Prologue
Diana Crypt had dealt with a lot in her short time with SHIELD. She'd "handled" a few rogue mutants in Canada, arm-wrestled with an archangel in Vegas, permanently grounded a couple of corn-worshiping runts from Nebraska, exorcised a few nasty looking demons in Kansas, put a few bullets in zombie brains in Tallahassee and was knee-deep in vampire blood in Louisiana when she'd finally caught wind of Earth being invaded by Norse deities in New Mexico. She dealt with enough already. Now SHIELD was blowing up her phone because they wanted her lanky ass to be helping out with the potential global catastrophe because she could occasionally predict the future and move things with her mind. Lucky her.
Diana wasn't even under the terms of what could loosely be considered a "regular" SHIELD Agent. Her "specific skill-set" consisted of being a freak, and her sole occupation was reserved under the Paranormal Defense Department, of which, she was the only person specifically assigned to. Other SHIELD Agents had the misfortune of encountering their oddball coworker when their paths happened to cross and she needed a lift to her next destination. Honestly, she was more of a controlled experiment than an actual employee. Even when Diana dared to consider what her "special" qualifications were when dealing with these gods, she was reminded that she could barely speak to her telepathic waitress and keep herself from poking into her mind when she ordered her damned food. It was a rather anticlimactic, though momentous, stepping stone in her career as an Agent. She needed a drink, because as of today, a little piece of the human race rested on her limp, deflated shoulders. Could she just not?
By the time she'd finished her wet burger and dry beer in the fang-infested bar called Merlotte's, another faceless, nameless SHIELD Agent was already parked outside and waiting for her. She wasn't sure what scared her the most: The gang of vampires in the booth behind her; or the fact that Fury was desperate enough to entrust the fate of the world "someone like her". She planned to get shitfaced drunk to calm her nerves otherwise she knew it wouldn't be long before she'd run screaming for the hilltops. Agent or not, freak or otherwise, a shit sandwich served cold was hard enough to swallow for anybody. They'd take the short drive up to Shreveport, wing a private jet and would be en route to SHIELD HQ before dawn the next day. Fan-fucking-tastic. She'd have her supervisor Coulson's head served on a silver platter for keeping her so far out of the loop thus far, but hey, working for a nameless, faceless cooperation had its perks. She couldn't complain much when she'd had such a smooth ride and a breezy takeoff; the perks came easiest when she wasn't searching for any creepy or crawly things to kill. The people she'd met along the way were certainly interesting enough.
"Did Coulson ever get that autograph I asked for? Those vintage Captain America trading cards weren't easy to find, ya know!" Diana giggled, taking a hearty little swig from her metal skull-tipped flask she kept hidden in her coat pocket. Oh the benefits of working with SHIELD certainly were worth the headache when she was allowed to carry an S&W Model 500, so comfortably nuzzled against her bottle of Jack in a private jet!
"Yeah, he says he's working on it, but it may be a while, rumor has it the Wolverine's somewhere in Tokyo doing god knows what!" The agent chuckled warmly, finally taking off his sunglasses, lifting the mask of anonymousness. Diana looked perfectly civilian compared to the man's clean and crisp black business suit. Guilty as charged, her grungy appearance came from her less-than-business-casual choice in attire. Though she was twenty-three and living on her own, she still refused to let the good times she had in those clothes go to waste.
"Sorry I can't much look the part," She joked, flashing the agent a winning white smile and an eyeful of her stormy gray irises. "Explains more or less why Coulson's being so stubborn, he hates it when I can't play dress up for him…." Black, holey skinny jeans, combat boots and a Guns N' Roses t-shirt certainly wasn't at the top of Coulson's little dress code. The man sitting across from her in the cushiony, white leather seat just shook his head with a contented sigh and took his response in stride.
"The legendary Crypt Keeper follows her own rules; your reputation precedes you just fine, Agent Crypt, and with your skills, Coulson acknowledges that as long as you do your job—" He tipped his head at the collection of wooden stakes, silver bullets, religious memorabilia and various other tinkering objects stashed deep within the back of the plane's belly "No one very much cares what you wear."
"Hear, hear!" Diana cheered, tapping her cute little flask against his bottle of Budweiser. The two agents exchanged past experiences on missions and occasionally laughed at the other's bad jokes so they could pass on the time. Moments like theirs never lasted very long in their line of work.
"You never did tell me what your skill-set was, Diana…" Agent Joey slurred, half conscious on his seat with his head drooping lamely over the edge. "I mean yeah, people talk about what they are but I wanna hear it from you." The young woman frowned, cupping her cheek into the palm of her hand as she mulled over her extraordinary abilities. If they went down that particularly shady road, it would only bring nothing but trouble.
"I hunt things." She replied simply, having their flight attendant clear away his four empty bottles of booze. Diana's own buzz was slightly put off at his comment; she brought her knees to her chest and played with a loose strand of her long, black hair. This subject was always a little sensitive for her; the only other pair she'd encountered that was just as strange and out-out-of-sorts as she was were these two brothers that helped her out in Tallahassee about six or seven month back. The names weren't sticking to her too well at the moment, but she remembered their sweet ass '67 Chevy Impala.
"No, no, no; not just that," Joey whined, adjusting the tightness of his tie slightly as he re-positioned himself once again in his chair, "your powers."
Diana smirked and resisted the urge to laugh at how childish he was being. Maybe it was the amount of alcohol he had drunk or Diana's apathy that made her feel the need to set him straight. Maybe it was Joey's blissful ignorance that had him asking her to bluntly reveal a part of her that terrified even her. Diana knew she was a freak, and here this guy was asking her to put on a show for him. Diana sat up in her seat and channeled her energy, swiftly flicking her wrist at the release button at the side of Joey's chair. She'd give him all the hell he wanted if that's how he wanted it. As his legs flew up in the air Diana effortlessly used his momentum to keep one of his ankles propelled in the air so he was hanging like a strung up deer. He went flying with a loud yelp and he thrashed around aimlessly at the air in front of him as he cursed and swore to the heaven's disposal.
"Well, ya know, I don't like to brag about it," She mused, rising from her seat and moving Joey to follow her from behind, her index finger still raised, "but I think it says in my file that I possess significant psychokinetic, clairvoyant and telepathic abilities, Joey. They also say in my psychological evaluation that I don't play too well with others because of the things I've had to do, can do and possibly will do. So basically what they're telling everyone is this….," Keeping her focus on his elevated ankle, she lowered her hand to glare at the dazed and confused agent; his eyes were wide with fear and his breathing was forced and sharp. Diana could sense his heart pounding in his chest under her angry gaze, thundering in her ears as she bore deeply into his mind. "Don't fuck with me."