Felix's reassurance didn't do much to steady anyone's nerves.
But from the avalanche of shock, Tony caught a different scent—one he'd never been able to resist.
The crisp, intoxicating fragrance of pure scientific discovery.
Nearly a thousand anomalies.
A colossal, secret, utterly mesmerizing frontier of the unknown.
"As… an 'external consultant,'" Tony's voice trembled with barely hidden excitement, "can I… participate in your research?"
"That requires the Chair's approval," Dr. A167 replied.
Just then, 6547 strode in from the corridor—calm, measured—carrying a silver-white metal case containing SCP-307. He presented it with both hands to Felix, who had returned at some point without anyone noticing.
Felix took the case.
Cold to the touch.
He did not, as A167 had suggested, slot it into a physical containment bay.
S.H.I.E.L.D. already knew this site existed. Who knew if HYDRA had its claws in there somewhere?
Leaving something this dangerous in baseline reality would always be a liability.
He willed it—and, under everyone's stunned gaze, the case rippled the air like a pebble dropped into still water and… vanished.
Yinsen glanced from Felix to the room around him. The modest wish to go home and improve his town wavered.
If he joined them… might he do more—for more people—for all humanity?
Tony, watching the sleight of impossible, finally made up his mind.
He faced Felix, solemn in a way he rarely was.
"Mr. Ragnell."
"I want in—for real. On the operations."
"If I can confirm what you do truly protects this world…"
"Then Stark Industries is prepared to fund you—whatever it takes."
That "whatever it takes" settled over the medical wing, balancing the room like a weight on a scale.
Felix looked over his "guests," each hiding their own calculus, and decided it was time for placement.
His eyes settled on the one who'd stayed professional and alert throughout—Coulson.
"Agent Coulson."
Coulson straightened instinctively. "Sir."
"Your conduct today impressed me," Felix said in the tone of a commander praising a reliable officer. "Calm, professional, loyal to your team. You're a capable leader."
Coulson's heartbeat stumbled. Enemy or not, being commended by someone this formidable felt… unexpectedly good.
"So, I'm assigning you to a critical post."
Felix stepped forward and patted Coulson's shoulder with the easy authority of a sovereign entrusting a charge.
"Effective immediately, you are the Director of the D-Class Personnel Management Division for the Foundation's North America Branch. You'll oversee day-to-day administration, mission assignments, and morale and indoctr—education."
Director… of what now?
Coulson blinked. It sounded important.
He glanced at Natasha for a read.
Head down, unreadable.
She knew exactly what D-Class meant.
Death-row convicts pulled from prisons worldwide. Sent on nine-deaths-and-one-life assignments. Expendables.
Felix wasn't "trusting" Coulson; he was putting him in charge of a fodder corps.
Natasha bit back a sigh. Seeing the faint, pleased light on Coulson's face at being "valued," she genuinely didn't know what to say.
Sold and still helping count the money.
"Sir, I…" Coulson stammered, overwhelmed. "I'm an outsider. I'm not sure I'm fit for such a key role—"
"No. You're perfect for it," Felix cut in, brooking no debate. "D-Class are… unique. Each bears guilt—but each also carries the fiercest resolve to atone for humanity. They walk the front line as volunteers to die. They need someone with your conviction and command—to lead them, and to let them burn where they matter most."
Dressed up in honor, the words landed like drums in Coulson's chest.
He pictured the C-Class troopers back in the undercroft, shouting oaths and stepping into death without flinching.
So D-Class were even more heroic?
Austere purpose surged through him.
And with it—an exquisite plan.
Perfect.
A gift from heaven.
He could use this post to channel S.H.I.E.L.D.'s embedded assets worldwide—under "convict" covers—straight into the Foundation's D-Class rosters.
His people. His chain of command.
Then, citing "exceptional performance," he could keep promoting the most loyal upward, step by step, into the Foundation's higher echelons.
"I understand, sir!"
Fire kindled in Coulson's eyes. He snapped a crisp salute.
"I won't betray your trust. I'll forge the D-Class into the Foundation's sharpest spear!"
"Good."
Felix nodded, satisfied. He turned to May. "Agent May, you'll be his deputy. Assist him."
He checked the time.
"All right. You can go. Return to your rooms at the villa. At first light, you'll be escorted back to the U.S. mainland—and then to your new posts for familiarization."
"Yes, sir!"
Coulson and May took the order, hearts pounding, and all but hurried out.
Watching Coulson's eager back, Felix's lip curved—cold and amused.
Let the self-proclaimed "shield of humanity" become the Foundation's front-line expendables.
Let them feel the cruelty of containment work in their own blood and bones.
Isn't that exactly what their slogan claims—to fight for humanity?
I'm such a good person.
Felix quietly praised himself.
(End of Chapter)
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