"Director Coulson... something is going on. Many of Fury's secret bases are going offline."

Phil Coulson, Keeper of Migraine Extraordinaire, stared at the latest Koenig brother to sashay into his life, offering intel and lanyards.

"Fred, I need more." Least he thought it was Fred. Might be Bob, Albert or Charles. He hadn't met Walter, Xavier, or Zane yet, but he assumed sooner rather than later they'd pop up.

"We think this is the next base to be compromised," said the Keeper of the Lanyards. "They seem centered in this particular area. Most of them are small hideaways, in case an agent was in trouble, but someone is systematically taking them offline. It could by Hydra, or it could be a SHIELD agent trying to keep them from falling into enemy hands. It would have to be a higher level agent... seven or eight."

"Fire up the jet."


"Are we there yet? I'm feeling a bit peckish," announced Fitz as they drove through miles upon miles of scenic countryside.

"I have Cheerios," Jemma announced as she had taken on the role of Mama Bird and stuffed the recovering Fitz's face full whenever he was feeling peckish. Fortunately for Fitz his metabolism was akin to Steve Rogers, else there might be a stern talking to in Jemma's future.

"I want pancakes," he announced. "Isn't anyone else hungry?"

"I am," announced Littlest Daughter Skye.

When Trip agreed that it might be better to face whatever it was on a full stomach, the team pulled into the most disreputable pancake place ever, entitled, "Breakfast Emporium".


The team was motioned to sit down by a pleasant young lady, and Phil began to peruse the menu after he had taken a long sip of the absolute best cup of coffee he ever had. "This menu is rather eclectic for a small place in Colorado," he told the young girl, who was obviously working for her first car as she had no idea what the word meant. She gave him a big, blank smile.

"Really, this menu is like someone has been traveling around the world hand picked up the breakfast foods he liked best. For example, this dish... Heuvos divorciados... Shakshouka..." he stopped as his Captain America Sense was tingling. He looked at May, and she nodded once.

"Excuse me, where is the rest room?" he asked.

The girl pointed but May and Phil, instincts honed by years of experience, headed toward the kitchen, kicked in the swinging door and were greeted by the chef and the sous chef pointing hand guns at them. And a Big Humanoid Alien, with four arms, a tail and a blood thirsty set of incisors who was industriously using both sets of arms to handle the grill.

"Read the sign, you're not allowed in the kitchen," a bearded Japser Sitwell announced.

"Director Coulson was never one to read," sniped a bearded Felix Blake. "DIRECTOR... while you've been hiding in your nice secret base, Sitwell and I have been busy ensuring that the rest of the bases don't fall into HYDRA's hands."

"Blake, Sitwell's HYDRA," Phil announced. "He also got run over by a semi and there... wasn't... enough... to... identify him..."

"I get crunched by the BIONIC man, and your LMD gets hit by a semi," sighed Blake. "Why are we still acting like we belong to SHIELD?"

"Pension," offered Sitwell.

"Sitwell was a triple agent, and I was his handler," Blake explained.

"I need a plate," the alien announced. "Stop waving your toys around and give me a plate."

Phil grabbed a plate and handed it to her, (it? him?) and the alien placed refried beans, two poached eggs (perfectly circular, Phil noticed with approval) and then using her tail, splashed salsa verde and then salsa roja onto the eggs.

She then presented the place to Jasper, and she asked, "Is the plating better, Uncle Jasper?"

"That's my girl," he said.