We were made to lead the way
We could be the generation
That finally breaks the chains
Phil Coulson had seen humanity at is worst, but never had he ever seen something quite as horrible as this. This twisted, depraved sorry excuse for a human being standing over a young man- nineteen, maybe twenty, Caucasian, blonde haired, slight build, not particularly tall- strapped to an examination table, tubes feeding into his stomach and nose. He had clearly been there a long time.
The scientist, Dr Jones, held a knife to the throat of what had clearly been he and his team's pet science project. The foot soldiers spread out, only stopping when Jones jerked back his captives head and pressed the blade warningly against the soft throat. The soldiers glanced warily at each other, clearly uncomfortable with the situation.
Phil's face held no emotion, he was too well trained to make such a rookie mistake, but that didn't make him any less happy with the scene playing out in front of him. He hated hostage situations, and this one made it nearly impossible to get to their target without shooting the civilian.
The scientist snarled when Phil twitched his hand towards his coat pocket. The blade
Dug deeper, drawing blood. Phil got the message and stopped moving.
He really hated hostage situations.
Dr Jones smirked, like he had already won. "Good G-man". He edged towards the
Exit, making sure his captive was facing the soldiers. "Now I'll just pop out the door, and you don't follow or". Here he jerked his captive up, making a point, rubbing salt into a festering wound. "Subject six here dies".
Phil ground his teeth, furious and annoyed and frustrated that they didn't have a sniper. Their last one had gotten himself killed while engaging in 'heroics'.
Subject six's eyebrows fluttered slightly.
Phil subtly motioned for his team to stand by, and then tensed, ready to draw his sidearm.
Dr Jones took a step to the door, then another, and another.
There was a pause, and then for the first time in six months Subject six woke up from the sedative induced sleep, and promptly went into a fit Dr Jones labelled as a 'side affect'.
Well, at least when he wasn't on the receiving end of it.
There are no side affects?'
'None but the usual, sir, and the doctors are well versed in how to handle them now. They learned their lesson the first time and now, now there are no more casualties'.
Subject six exploded into action, grabbing the arm pinning the knife to his throat with both hands, he snapped it like a twig. Jones went white in the face and his arm hung limply in six's grasp as a terrible scream was ripped from his throat.
Pain, so much pain.
Subject six may not have been entirely aware during the hellish months he had spent, but he was still human, and humans could feel pain. And vengeance. Oh yes, six may not have been entirely aware, but he knew exactly who had ordered the experimentations in the first place.
There was a crunch as Six used Jones's broken arm as a lever to shove the Dr at the soldiers, who were all too happy to open fire on the one person who had caused the twisted mutations of One, Two, Three, Four and Five, who the soldiers had been forced to kill in an act of mercy. Jones was dead before he hit the ground.
Six whimpered and slid down the wall to huddle in the corner, hugging his knees to his chest as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing, of where he was. He wasn't even aware that he had started rocking.
Phil Coulson wasn't one to stand for non useful idleness, and he quickly took stock of the situation before sending off the soldiers to root out other scientists. They didn't even bother arguing with him, it was simply not worth the pain.
Left alone Phil cautiously approached Subject six, cautiously because who knew what had been done to the poor man.
"What's you're name?" Phil asked as he knelt before the huddled figure. Six stiffened and stopped rocking, every line in his body screaming wariness.
"What's your name?" Phil tried again.
"Don't have one", the man muttered finally, "It's too bright, turn off the light, my eyes hurt. Oh god, my eyes, what did they do to my eyes? What have they done to me? Why can't I remember?"
"Okay, calm down, breathe".
Six moved with startling speed, grabbing Coulson's suit and pulling him closer, inches away from his face. Phil forcibly relaxed his grip on his sidearm.
"What did they do to me?" The man snarled.
Phil gently pried the fingers away. :I don't know, it would be easier if you told me you're name".
Six suddenly relaxed, frowning thoughtfully and settling back to lean comfortably against the wall. The sudden, violent mood swing startled Phil, although he didn't show it. Everything about this man screamed 'unsafe, unstable'. But it wasn't his fault, of that Phil was sure.
"They called me Subject six", Six said doubtfully, more of a question then an answer.
Phil shook his head. "I need more then that, try to remember"
Six's eyes flashed and he chewed nervously on his bottom lip, resembling nothing more then a lost child.
"Clint Barton?" and then a triumphant grin lit up his face and his words became surer, less like a question and more like the statement that it was, "That's it, I remember now, my name is Clint Barton".
Phil smiled. "Well done Clint, my name is Phil Coulson".
Please review.
