out of it. Ironically, my own tentacles extend farther down, but while Hydra’s infamous crest has eight of them, I only have four.
My hands no longer fit the gloves, they burst, as my big blue Kree hands were already a problem, but the Mind Flayer partial transformation gave me claws that interacted oddly with my Kree physiology because we have something closer to diamond than keratin in our nails. Mine came out sapphire blue, and are indeed hard as industrial diamonds. On my hip, in a bright yellow Hydra holster was my Kree blaster, which is to a Hydra blaster what a match grade Sig P226 9mm is to a flint lock pistol. Should I go to the meeting armed? Well, I can’t afford to go through the detectors anyway, but if my Mind Flayer tricks can get four hundred pounds of Kree and a tentacle headed horror show past the “prove you are human” scanners, then smuggling a gun should be easy. Besides, all three of me treat weapons as a security blanket, and Nick Fury makes me want my blanky!
While I can put an illusion of myself as Rick Jones that was, honestly I was a foot taller and twice the weight, ignoring the fact I was blue like Papa Smurf, buff like a body builder, and had a face like Cthulu, I took up too much space for Rick Jones, and maintaining his image while moving would be difficult. I took too large a step, took up too much space on the street or in a crowd, and my footfalls were too loud. This may sound like its no big deal. Did I mention? I am trying to infiltrate SHIELD’s down town city side HQ, a place literally filled with SHIELD agents who are trained to spot alien infiltration, I had six different alternatives stored in case things went bad and I had to run, but it was my old body I had to wear to approach Fury. A body I no longer matched, and a director who might just shoot first and ask a pathologist for answers later. There was a code word we were told to use when we had information Fury had to know, and we couldn’t trust to anyone else. “Case Philby”. The code word referred to a cold war situation where MI5, British Counter Intelligence was actually run by a traitor turned by the KGB.
It was a coin toss, would the words reach him before his reflexes reacted to the wrongness of my illusions? Would my use of the code word in a crowded lobby set off any Kree infiltrators who knew or suspected something had gone wrong in my infiltration of the Hydra cell. I was a sleeper agent, but the one I killed was an active agent, higher in both the Kree infiltration of earth and as an agent in SHIELD. I had no idea if anyone in SHIELD or the Kree infiltration team had reason to suspect me yet as being free of my conditioning, let alone a squid headed freak show. I refrained from clutching my security blanket/blaster with my hand, but a tentacle tested it every five seconds or so to make sure its still there. Not nervous. I am a trained Agent of SHIELD, well unless my memories of SHIELD training are fake. I am a trained agent of the Kree, unless those memories are also fake, which I can only find out when I try to use reflexes that aren’t there. I am an agent of the Illithid, a Flayer of Minds a subjugator of the lesser races! Which was why I was about ready to pee myself waiting for Nick Fury to cross from the lobby entrance to the security waiting station.
I was faking a phone call, which allowed me to stop half way across the lobby and obviously deal with a serious issue with my SHIELD ID already clipped on, and with enough time for security’s automatic sweeps of facial recognition to identify me as Rick Jones, SHIELD agent, and to quietly RFID my name tag to assure them that the target identified as Agent Rick Jones was carrying Rick Jones ID card. It would buy me a few minutes of linger time, no more. If I didn’t pass further to pass the detectors or exit the building, I would automatically be flagged by the system as out of profile and a team would be dispatched to investigate.
If Nick was on time, there would be no problem. Unless he twigged into me being not Rick Jones (untrue) and probably some sort of alien infiltrator (so true, like twice over), and pulled a Nick Fury and shot my tentacles off before I could say anything. My tentacle touched my blaster again. Yup, still there. Not worried at all. Superior Kree noble warrior heroes aren’t scared of lesser species. Illithid Flayers of Minds do not fear the lower orders. Oh fuck me, Nick is here. Please don’t pee yourself, I ordered my body, wondering if Kree had that response to fear. Suddenly that seemed like an important question.
Nick was ignoring Agent Kolberg, head of the science division who was holding up a data slate Nick was not bothering to look at.
“Sir, I think if you will look at the proposal you will see that the agency stands to gain a significant leap in capability at almost no risk. Thanks to the partnership agreement, we wouldn’t even have to run it past the committee for funding! Production costs would be born by our partner and we would have only minimal risk.” Agent Kolberg was saying.
Perfect for me, Nick Fury stopped in the middle of the lobby and turned on Agent Kolberg.
“Minimal risk? I don’t know if that is stupider than ‘our partners’ or not, but its pretty close. First, we wouldn’t be partners in this, we would be cut outs. Tony Stark wants to use us to steal technology from Reed Richards because when he asked nicely Reed told him that he was not to be trusted with it. He won’t try to steal it himself because the Fantastic Four are on the short list of people who could rip him out of his suit and spank him in times square until he cried uncle. Now I don’t know about you, but it isn’t even the question about whether I should be afraid more of a guy made from orange rocks who can trade punches with the Hulk, or a guy who flies around wrapped in flames that don’t even need air and can fly at full speed through concrete walls and bank vaults because he burns through them so fast he doesn’t bother slowing down. No, the real concern to me is that Reed Richards has a wife who could be standing beside us right now, cloaked so damned hard all Stark Industries second rate sensors which we pay through the nose to get could never tell, and the first I would know about it is when she trapped us both in a force bubble and crushed us to roughly the size of a boxed lunch, that is assuming the man himself didn’t just punch our Helicarrier into the Negative Zone for a time out.
No, Agent Kolberg, we will not try to steal tech from the Fantastic Four because Tony Stark isn’t good at taking no for an answer. If the day comes I have to throw down with them, it will not be because Tony Stark lost a genius waving contest with a man so far beyond our playboy supposed ally that he failed to even notice they were supposedly competing. Are we clear?”
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Nick gave Agent Kolber his one-eyed version of the hard stare, and the data slate slid from his hands to hit the ground. Agent Kolberg fumbled twice trying to pick it up. Nick has a good stare.
I started moving, dropping the illusion of my phone.
“Director Fury, Agent Rick Jones here. Case Philby sir!” I said walking towards him with my hands in front of me, open and as non threatening as I could be.
Nick Fury turned to face me, and alarm bells began to go off. He turned quickly, but I had seen Nick Fury in the SHIELD training dojo. He was fast for an un-augmented human, and more, he moved with a feral predatory grace. There were stronger men, and there were faster men, but when Nick Fury moved against them they were not strong enough, or fast enough. The only person who could match him hand to hand was the Black Widow, and no one was really sure she was totally human herself. This man was reacting quickly, but he moved like a trained Agent of SHIELD.
Not like Fury. Not even close.
I reached out with my mind almost instinctively, and my probe lanced into his mind with the pre-programmed precision of the Mind Flayer’s own attack protocols. I strip mined his brain in a move so brutal that he screamed in pain, and in that moment of distraction, where pain had violated his autonomic nervous system, the one eye I could see changed. Nick Fury was an African American male, dark brown iris, white sclera, black pupil. For a full second, his eye reverted to its natural appearance. Light green sclera, dark green iris, and the double lens that gave the Skrull race it’s excellent night sight. My mental probe revealed a truth that shook me to the core long enough for my advantage of surprise to be totally lost.
Nick Fury had been replaced by a Skrull.
Shield hadn’t just been infiltrated by the Kree, its top leadership had been taken over by the shape shifting ancient enemies of our race. Well, not really my race anymore, but I was Kree enough to react with instinctive and programmed revulsion and hatred for the Skrull enemy. I was human enough to react with blind panic at the idea that humanities shield against invasion had been taken by a race of interstellar marauders who lacked a world of their own (since we Kree kind of genocided them with enough prejudice that there wasn’t even a planet left when we were done).
Two thirds of me had no idea what to do now. The SHIELD agent demanded that I expose Nick Fury as a Skrull infiltrator, as an ALIEN. However I was currently a squid headed brain raping tentacle headed interstellar horror with the body of a blue world conquering super soldier, dressed in a Hydra uniform. I should have gone shopping. Two thirds of me was utterly at a loss with what to do now.
Luckily the Mind Flayer’s response to everything was pretty simple. Dominate the minds of the weak, steal the secrets of the wise, and paralyze the strong. My mental tentacles were locked deep in the Skrull’s head and ripping out everything it could, not that I could process thought so alien from my own, but given time this was literally what Mind Flayers did for a living. I would pry its secrets out at my leisure.
Lesure I did not have.
“Werewolf, case Werewolf” Agent Kolberg shouted, knowing the sensors monitoring the lobby, already alerted by Case Philby (SHIELD compromised, eyes only for the Director) had now been alerted by the second code word uttered by Agent Kolberg. I had brushed against his mind as I closed on Fury. He was pure human, a loyal SHIELD operative, and although a scientist by training, every agent of SHIELD was to some degree a warrior, and he was doing the agency proud. Case Werewolf had one meaning. Attempted assassination of the director.
The security staff sitting at their booths took precious seconds to process, but the computers monitoring the lobby did not. Steel shutters driven by advanced magnetic drives slammed down over the lobby windows and doors, even as alarms began to blare.
The fake Nick Fury had clawed his own Icer pistol, as had Agent Kolberg. The security staff were pulling out a half dozen carbine versions while portals in the ceiling were opening, probably to reveal something a lot more lethal than the non lethal incapacitation rounds of the SHIELD agents.
As far as I knew, everyone in the lobby was a loyal defender of earth except the fake director Fury. If I fired on Fury, the street level Agents of SHIELD would stop thinking and start killing. We were back to pathologists answering the questions. I could not fire upon the security personnel because my blaster was designed to deal with Star Force uniforms like I hadn’t had a chance to steal yet, or the Nova Corps unforms, the Shiar Imperium battle armour (their tech was centuries behind ours but the full body armour was as strong as our basic utility uniform). It would blow a human being in half. Literally. The flash heating of the liquids of the core would cause an explosion equivalent to a hand grenade going off inside your stomach.
My human self was paralyzed with indecision, my Mind Flayer self was embracing cowardice as a lifestyle and purpose for existence, having chosen flight over fight without even a picosecond of hesitation. That was still not fast enough. It turns out Kree do not pee themselves in fear. Kree choose violence.
My body was Kree, and unless specifically given clear orders otherwise, its default setting was fight. My body had been going through a lot of confusing things. Hormone levels were off the charts as it responded to Illithid modifications as if I was being actively damaged or poisoned. It had responded to the removal of the artificial limiters my sleeper agent modifications had made by making me eat practically non stop to get the building blocks for the body it needed to heal to. The limiters of my Kree conditioning had also been stripped away so not only was my body attempting to go back to what a Kree warrior was supposed to be, it was attempting to go back to what a Kree warrior was actually capable of.
I had no idea how or if my body as it was could respond to the Kree warrior training that I remembered. I didn’t even know if that training was real. I mean, I know it was literally downloaded into my clone ass in a tube when I was grown on the homeworld, but all the memories I had of training my body to build the reflexes to match that training might not even be real! I know my SHIELD training wouldn’t work, my body proportions were wrong, my joints were different, and both my speed and power were far beyond anything my human body had trained with, again assuming the human memories were not just programed bullshit from my Kree handlers.
Kree are like honey badgers. Honey badgers do not give a fuck. Kree wake up each and every day and choose violence. My Kree body had been filled with what to a human would be fight/flight hormones, but to a Kree were “Kill everyone who isn’t Kree”/”Fuck it, kill the Kree too” hormones. Since I was in the middle of a severe identity crisis, my Kree hormones had joyfully latched on to the fact I wasn’t even really Kree either, and happily dropped into the “Fuck it, kill everyone” mode.
SHIELD hand to hand is beautiful and artistic. There are elements of style, and a certain poetry in its motion. It uses minimal force applied with maximum focus to make it effective even against opponents that should be far stronger than the attacker.
Kree don’t fight that way.
I booted the “not Fury” in the gut as hard as I could. Skrull are shape shifters, skilled infiltrators, and as hard to kill as cockroaches. They didn’t heal as fast as Kree, but their shape shifting could put temporary patches over most damage long enough for them to finish the fight, even if it took weeks to actually heal. Funny thing about being kicked by something hitting as hard as a civil war cannon ball in the place where all your hard organs are held, and where all your soft juicy, blood filled intestines live, it spreads the damage around so broadly that there are no easy shape shifting quick ways around the damage. He probably wouldn’t die unless I had the chance to sever his spine (as in beheading, if they are conscious, they can work around a simple break).
Agent Kolberg I hit with a backfist that snapped him off his feet, definitely shattered jaw and cheek bone, and had him sliding bonelessly but alive across the floor. He would be happy to remain unconscious until safely under medical bay pain control.
My Mind Flayer brain was gibbering in pure terror as my body charged the guards with the Icer Carbines even as my blaster came up in a blindingly fast motion to engage the two M134 six barrel 7.62mm miniguns that dropped down from the roof, ready to spew 6,000 rounds per minute at 2800 feet per second. My human brain processed the fact that my Kree brain assumed that those weapons would indeed kill me quite dead, but that they would never get the chance to fire. My blaster serviced targets as I sprinted forward faster than Usain Bolt on methamphetamine. Each bolt from my blaster took out an M134 minigun and about a square meter of reinforced armoured housing. My Hydra uniform was rated to stop Icer rounds, but since my body went ahead and gained two hundred pounds and a foot of height, there were vast stretches of my chest, and all my head, that were totally exposed. Add to this the fact that in SHIELD strikes against Hydra bases, we (meaning SHIELD) tended to take very few casualties, and I deeply suspect my Hydra rated armour was not as proof against the rifle caliber Icer rounds as it claimed.
As it turns out, a terrified Mind Flayer is a motivated Mind Flayer. The Icer rounds blasting at me seemed to bend away as some form of telekinetic deflection field formed around me. It was elegant in a way, converting a portion of the energy of incoming attacks to force applied at ninety degrees to the angle of attack. The faster the round moved, the harder it deflected to the side. I would be immune to sniper rounds but wet when it rained. Neat defense. The accelerated thought of the Kree mind in battle mode was doing terrible things to the Mind Flayer portion of my brain that was loudly insisting we were going to die, and imagining the wound track of each weapon being used against us, the human me was drinking it all in like I was watching the latest action movie, and had a bowl of popcorn and no date to distract me.
The Kree brain was living its best life, alone against a dozen armed and trained enemies, charging deep among the foe with no thought beyond how to do damage.
Kree martial arts were developed when we actually mostly fought each other, an enemy that was physically powerful, hard to damage, and healed so fast wounds closed as you fought. The answer to how to win a hand to hand fight with someone that can regenerate and ignore non catastrophic damage is to inflict catastrophic damage as quickly and violently as possible. It ignored subtlety, lacked elegance, and bore more resemblance to the attack of a tiger or grizzly bear than a human martial art. But it worked.
An Icer carbine’s forestock was grabbed with my left hand as a tentacle grabbed the throat of the agent holding and brought him down to meet my rising knee. My left swept the carbine down to shatter the thigh of the attacker on the left, giving him a second knee six inches above the normal one.
Icer rounds spun off my shield in odd directions, and two of the SHIELD agents went down to friendly fire. They would be the lucky ones. I launched myself into the air and spun, my spin kick blasting one Asian looking guard into the security arch with enough force he shattered it, and his collar bone and right shoulder both collapsed into positions not found in any anatomy text book. My right hand continued to service targets, blasting anything that irised open, including one security door, exploding it with enough force to knock whoever was trying to join the party like the mother of all flashbangs. My left hand came down in a hammer blow on a tactical helmet, the reenforced composites failed as I exceeded their capacity. Hopefully the designed crush pattern actually worked and while the SHIELD agent was concussed, his spine shouldn’t actually have shattered.
Two more tentacles latched onto SHIELD agents and slammed them together with force that Mind Flayer Tentacles do not have. It turns out when the Mind Flayer was busy rewriting my Kree body to give my head a side of kalamari, my Kree DNA was looking at tentacles and deciding these had the potential to upgrade into actual weapons and did what Kree do with weapons we steal from our enemies. They got upgraded all to hell.
I came to my feet and threw the last Icer at knee level and took out the last two agents who were doing a credible job of trying to work short bursts through my shield. It was not a plane of force like SHIELD training taught them (us?) to expect, but active Mind Flayer telekinesis deflecting each round 90 degrees off its base vector more or less randomly. It is a reflexive action, so it happens faster than even my accelerated thoughts. There was a certain amount of energy lost in the conversion, but a slower rifle round is still faster than a pistol round, and quite enough to do the job when it gets there. I hoped they lived. They did SHIELD proud, and did humanity proud.
I tossed them a salute, then fired three quick bolts at the steel shutters on the main door, and sprinted out the opening like I had half the tactical agents of SHIELD’s downtown headquarters on my heels. Well, I would shortly, so it wasn’t much of a stretch.
I sprinted across the street and down into the underground that leads to the subway, then as soon as I pushed into the crowd, switched to my first follow up identity.
I was now an obese black woman with one of those walkers that can turn into a chair when you need a rest. It switched my gender, my race, justified the space I took, and set off every single “non threat” signal in both training and instinct. Then I took my slow and heavy breathing ass and turned away from the subway and the promise of easy escape, and turned to the shopping mall where I would spend the next few hours shopping for bath and body stuff, and taking a few really heavy meals. One thing I noticed wearing my old Rick Jones face, was that putting down the calorie load my Kree physiology needed to complete its transformation into what my DNA figured was my full strength made everyone gape at skinny white boy Rick Jones. A morbidly obese woman eating huge amounts would not attract attention, but scorn. Mind Flayer psychology was simple. To hide among your enemies, you do not run from your sight, you make yourself easily seen and contemptable.
I fought to keep a grin off my face. If any security personnel attempted to question me, I planned to have an attack of the vapours. The difference between what Mind Flayer tech could do dumbed down and requiring the base unit to reprogram, and what an active Mind Flayer with a detailed knowledge of human physiology could do was like night and day. If my little old lady was pressured or threatened by big mean law enforcement, she would have vital signs that showed to touch, to medical sensors, like a little old person with severe circulatory problems a half step and hard word away from having a heart attack.
SHIELD was looking for a runner. Prey runs, hunters go to ground. I was going to shop for bath supplies and scented candles (Kree have very good sense of smell), and eat several good meals.
When I left, I would leave as someone else.
I had four more preloaded identities to use on my trip back to the hotel. I knew what SHIELD’s computers could do tracking any target. Given enough time, it was possible they might track every single figure of interest. I wouldn’t give them the same shape for any one leg of the trip. I needed to get back to my hotel, and rely on Frost Towers defenses to hide me. Plus, I really needed to hit a gym. I don’t think any of the three of me have any idea how strong we are right now, and that may well have crippled or killed innocent agents today. I hope I didn’t kill anyone, but two of my minds don’t waste a single thought about SHIELD agents doing their job to protect humanity.
I had to do better. I had to be better.
I was not human, but I might be the best defense they had left.