Marvel's The Avengers: Danger Zone
Chapter Eight
Tony Stark had put a little too much whiskey in his coffee.
He had gone top side hours ago, waiting in the ground-level hanger for Dan and his daughter, tinkering at the fabrication tables near the Iron Man suit's protective pod. At some point, however, he had drifted off, with the alcohol providing just enough of a relaxing buzz for him to fall asleep after the past week of insomnia.
"Stark!"
Tony awoke to the sound of his name being called, with someone frantically shaking his shoulder, "Huh?"
"Stark! Come on, man!" Clint Barton urged, continuing to try and rouse him, "Wake up!"
"I'm up!" he grumbled back, his mind still groggy as he straightened in his chair, "I'm up!"
His back was unbearably stiff. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, drool dampening his goatee, as he glared up at the archer.
"What the hell is going on?" Barton demanded, his face cemented in a dire expression, "What are you doing up here?"
"What?" Tony questioned, irritated. He rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced, "What are you talking about?"
Barton sighed, pulling his phone from the pocket of his leather jacket, and holding it up for Tony to see. The entire screen was bright red.
"Shit," Tony exhaled. His drowsiness was gone in an instant. He jumped to his feet, pulling his own phone out of the back pocket of his jeans. Like Barton's, its screen was glowing crimson, "What happened?"
"I was hoping you could tell me?" Barton slipped his phone back into his jacket, "I was halfway to California when I got the alert."
Tony shook his head, "I got nothing."
"Right," the agent muttered, turning away, "Big surprise."
"Hey!" he protested, following him towards the blacked-out muscle car that had been parked crookedly in a nearby space. His engineer's eyes swept over the GTO in admiration. The '69 Pontiac coupe had been impeccably restored down to the most meticulous detail, and he itched to get a look at the 400-cid V-8 under the hood.
"Is that a Judge?" he asked, mildly impressed.
Barton did not answer him. Instead, he unlocked the trunk, pulling a sleek compound bow with a mounted quiver from within, "Come on. We've got to go."
Tony hid his concern behind a mask of indifference as the two of them hurried towards the mouth of the hanger, passing through S.H.I.E.L.D.'s impressive fleet of vehicles along the way.
Outside, the desert sky was clearer than Tony had ever seen it. The moon was full and high, its soft glow corrupted by the harsh orange streetlamps around them. People were sprinting from building to building. Vehicles wove through the narrow streets at breakneck speeds, honking at anyone who stepped in their direction. Warning lights were flashing on the fences. The gates were all down and locked. The base was in chaos.
"Not that I'm not enjoying this moonlit stroll," Tony griped, concealing his alarm with cynicism, "But where are we going, exactly?"
"Central Command," Barton answered as they entered the main complex, "Nat will be there."
Tony nodded, but Barton had his back to him.
They continued at a brisk pace through the main concourse, weaving through a churning sea of personnel, though Tony noticed that many people stopped and changed course when they saw the two of them coming.
Reaching the elevator bank, they stepped into the empty middle lift. As soon as the doors shut, Barton pressed his palm to the flat surface above the panel buttons. A bright light appeared around his skin, scanning his prints. A hidden panel opened beneath his fingers, and he selected their destination. They vaulted downward.
"So," Tony began, keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead, "How bad is this?"
Barton swallowed, his lips pressed in a thin line, "There's only been one other Red Alert since I became an agent."
"Yeah?" Tony probed caustically, "When was that?"
Barton looked pale, "When Loki emerged from the Tesseract."
Dr. Allison LeBlanc angled the gurney through the automated doors of the trauma ward, a team of experienced physicians and nurses scrambling in behind her. Their crucial movements were hindered by their bulky positive pressure personnel suits. The encapsulating garments, with their large head coverings and face shields, made working in the tight space difficult, but Dr. LeBlanc was used to working in such strenuous conditions. As S.H.I.E.L.D.'s head medical doctor, she had worked in far worse.
"Blood pressure is 70 over 30," Dr. Hamad called out as the nurses cut along the center of the girl's blood-soaked t-shirt, "She's hypotensive."
More than that, Charlotte Gale was catatonic and unresponsive. Dr. LeBlanc took note of her clammy skin and shallow breathing. Her eyes stared up at the ceiling, unfocused, with her pupils dilated.
LeBlanc bent over her, shining a penlight in her eyes. Charlotte's pupils retracted, but she noticed a strange ring of metallic flecks in her irises, which glowed gold when the light hit them. "Hmm…" she hummed curiously, before shouting to the others, "Pupils are reactive."
"She's tachycardic," Dr. Ellis stated, pressing electrodes to Charlotte's chest before turning to the monitor, "Pulse is 135, and climbing."
"She's in shock," Bruce Banner bellowed, evading the nurses who had been trying to usher him from the room. He pushed his way through the bodies surrounding the gurney, "You need to—"
"Dr. Banner," Dr. LeBlanc spun around to face the physicist, her eyes lingering on the blood transfer covering his hands and shirt, "I need you to go with them, and let us do our job."
He shook his head in protest, "I can—"
"Dr. Banner!" LeBlanc insisted as she took an urgent step closer to him, "I'll take care of her. I promise. But I need you to go. Okay? Go!"
Banner let out a defeated breath as the nurses finally succeeded at pulling him from the ward.
LeBlanc watched him go, his dark eyes glued to the young woman between them. She turned back to her patient, "Let's get an I.V. started. And get some blood samples? We need to figure out what's causing this, STAT."
"I can't!" Nurse Riley began, alarmed.
"What do you mean, 'you can't'?" LeBlanc snapped.
"I can't get the needle through her skin!" she replied, visibly shaken as she stared at the patient's elbow.
LeBlanc frowned in disbelief. She circled the gurney, pushing the nurse out of the way as she grabbed a new catheter. Locating a vein, she pressed the needle to Charlotte's skin. It bent, leaving her skin unbroken.
Her frowned deepened as she discarded the catheter in the trash, "Give me another one."
Nurse Riley handed her a third catheter. Again, LeBlanc tried to insert the needle into a vein, and again the needle bent against Charlotte's skin.
"The hell?" Dr. Hamad breathed, "What were they doing in that lab?"
"Whatever it was," Dr. Ellis swallowed his discomfort, "I think it's safe to say she was exposed to something with mutative properties."
Dr. LeBlanc took a deep breath. Forcing her own curiosity aside, she focused wholly on saving her patient. "Do we have any of the titanium carbide needles?" she asked the room.
She knew that Director Fury had ordered the needles specially manufactured as part of the surplus of medical supplies for Project T.A.H.I.T.I. They were strictly for use on injured Avengers, specifically enhanced individuals like Thor and Captain Rogers. Now, she was thinking they may be the only thing that could save Charlotte Gale's life.
Nurse Riley whipped around on her heels and began searching the cabinets that covered the wall to their left. After a moment of frantic rustling, she raised a sterile pack of needles in triumph.
Dr. LeBlanc removed one of the distinctive catheters. Pressing it to Charlotte's elbow, she pierced the skin. There was a marginal amount of resistance, but she was eventually able to thread the vein.
"I got it," she exclaimed. Blood flowed freely from the catheter's flashback chamber, and she filled several vials with it, before clamping the needle to the I.V. tube and taping it in place.
"Run the saline wide open," LeBlanc ordered, "And get these samples to the lab! We need to know exactly what we're dealing with!"
The Black Widow leaned over Agent Amir Azar's shoulder, watching his every keystroke intently as he struggled to restore the camera footage from inside the artifact's containment chamber. The file had been corrupted by a massive electromagnetic pulse, and the technical analyst was doing his best to recover the images.
"What the hell happened?" Nick Fury roared as he entered Central Command, "Can someone please clear this up for me?"
Natasha glanced up, signaling to him, "Sir, I think you should see this."
He strode over, pushing his coattails aside to rest his hands on his hips.
"Show him," Natasha prompted Azar.
The tech removed his headset as he turned to the director, "I have the security footage from Lab V, Sir. But the file has been severely damaged."
"What about Lab V?" Tony Stark interjected as he and Clint Barton hurried through the security doors, "What's go—?"
"What happened?" Barton asked over Stark, a knowing sense of urgency in his voice as he rushed towards Natasha.
"Nice of you to join us, Barton," Fury spat, his eye lingering on his casual dress.
"Sorry, Sir," the archer apologized, "I got here as fast as I could."
Fury bowed his head in a solemn nod, before glancing at Stark, "You may want to brace yourselves."
"Why?" Stark pushed, cynicism tainting his question.
"Tony," Natasha began, stepping forward and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. She gazed into his dark eyes, conveying as much sympathy as she could, "Dan is dead."
He blinked several times in shock, his jaw dropping open. Taking a step back, he brushed her hand aside. "Dan? No…" he uttered in disbelief, trying and failing to laugh it off, "I just…No."
"He's gone, Stark," Fury confirmed, sounding crestfallen for the first time, "I wish I could tell you otherwise."
Stark swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing with the effort to keep the cascade of emotion welling in his eyes from spilling down his cheeks, "What happened?"
"We're about to find out," the director turned back to Azar with a cold stare, "Do you have the video, or not?"
"I've got it, Sir," the tech confirmed.
"Then, play it."
Azar began typing.
Dan Gale's image appeared on the complex's massive center screen. He whistled as he worked on one of the Lab's computers, his fingers dancing across the keyboard.
Natasha noticed Stark pressing his fist to his mouth, the skin around his knuckles losing its natural tan hue. He eyed the time stamp with an icy glare.
There was a muted popping sound, followed by a rush of air from the decontamination chamber off screen. The noise had gained Dr. Gale's attention. He stepped away from the computer, rounding the monitor to investigate, as three figures appeared on the other side of the glass wall.
Agent Gretchen Taylor approached the door, flanked by to large, unknown males.
"Who are these two?" Fury questioned, pointing to the men.
Azar did not miss a beat, typing furiously on his keyboard, "Running facial recognition now, Sir."
A flash of concern could be seen on Gale's face as he unlocked the door for Taylor. "Is everything alright?" he asked her, pushing it open for them, "Is there something you need?"
Within seconds, the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent had him in a headlock, with a razorblade pressed firmly to the side of his throat.
"Yes, actually," she hissed into his ear, "I need you to do exactly as I say."
"Stop!" Fury cried.
Azar immediately paused the film, the screen filled with a close-up of Taylor's snarling face.
Natasha felt her blood run cold. It took every ounce of control she had to conceal her alarm as she uttered, "One of ours?"
"How?" Stark turned to Fury, jabbing an accusatory finger at the screen. Staring at the director with unimpeded loathing, his voice shook with the timber of his rage, "Explain this?"
"Stark," Barton placed his hand on his shoulder, urging him to take a step back, "Not now."
Central Command had gone silent. Every single S.H.I.E.L.D. operative held their breath collectively, looking from the director, to the screen, to the irate Avenger.
Director Fury took a deep breath. "Continue," he ordered Azar, his voice so low that the tech had trouble hearing him, "Play the damn tape."
Azar nodded, and the footage resumed.
The two unidentified men carried a large metal crate between them, following as Taylor dragged Dr. Gale into the preparation room. She forced the doctor towards the second decontamination chamber, pushing the blade into his flesh with just enough pressure for a single bead of blood to run down his neck, "Open it."
"I don't get it," Barton questioned as he watched, "They made it through the first de-con chamber? Why do they need him?"
Natasha's heart continued to sink. "There's a redundancy in the security system," she answered, "There are print scanners on the keypad. Only someone directly involved with the project would know about them. If anyone without the proper clearance would try to open the main containment chamber, it would go into lockdown, and an alarm would sound."
On the monitor, Dr. Gale remained silent.
"Open it," Taylor repeated hastily, "Now."
"You're going to kill me either way," Gale spat back, "I'm already dead. So why would I help you?"
This response seemed to infuriate Taylor. She pulled the knife away from his throat, only to spin him around, and then punch him in the jaw.
Dr. Gale fell to the floor, dazed.
She knelt in front of him, her ragged breathing betraying her mounting temper. "You may already be dead, old man," she griped, "But what about that pretty little daughter of yours? I've already submitted my report for the night. They won't be checking on her for hours. Not until we're long gone."
Dr. Gale's expression changed from one of defiance, to that of a protective father. He lunged at Taylor, "Stay away from her!"
She countered his attack, easily pushing the razorblade back into the curve of his throat, "Now, then? Open it."
Dr. Gale stood, trembling as his fingers entered the code into the keypad. He looked up, directly into the lens of the security camera, "I love you, Charlotte. I'm sorry."
Taylor leered, "How sweet."
Swinging the razorblade with expert precision, she slashed open his throat. Dr. Gale grabbed at the gaping wound, choking as blood began to pour from his neck. The red liquid coated the front of his white coat as he collapsed into the Plexiglas chamber.
Again, there was silence in Central Command. They watched as he struggled to breathe for what felt like hours, until he eventually went still, laying on his stomach in a puddle of blood.
Stark turned his back on the screen, taking a series of deep breaths. Natasha was not sure if he was attempting to hide his sorrow, or to quell his fury. She was feeling overwhelming amounts of emotion herself. But she managed to keep them concealed behind her porcelain mask.
"Fuck," Barton swore next to her. He dropped his steely eyes to the ground, his shaking fist white-knuckled on his bow.
"Keep it together," Fury instructed, his own voice taut, "We're not done yet."