Ingrid felt a dull throbbing in her head as she began to awake. She became aware slowly that she was not in her bed, but instead laying on a cold surface. It became clear, after a moment, that the thrumming she felt in her head was actually engine noise, and that she was on a metal floor. As her vision cleared, she saw her friend and confidante, Fillmore, also waking.
"Fillmore?"
Fillmore looked at Ingrid, his eyes wide in surprise, "Um, Ingrid, you didn't, by chance, decide to spend the night at my place without telling me and then redecorate my room in stainless steel, did you?"
Ingrid shook her head.
"Rats. Then we've been abducted."
"So the next questions we have to answer," Ingrid said, getting to her feet, "are who and why?"
"Oh, why I can guess. Someone wants us out of the way. I don't think this is one of our usual nutjobs, though, Ingrid. Seems a bit too...thought out."
"Got that right. Hey, there are weapons on that wall over there," Ingrid pointed to a set of staffs, spears, and a few very sharp looking swords.
"I do NOT care for the decor," Fillmore said.
Just then, a door slid open across the room from the weapons. A short, stocky man in black walked in. The door did not shut behind him. All they could see of his features was a pair of dangerous looking eyes that regarded them coolly.
Ingrid didn't need to say a word. She shot Fillmore a glance, and he tossed her a staff from the wall, and took one for himself. The two charged the man, hoping to get past him and out of the door to freedom.
The man didn't say a word. He met Ingrid's charge head on, and there was a harsh, metal sound. Ingrid saw a glint of silver light, and then her staff fell into pieces.
"Not good," she exhaled, flipping back away from the man.
Fillmore, however, had managed to get behind him while Ingrid had distracted him. He brought his staff down hard on the man's head, only to have it bounce back at him. The man whipped around with unbelievable speed, and threw a solid roundhouse punch right at Fillmore's head. Fortunately, Fillmore slipped at just that moment, thrown off balance by his recoiling staff, and the punch missed him by mere centimeters.
Ingrid, meanwhile, grabbed a sword from the array of weaponry. A wakizashi type sword, she noticed.
"Back away from Fillmore," Ingrid said, "Or I use you as a pin cushion for this thing."
She hoped he wouldn't see the sweat on her brow, or call her bluff. Beating up on Parnassus and Check matey was one thing. Burying large pieces of metal in other people's bodies was quite another.
The man turned to face Ingrid, and she understood suddenly what had become of her staff. Six razor sharp, foot-long claws sprang out of the man's hands.
"You wanna get outta here, you're gonna have t'use that thing, darlin'," he said in a gruff, almost amused voice, "But I'm bettin' you ain't the type. And even if you was, it wouldn't do you much good."
Fillmore, however, had managed to slip, unnoticed between the man's legs. He punched upward, catching him square in the groin. The clawed man fell over, cupping his wounded crotch.
"Way to go, Fillmore," Ingrid said.
Fillmore smiled, but his victory was short lived. The man was up in a flash, and suddenly on top of Fillmore. His hand came down at Fillmore's throat, and Ingrid heard the horrid, raspy metal sound of the claws coming to bear again. She saw a claw on either side of Fillmore's throat, and she felt sick.
Fillmore, My God! What am I going to tell his parents? What am I going to tell Vallejo? Oh, Jesus! Fillmore!-
Ingrid felt hot tears welling up in her eyes, and she threw all care to the wind. She charged the man as he crouched over Fillmore, and as he turned to look at her with his steely eyes, she drove the sword into his back. He rose up, and stumbled to the side, blood spattering on the ground.
Ingrid felt sick again, thinking of what she'd just done, driving the blade deep into the other man. But, she reminded herself, he'd already done the same to Fillmore. Maybe it was wFillmoreg to kill, but this time, she wouldn't feel too bad about it.
She knelt beside her longtime friend, "Oh God, Fillmore. I'm so sorry. I...I should have been faster. I...Fillmore..."
And then Fillmore opened his eyes. Ingrid almost had a heart attack. And then she noticed that there were no extra holes in his body, though there were two very distinct marks on the floor at either side of his neck.
"You're...you're alive! Fillmore, I could kiss you!"
Then she saw a panicked look in Fillmore's eyes. She turned just in time to see the man's fist coming towards her. She heard the metal noise again, and suddenly, there was a metal claw on either side of her throat.
She gulped.
My God! They're in his body! He's got them in his body! What sort of person is he!-
"Ok, Logan," a voice came over an unseen loudspeaker, "you've made your point. Survival time for our candidates, One point five minutes."
The clawed man whistled, then his claws retracted into his hands. He stood up tall, and pulled off his mask. Ingrid saw a fairly hairy face with an expression that looked half impressed and half deadly. The wakizashi she'd plunged into him was lying on the ground a few feet away. It was covered in blood. Ingrid looked at the wound, wondering if she'd grazed him, certain that she had not. There was a tear in the fabric of his shirt, and beneath it, she saw white, unmarred skin. No sign of blood or a wound.
"One and a half minutes, eh, Nicky?" the man called up to the ceiling, "Not bad. How long do most o' your boys last?"
"Don't rub it in, Logan."
"I think the girl here has a right t'know," Logan said, "Y'did drag her out o' her bed an' all for this. It would probably do her good t' hear how good she done."
"Forty-two seconds. There, are you happy?"
"Y'hear that, Darlin'?" The hairy man asked Ingrid, "You an' your pal outlasted Nick's boys by more than double their best time."
Ingrid didn't know what to say, in large part because she had no idea what the hell was going on.
Fillmore, however, was not so handicapped for speech, "Where are we?"
His question was answered with alarm klaxons. The hairy man looked up in surprise, and Ingrid and Fillmore used that second of distraction to bolt out the door.
"What was that all about?" Ingrid asked Fillmore.
Fillmore was equally perplexed, "Got me. But I bet I know the cause of the alarm."
"Quick, let's find the command center, and get the heck out of here."
Just then, they heard heavy footsteps behind them. Logan was coming after them.
"Ingrid, I suggest we double time."
"No argument, Fillmore."
They burst out of a door, and were greeted with a terrifying sight.
It looked like the deck of an aircraft carrier, with one very important exception. The deck was lined with numerous, enormous helicopter blades. The deck was pointed slightly downward, and the duo could see a large stretch of ocean far below them.
"Fillmore," Ingrid tapped him on the shoulder, "There's the bridge!" The two turned to leave, Fillmore grabbing a couple of parachutes off of the wall as they turned to make their escape. They were stopped dead in their tracks, though, as Logan stood in the doorway, and there were dozens of armed men behind him.
The man in the eye patch walked up to them, "Resourceful, wouldn't you say, Logan?"
"If you want my opinion, Nicky, then I say you could have worse recruits. How many people actually make it to the bridge without an invite from you?"
"One hairy SOB comes to mind. Ingrid Third, Cornelius Fillmore, my name is Colonel Nick Fury. Welcome to S.H.I.E.L.D."
"So, let me see if I got this straight. You're in charge of a super-secret government agency, and you want me and Fillmore to join. So in order to test our skills, you kidnapped us in our sleep, pjs and all, brought us up here, and had us fight with deadly weapons against this guy. Have I missed anything?"
"There's the bit about making you think they'd killed me, and running that guy through with a sword," Fillmore said, "But other than that, I'd say you covered the bases. Well, no, there is the bit about being late for school, our parents worrying about where we are, and I missed getting breakfast at the Eggroll place."
"Taking all that Fillmore just said into account," Ingrid crossed her arms sternly, "I'd say we're not interested. And how did this guy Logan survive when I stabbed him, anyway? I mean, was it a fake sword or something?"
"Actually," Logan said, "That was a real sword, and you got me good. If I were a normal guy, I'd be dead now. You got my kidney.
"Lucky for me, I ain't normal. I'm a mutant with a healin' factor. And as far as makin' you think your friend was dead, that wasn't the idea. When he nailed me in the balls, I sorta lost my temper and decided to throw a scare into him. If I'd known that you were gonna try and fillet me for your boyfriend, I'da just stuck to knockin' the wind outta him."
"Fillmore isn't my boyfriend. He's my best friend."
"Uh, Ingrid. I don't think that's the point."
"Ok, so let's say we want to hear you out. Why us? And why like this?"
"I'll answer that in reverse," Fury said, "First, as to why like this, it's simple. I needed to see how you'd react in a fight for your lives. If I'd brought you in and told you it was an exercise, you would have held back. We certainly wouldn't have seen you try to gut Logan here. But knowing that you'd do something that reckless when you were angry enough, that's the sort of thing we'd need to know. I know you aren't happy about it, but you got better numbers than most veteran S.H.I.E.L.D. agents.
"As for why you, that should be quite obvious. You've been fighting the bad guys since you were in braces.
"Ever since an incident we all know as 9/11, S.H.I.E.L.D. has been stretched to the limit of its resources trying to keep something like that from happening again. Our qualified agents are all over the world, and we have no eyes to spare. We need new, talented recruits, and we need them fast.
"You've got the skills, the both of you. But you haven't been able to develop those skills, because you keep fighting the same third rate yahoos. We can help you stretch your skills to higher levels.
"Of course, there are laws about employing people your age, but S.H.I.E.L.D can use you as freelance agents without violating those rules.
"However, we do have to send you through some training in order to qualify you for the work. But the benefit is that you would get to save the world, but from now on, you'd be using your skills against people who make petty school thieves look like a boy scouts. And you'd be paid government wages for the work."
"Colonel," A portly, mustached man walked onto the bridge.
"Dugan, about time."
"Sorry, Colonel, sir. There was a line at the drive through."
Dugan held up a large bag with a familiar and distinctive logo on it. Fillmore perked up instantly, "Ingrid, I do believe that's the breakfast egg roll."