I was sitting at my desk typing a press release for Mr. Stark when a man in a stereotypical "FBI agent attire", black sunglasses and all walked up to my desk. He towered over my seated form and pulled out a badge.
"Ma'am, my name is Agent Coulson from S.H.I.E.L.D., and I'd like to ask you a few questions. Will you come with me?"
I thought over my options. I could try to escape and draw attention to my 'quirks', or I could go along with the man and pray that he just wanted to go over some details about Mr. Stark. I decided to go with the last option and hope that he had no clue what I was. With my luck, that was not particularly likely, but a girl can dream, no?
"Of course, Agent Coulson. I'd be delighted to help in any way I can."
The walk out of the building and into his waiting car passed quietly, with no small amount of tension. He seemed on edge around me, and the likelihood of him being ignorant to the fact that I was not normal, to say the least, shrunk by the minute. I was not the only one in the backseat. There was a woman there who introduced herself as Natasha. Something about her seemed fake, but she was so congenial I dismissed the thought as complete and utter nonsense. Nobody that pleasant could be too dangerous.
The ride was long, but not unpleasant. I was surprised to see an airplane, and immediately protested. My pets at home needed to be fed and let out, and I couldn't do it if I was very far away from home.
"Relax, they'll be just fine." Natasha told me that someone would be sent to take care of them, but it would be best if I just got on the plane and did as I was told. I saw no other good option, so I just got on the plane and did as I was told. I sat quietly for the ride, and meekly disembarked when we landed. Based off of the distance traveled, I knew that they knew what I am.
As soon as I entered the building, a team of agents surrounded us as we walked into what I assumed was the nice cop interrogation room. Sage green walls, comfy couches, and roses on the coffee table lent an air of ease and comfort to the cozy place. In one of the armchairs sat a middle aged yet obviously sharp man with an eye patch. He gestured to the chair facing his, and introduced himself as Nick Fury, shaking my hand. He has one hell of a grip. As soon as I sat down, he began his monologue.
"S.H.I.E.L.D. was created with a very specific purpose- to protect the planet and its inhabitants. There are many threats out and about, and not all of them are what we would consider human. With these kinds of stakes, there can be no middle ground. Anastasia, I believe…"
"Yes?"
"Are you for us or against us? We know who you are and what you can do. There is no middle ground, no neutrality. You are either an ally or a threat which must be neutralized. Which are you?"
"Mr. Fury, with all due respect, my powers are quite limited. I cannot cast a simple teleportation spell without setting fire to whichever room I'm in. My powers fizzle and flop. I'm thoroughly useless. A magical dunce. I pose no threat to your organization. All I want is to be left in peace with my animals."
"I don't believe you understand what I am telling you," he growled. "You have to choose a side. If you do not cooperate, you force our hand and you will be neutralized. Am I clear?"
That did it. At that moment in time I believed that Director Fury had bitten off more than he could chew. I began to focus inwards, to call upon the power I couldn't control. My body began to glow in the runes and signs carved into my skin as a small child as I prepared to blow him up, and quite possible blow myself up with the waves of power crashing through my body. A Morrigan would never be somebody else's puppet.
Just as I was about to unleash whatever power I could access, he pressed a button and the wall became a window through which I could see each of my pets with a gun pointed at its head. I panicked and pulled all of the power I could grab back into myself, disregarding all that I had been taught about magical safety. It hurt. A lot. Every place that had once born a rune or a symbol bled and burned and died. Only my face was safe, and not even the entire face. The skin around my eyes bore the marks as well, unfortunate as it was. Everywhere hurt, and I knew that I was not going to win, so i did the only possible thing- I played nice.
"Alright. When do I start?"
Since I decided to play nice, S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't let me die. I was placed in the intensive care unit of the helicarrier's hospital with lacerations, 2nd and 3rd degree burns covering nearly half of my body. I was in a medically induced coma for nearly a week, and as soon as I was functional I was being interrogated for hours on end. Everything that I could do was demonstrated and recorded, and I was constantly monitored. I even spotted cameras in the bathrooms. The constant surveillance built nothing but resentment, and I eagerly awaited the day that I would be able to retire. As I was only a 16 year old intern at the time, I was looking at another 49 years until I hit retirement age. It was going to be a very long 49 years.
Apparently, being able to use some magic wasn't good enough for the people at S.H.I.E.L.D. They insisted that I train for hours a day in hand-to-hand combat and marksmanship. I had always been pro right to bear arms (and arm bears), but after my 39th consecutive day of 12 hour training sessions, I decided whoever invented the gun should be shot. Everything hurt all the time. The food was terrible… I could really go on, but it would get monotonous after a while.
After what felt like a lifetime on base, but was really just a few weeks, I was given my first assignment to prove my loyalty to the organization. Around the same time that they kidnapped me, they found the long-lost Captain America stuck in the ice, and it looked like he was going to wake up decided that it would be a good idea to have me babysit the capsicle for them so that they could see just how well brainwashed I was. He'd probably be some old stick in the mud. The only good part of the assignment was I'd get to take him back to the family estate. Being the last surviving member of an ancient witch coven came with perks, particularly a very nice house in the middle of nowhere. It would be nice to sleep in my own bed...
For the next week I spent all day, every day waiting outside of the capsicle's replica 1940's hotel room, reading up on him and doing calisthenics. Director Fury insisted that I wear typical period clothing in order to not startle him when he woke up. I, however, decided that I would cause a little bit of trouble for the dear old director, and used my knowledge of the capsicle to my advantage. I knew that when he was sick as a young boy, he began listening to baseball games on the radio. He became quite a fan, and so I put my training to good use. I snuck into his room and put on a game that he was sure to have listened to, and waited for the fireworks. It didn't take very long, and that ditz of a nurse didn't even notice the game. When he woke up and recognized what was going on, he ran out into the middle of Manhattan, went back into his room, and proceeded to panic. He was not prepared to wake up in the 21st century. Seeing a smartphone freaked him out. After the first 15 minutes or so, I had my work cut out for me. First things first- I had to get him back to my place. Everything else could be decided at a later date, but he seemed to be in need of a home cooked meal and a decent night's sleep. Nearly every problem looks easier to solve after food and sleep are handled.
The man could make a three year old seem uninquisitive and blase. Although I knew that there was a lot going though his mind and that everything was new to him, it was still tiring to explain how things work, what things were, and that I didn't know how everything worked. By the end of the 16 hour car ride, I felt incredibly stupid. I hadn't realized how much I took it for granted that my computer turned on and my GPS worked. I promised to buy him a book on modern technology as soon as we were settled into my house and turned up the music, hoping for some peace. Luck was not on my side that night.
"What is that noise? It's like cats dying!"
"It's called music. Did they have that in the dark ages?"
"Yes, but it was better. More natural. Not this weird stuff."
"Fine. Have it your way."
I couldn't believe my luck. A sixteen hour car ride without Queen or Black Sabbath. Maybe I'd be able to get away with some Adele, but nevertheless I'd probably fall asleep at the wheel without my rock. I was in for a very long night.