Chapter 4 : THE MEN IN BLACK
The door stayed closed for forty-seven minutes.
I counted. Not because I was nervous—though I was, a little—but because counting gave me something to do besides stare at the one-way mirror and wonder who was staring back.
The mints on the table were surprisingly good. Peppermint, not spearmint. I took three and slipped one into my mouth, letting it dissolve slowly while I catalogued everything about the room.
Standard interrogation setup, but softened. The chairs had cushions. The lighting was warm rather than harsh. There was even a plant in the corner—fake, but a nice touch. This was the room they used for people they wanted to cooperate, not confess.
Good sign.
My detection ability hummed at a low frequency, scanning automatically. No Inhumans in the immediate vicinity. The agents who'd brought me here—Carson and her silent partner—were baseline human. So was everyone I'd passed in the hallways.
But somewhere deeper in the facility, there were signatures. Faint, muffled by distance and probably concrete walls. At least two dormant Inhumans working for SHIELD, completely unaware of what they carried.
The door clicked.
I straightened in my chair, popping the mint to the side of my mouth.
Coulson walked in carrying a folder and a cup of coffee. He moved like someone who'd learned to be comfortable in uncomfortable situations—relaxed posture, easy stride, but eyes that missed nothing.
"Sorry for the wait," he said, settling into the chair across from me. "Paperwork."
"Government agency. I figured."
He set the folder on the table but didn't open it. Instead, he took a sip of his coffee and studied me over the rim.
I let him look.
"You're not nervous," he observed.
"Should I be?"
"Most people in your situation would be."
"Most people in my situation don't volunteer for this." I shrugged. "I came here because I wanted to. Hard to be scared of something you chose."
He set the coffee down. "Fair point."
The folder opened. I caught glimpses of printouts, photos, what looked like a preliminary psychological profile. They'd been busy.
"Jake Mordered. Twenty-eight years old. Aged out of the foster system at eighteen. Bounced between jobs ever since—warehouse work, restaurant kitchens, delivery driving. No criminal record, no known associations, no red flags." He looked up. "Until yesterday."
"I stopped a mugging."
"You stopped a mugging by moving faster than a trained athlete and dislocating a man's shoulder with a technique you shouldn't know."
"He had a knife."
"He did." Coulson's expression remained neutral. "Where did you learn that joint lock?"
I met his eyes. "I didn't. It just... happened. Like my body knew what to do even though I'd never done it before."
"That's convenient."
"That's terrifying, actually." I let some genuine emotion bleed through. "A few months ago, I was normal. Now I can catch thrown objects before I see them move and apparently do martial arts I never studied. I have no idea what's happening to me."
Coulson watched me for a long moment. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pen.
"May I?"
I nodded.
He threw the pen at my face.
My hand intercepted it six inches from my nose. The motion was smooth, automatic, completely bypassing conscious thought. I looked at the pen in my fingers like I'd never seen one before.
"Interesting," Coulson said.
"For you, maybe." I set the pen on the table. "For me, it's just more evidence that my brain and body aren't on the same page anymore."
He retrieved the pen, tucked it back into his pocket. "What else can you do?"
The moment of truth. How much to reveal?
I stood and walked to the corner where the fake plant sat in its pot. The pot was ceramic, heavy enough to be awkward for a normal person to lift one-handed. I picked it up with my left hand and held it at arm's length.
"Stronger than I should be. Not superhuman—I'm not going to be arm-wrestling Thor anytime soon—but enough to notice. And I heal faster than normal. Those scrapes on my knuckles from yesterday? Should have taken a week to close up. They're almost gone."
I set the pot down and returned to my chair.
"Anything else?"
Here was the gamble. The detection ability was my most valuable asset, but it was also the hardest to explain without revealing too much. I needed to frame it carefully.
"I can sense people. Not everyone—just certain ones. There's a... pull. Like they're humming at a frequency I can hear but can't explain. I don't know what makes them different. I just know they are."
Coulson's expression flickered. Just for a moment, but I caught it.
He knew what I was describing. He'd encountered Inhumans before, or at least people with unusual genetic markers. My ability to detect them was significant information.
"How many people like that have you encountered?" he asked.
"Dozens. Maybe more. They're everywhere, walking around with no idea they're special. Most of them feel... quiet. Like whatever makes them different is asleep."
"And the ones who don't feel quiet?"
"Haven't met any yet. But I imagine they'd feel like a bonfire compared to a candle."
Coulson closed the folder. He stared at it for a moment, then at me.
"What do you want, Mr. Mordered?"
The question I'd been waiting for.
"I want to understand what's happening to me. And while I'm figuring that out, I want to do something useful with it." I leaned forward, letting the earnestness show. "I watched the Battle of New York on TV like everyone else. Saw people with abilities I couldn't imagine fighting to save the world. And I thought—if I ever got a chance to be part of something like that, I'd take it without hesitation."
"This isn't the Avengers."
"I know. I'm not asking to be a superhero. I'm asking to help. In whatever way you need me. Consultant, asset, guinea pig for your scientists—I don't care. Just give me a chance to prove I'm worth something."
The silence stretched.
Coulson finished his coffee and stood.
"Wait here, Mr. Mordered. I need to make a call."
The door closed behind him.
I exhaled and slumped back in my chair.
Either I'd just earned a ticket to the Bus, or I was about to be filed away in some Index database forever. The uncertainty gnawed at me, but there was nothing to do but wait.
I took another mint.
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