Chapter Text
June 2019
Nicholas Fury
A little over 2 years ago, SHIELD had exacted justice on the facility behind some of the most horrific scientific advancements known to humankind. A little over two years ago, he’d released Mr. Stark, one of the Order’s most dangerous creations, into the world with little more than a smile and a pat on the back.
And now, thanks to his calculated generosity, he was watching that creation blossom: battling on the streets of New York City alongside the team he’d filled with the most impressive heroes he could find. Extraordinary and well controlled, for all the world to see on the six o’clock news. And SHIELD was raking in the credit for finding (officially in collaboration with Stark Industries) and molding him.
Fury had known, back then, the kind of potential he had in his hands. He needed only be delicate, flexible—not too eager, not too kind, kindness was suspicious to those like Stark—and he'd manage to mold a hero of his own. A phoenix, risen from the ashes of dubious creation. A weapon under his command.
He'd known about the Order in some small way his entire career, suspected that someone like them had the young Tony Stark. He'd been trailing behind their messy operations for years. But they were quick, clever. They managed to remain one step ahead.
But they'd finally made a mistake: They lost Tony Stark. The mercenary was Fury's chance to finally have the upper hand, to force them to chase.
Fury remembered the Order's destruction clearly: he’d watched the footage of bombs falling, of fire indiscriminately consuming trees and bodies and building materials. He’d watched debris collapse into the wreckage, feeding the flames for hours and hours. He’d watched, as if he were there himself, body-cam footage as his agents combed through the ruins, as every beam and pile of ash was catalogued for further analysis, as every bone fragment was tucked away.
He’d known, before the reports crossed his desk, that his agents had not found nearly as many bodies as anticipated. He’d known that hundreds of creatures as enhanced as those did not disappear from one explosion, a bit of fire. He’d known that the Order, in one form or another, still existed. Somewhere.
But they were hurting, flailing. Fury had them exactly where he wanted them. He was sure of it.
When Agent Coulson approached him after the facility's destruction, having scavenged a hard drive he’d been relatively certain their techs could crack, Fury had been intrigued. They had survivors, but they were traumatized, brainwashed. Unreliable. Likely as stubborn as the first. But firsthand, solid information? On an enemy that would eventually rise again?
That was invaluable.
Agent Coulson had wanted to inform the survivors of their suspicions, but Fury had ordered him to keep quiet. The last thing he needed was a mutant mercenary on the wind. No, it was better if they remained unaware, convinced the Order had been struck down by a single triumphant rain of fire. Stark especially, given his constant rebellion and instability, was important to keep docile. It would be easier to keep an eye on him that way.
Agent Coulson had been… difficult to convince. But his own curiosity had gotten the better of him, in the end.
December 2016, Following the Destruction of The Known Order Compound
Fury had just been handed a shiny new drive containing all the intel stolen from the Order's, delivered by none other than Phil Coulson, who was adamantly arguing against the information's retrieval. He was particularly appalled by Fury's interest in sending it down to his researchers (after lengthy reviews and redactions performed by the director himself, of course.)
“Sir, if any of the survivor accounts are to be believed, replication of those experiments would be a violation of a plethora of human rights and dignities,” Agent Coulson insisted, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Sometimes, these kinds of discoveries... this kind of information is likely best left buried.”
“The Order's still out there, agent. And you know what I always say: in order to defeat an enemy, one must first understand them. Now, I’m not saying we kidnap and torture children. We don’t even know what kind of information is on this file, if it will be of any interest at all." Fury turned the drive over in his hand, running a thumb across its smooth surface. It might be nothing... but he could feel it, somehow. The answers inside would be satisfying. They were calling to him, drawing him in. And he planned on following that urge, like a moth to a flame. He looked back to Coulson: "But I am saying that ignoring a valuable asset such as this would be a grave threat to national security.”
Agent Coulson simply sat there, tight lipped, biting his tongue. Clearly unhappy, but silent.
Good. Fury could keep the contents to himself... but the Order was a big threat. It'd be more effective to have another set of eyes. This was Coulson's test: if he passed, he'd be invited in. If not... Fury would find someone else to work with. There was always someone else, someone stronger, someone with the drive to do what needed to be done. He'd prefer Phil: he trusted him, knew he was skilled. But he didn't need him. Not if he was going to be a weight dragging the mission down, not if he was going to dig his heels in and fight him every step of the way.
“If you have some moral qualms that prevent you from seeing things objectively, you are absolutely free to leave this office and wash your hands of this whole thing. So long as you understand that this conversation was confidential, and strictly off-the-record.” Fury trapped him with a harsh gaze. “We wouldn’t want our hacker-friend catching wind of your discovery, it would upset him. And I think he has more than enough to worry about, don’t you agree?”
“If the Order is rebuilding, sir, he needs to know,” agent Coulson said, eyes sharp. "And if the intel collected suggests—"
"He had a nervous breakdown on our front lawn because he believes they're gone. Do you want to upend his reality again?" Fury pressed, knowing Coulson would bite. The man's compassion for the mercenary had grown obvious through the months of Stark's confinement. In many ways, Coulson had taken him under his wing, working hard to help him adjust. If anything would convince him to maintain discretion, it would be Stark's instability. "He barely knows where he is, agent, barely knows who he is. Confusing him any further could reset all the progress he's made."
Coulson stiffened, jaw tense. "If they're still out there, they'll come after him. It's only a matter of time."
“Stark is a grown up, a highly skilled one at that. I'm sure he is more than capable of taking care of himself,” Fury waved him off. “Better to keep him close, where we can keep an eye on him. That way we can ensure nothing happens to him... if he runs off, he'll be on his own. And if he finds out about this, he will run.” Fury paused, gave Coulson a moment to process his words.
After a long minute of silence, of a staring contest Fury knew he'd win, Coulson slowly nodded.
Fury allowed the tension he carried in his shoulders to melt away, adjusting his grip on the small, compact flash drive the tech crew had given him. “I wanted you here because you're one of my most trusted associates, and it was your find that got us here. I’m ready to see what you’ve found, agent. Are you staying?”
Coulson didn't move, didn't even twitch. To some, it would seem he had no reaction at all. But he didn't leave. To Fury, that was an answer.
Fury had cleared his office of bugs and cameras for this, ensured Stark was busy on an excursion in the city so he could work with complete privacy. He'd prepared, knowing that after plugging in the flash drive he'd want to spend some real time with it, fully understanding the intel inside.
There was only one file on the drive. A patient log, examining the development of a woman affectionately deemed MOTO2. It was a complete history of her previous medical conditions, how they'd been cured, followed by an extensive detailing of her neural and muscular development as she was trained and treated by Order "medical" staff.
The most prominent and detailed entry was written about her "evolution", in which they'd injected the sixteen-year-old subject with a serum… Not the same that had been given to Steve, but if Fury was inferring correctly, it was the same one Tony had received. A drug which, when administered prior to the application of extreme stress to the body, worked to find an inner truth, a secret “cheat code” in one’s genetic makeup that could express itself as any number of abilities necessary to ensure the subject’s survival. According to the pre-op notes, the doctors hadn't known what kind of ability the subject would exhibit following the experiment, they hadn't even been confident she'd survive. But afterward… her blood, which had been targeted and corrupted by multiple rounds of toxic exposures in order to lead her to a near-death state, had adapted. And the woman, on top of gaining the ability to replicate toxic substances within herself, survived. Though she was nothing like the "poisoners" described by the Avengers. Meaning she had been a success.
This, of course, only made Fury more curious. He wanted to know exactly what kind of serum was administered, he wanted to know exactly how the particular stressor was decided on. According to Tony, his evolution had been different, he'd instead gone through rounds of electric shocks. But he was a child genius, already working with his father in the workshop. Had they adapted the procedure to him? Did they choose children based on aptitude, wait for them to develop the strength to survive such horrors, and try to exploit their talents? Did the subject have to be young, moldable, or could one replicate the experiment on a strong adult?
And her procedures hadn't ended there… the file detailed additional serums for strength, for speed, to slow her aging in order to keep her in her physical prime. She'd undergone operations on her eyes which gave her the ability to see further, to see in the dark… though she underwent few surgical procedures, as her doctors discovered her blood corroded all of their tools.
Fury did not yet know how everything worked, but he had a starting point: a step-by-step recipe for a monster that was only missing its ingredients.
And he wanted to know. He wanted to find them, and figure out exactly how each and every one of those creatures was made. He wanted, after years of chasing and confusion and frustration, to understand the Order. He wanted to deconstruct them to their base components, revealing all their secrets and crimes, and finally come out on top.
June 2019 (Back to Present)
Coulson entered his office, shoulders tight. Fury turned off his computer, ceasing his viewing of the news broadcast. The battle was winding down. The Avengers would win, and Fury would need to get his PR people working while the victory was still fresh. Maybe an interview with the Captain, where he could say complimentary things about the Avenger's new ally. Someone would need to meet with Stark to ensure he didn’t say anything stupid. Or hide him away from the press before he said anything at all: Pepper Potts would be unhappy if he interfered with her carefully crafted rollout strategy.
It's not that he was afraid of her. But she was a formidable woman, one with more than enough resources to make his life difficult.
Coulson dropped a file on his desk, an old-school manilla folder that nearly lost its contents with the force. “Another one for your personal project,” he ground out, already moving to leave. He had his phone in hand, eyes glued to the screen. Fury assumed he was following the progress of the battle in the city.
“Where are you going?” Fury asked, pulling the papers closer to him, carefully thumbing them back into place. “Tell me about it. Why do you think it’s relevant?”
Coulson froze, stood near the door. “It’s another assassin. The agent assigned to tail him reported he’d changed shape, taken the form of his target. Nobody even realized the ambassador was dead until the next day. It’s causing a media circus in Istanbul, the victim made public appearances long after his time of death.”
“Was the assassin captured?” Fury asked, scanning the report before him. Hand written, photos paper-clipped to the relevant pages. The old-fashioned way was the best method to keep information away from prying eyes.
“No, he escaped,” Coulson said. “Our agent suspects he must have changed form again to avoid detection.”
Fury nodded, glancing down. It was a good lead, their first in a while. Except for... “Any progress on our friend downstairs?”
They had one of the Order's agents hidden away in a basement cell, the only one they'd managed to catch. He was some kind of "medusa." While his gaze didn't literally turn his victims into stone, people became paralyzed if they met his eye. A metal blindfold and a few heavy-duty restrains managed to keep him in check.
“Still refusing to speak,” Coulson reported. How disappointing. “I tried to send agent Meadow in, see if a familiar face might convince him to surrender. But she was unsuccessful." Coulson pocketed his phone, finally giving his full attention to the present conversation. "I’d like to give her some time off, sir. She was rattled.”
“I’m sure seeing one of her own chained up wasn't easy for her. A vision of what-could-have-been.” Fury dismissed him. “She can have a week to herself. Keep an eye on her, though. If it seems like she has any intention of deserting...”
Meadow was one of the survivors of the initial Order decimation, a name she chose for herself after never remembering her own. She was a good enough agent, and her enhancements (including an ability to see through walls) served her well in the field. But her mental fortitude left much to be desired. She was unable to tolerate much in the way of Order-oriented missions. Fury was losing hope she'd be useful to his pet-project, and was already planning to reorient her toward other targets.
“Of course,” Coulson said. “And Baker?”
The other survivor. She was much more promising, eager to track down the remaining forces of the Order. Tony had only met them once, after Steve pleaded with him for days, in order to disable their ‘chips’ so they could begin fieldwork. Fury was fine with Stark's desire to keep his distance. He didn’t want his paranoia infecting their loyalty to SHIELD. “Send her to try and follow the trail,” Fury said. “She knows how to be… discrete, with these types of jobs. But make sure to remind her.” Baker was an incredible tracker, more skilled than anyone else on staff. If anyone could find the mimic, it'd be her.
Coulson nodded, though he didn’t move to leave.
“Out with it, agent,” Fury said, flipping through his file. The mimic hadn't spoken at all after stealing the face of the ambassador. Was it because of his teeth, or was he unable to replicate the voice? So much to solve... “You know I don’t have all day.”
“Tony's face is plastered all over the news,” Coulson snapped, completely still as he fought to keep his frustration in check. “The Stark Industries press conference was bad enough, and we controlled the spread of it. But now, displaying his abilities for all the world to see—don’t you think it’s time—I mean to say, the Order will find him. Easily.”
“I’m sure they found him a long time ago,” Fury replied, closing the file. He was unenthused to dredge this old conversation back up: Stark didn't need to know yet. End of story. He was still unpredictable. Fury wouldn't allow him to interfere with all his hard work. Not until he found the answers he sought.
“It’s not a matter of if they seek him out, but when. Especially now that we’re actively on their trail. The Order is aggressive and they will retaliate.”
Fury nodded, sitting back in his seat. “Why don’t you let me worry about that,” he said, easily dismissing his subordinate. “I’ll let him know as soon as we have something more concrete. All we have to go off of right now is a few assassins who are just as likely to be one of Xavier’s as one of theirs.”
“You’re being careless—”
“I think you have work to do,” Fury snapped, standing to lead Coulson out of the door. “As do I.”
Coulson was going to snap eventually, that much was obvious. Most likely, he’d tell Barton. Those two were… close. Acting as if Fury didn’t know, of course, which he was willing to entertain for now. And Barton would try to keep it to himself, but manage for a day or two. And then he’d spill to Natasha, who would almost certainly inform Stark. He didn't quite understand the loyalty those to had for one another, but he knew they'd schemed and covered for one another on more than one occasion, even if he couldn't prove it.
Regardless of who told who, there were many preparations needed for the day Coulson finally cracked, and Stark finally understood how much was being hidden from him... So much to do.
Fury was, as always, a very busy man.