Setting the Course
"Say that again, but slowly." the curt order from his direct superior made Coulson's back straighten imperceptibly, mostly because he was a consumed professional, and reporting news of something that sounded like straight out of an LSD induced trip was by far something he had to get used to during the years.
"We got a breach in the perimeter..."
"I don't care about that, don't beat around the bush: the People of Interest: Report." the first voice left an earpiece that allowed Agent Coulson to keep his hands free, "Now."
"The first is a classic scandinavian hunk, sir, the specifications are in the report." Agent Coulson started, immediately shifting gears in order to stop making use of his own dry sense of humor, "He breached the perimeter with the cover of the sudden rain, and after subduing a couple of our operatives, he made his way inside the base. He likely had some rough knowledge of the layout because he managed to look from the top of the nearby crest."
Coulson blinked, his eyes immediately drawn to the monitor next to his face, where a shadowed figure had just appeared in a live feed: "And?"
"We didn't recognize a specific martial art, but after a certain point, it becomes an unreliable way to gather info on the stranger." Coulson replied calmly, taking off his headpiece and turning to face fully the camera placed on the monitor, "Nevertheless, from the cameras on the operatives the blonde codenamed 'Thor' took down, it's obvious that he's experienced, and he can leverage both his bulk and strength extremely well."
"We'll revisit on the failures that enabled a single man to steamroll no less than five of our operatives at a later date, Coulson."
The agent nodded at the order, which was more a way to vent frustration than an actual command, and resumed his report: "Thor, that the prisoner insists is his actual name, made his way to the center of the crater, cutting through the plastic when he found an incovenient turn."
"He tried to lift the Item?"
"Hawkeye was ready to shot him down, but I stopped him." Coulson clarified, "But yes, he made an attempt."
"It was then that Hawkeye went uncounscious?"
"Yes sir."
"Our cameras?"
"Well, all the live feeds went out with the first lightning, we don't know why." Coulson started once more his report, acutely aware that the Boss' line of questioning was selected partly in order to make his job more difficult, keeping him on his toes, so to speak: "And the only camera working on an independent battery over the crater was the one on Hawkeye issued suit, so we have a close image of the catwalk he was on ofter 'Thor' attempted to take the Item."
"Don't be a smartass, agent Coulson."
"Yes sir." if possible, Coulson' shoulders straightened even more, as if to suggest that he was offended by the mere impication of his behaviour being anything less than perfectly professional.
"The interrogation?"
"I presume you read the reports?" Coulson clarified, immediately discarding all the circumstantial info as soon as his superior nodded: "We fished 'Thor' out of the mud roughly eight minutes after his firs attempt to take the Item, from the conditions of the area, and the imprint of a slap on the subject, we determined that there was a second member of his team on the premises. They had a spat of some sort, which degenerated in a fight."
"A fight that 'Thor' blatantly lost."
"Yes sir."
"The same man that bullshitted his way through our foot soldiers."
"Yes sir." Coulson almost shifted uncomfortably under the lone-eye of his superior, but experience and training kept him as immovable as a rock.
"Very well." the boss spoke, his tone clearly underlining how most certainly this clusterfuck was anything but a good thing, and made a gesture to get the local Commander of SHIELD forces resume his report.
"Subject 'Thor' didn't talk with us." Coulson spoke, "Not a peep, even if he mumbled something when I entered the room to conduct the interrogatory."
"And his accomplice?"
"If not for the tracks, sir, and the twelve operatives that went uncounscious without a single sign of a fight, we wouldn't know of his, or her, existence." Coulson replied curtly, "The base is obviously in lockdown, and we passed everyone here under a fine comb."
"And you found nothing."
"Yes sir."
"Either this 'Thor' worked with an actual ghost, or we have at least one operative that worked on his side." the black skinned spy barely visible in the monitor spoke with barely a twinge of irritation apparent in his voice, and Coulson knew that it was done knowingly, blatantly remarking how this situation was problematic, "Squeeze the subject, Coulson."
"I'm forced to remind you, sir, that torture on American Soil is an unlawful application of force." the SHIELD agent replied to the direct order with a blank expression, his voice even flatter, if possible, than it had been for the entire lenght of the discussion.
"Are you refusing my orders, agent Coulson?" the commnader in chief of SHIELD openly frowned, even going so far as to hunch forward in the monitor, bringing his bald head directly under the light.
"Yes." the answer came swift and uncaring of the consequences, and after two second spent staring down each other, the dark skinned spy nodded appreciatively.
"Good." Nickolas Fury answered, his tone easing up: "You're going to let the prisoner walk out and lead us to his accomplices?"
"I was waiting your approval, sir, normally I would have gone ahead, but this operation suddenly stunk of a cross investigation." Coulson nodded curtly, for the first time breaking composure as his shoulder minimally relaxed, "He appeared at the closest hospital a few days ago, along with an old one-armed man. Both were seen eating at the local diner yesterday afternoon, and we confirmed that they both walked away from the hospital without being released. Apparently, two policemen guarding the old man went uncounscious without any reasonable motive."
"One arm? Not only one eye?" the Director's voice questioned, almost teasing, from the monitor.
"Confirmed sir." Coulson replied, "The depth of the tracks in the mud confirms the presence of the second man, a weight that matches our estimation of the second Person of Interest, codenamed 'Tyr'. He's been seen in the morning having coffee with a certain Jane Foster."
"And?"
"She seemed frustrated by the old man, apparently, he speaks only Japanese."
"The local forces?"
"Police and whatnot have been diverted as soon as we connected the dots sir." Coulson confirmed that the standard protocol (at least that part) had gone off without a hitch.
"This whole situation is starting to look like a joke." the Director almost sounded frustrated for a single instant before training and sheer experiece took over once more: "Make sure that SHIELD doesn't become the butt of this joke, understood?"
"Yes sir." agent Coulson nodded curtly, "So, can I release subject 'Thor'?"
"Permission Given, let's see who takes the bait." Nickolas fury moved away from his camera, disappearing from wiev, "Free him, but ready to bring in the first to bite. And keep an eye on both Foster and subject 'Tyr'."
"Yes sir." and with those words, the monitor turned black, leaving Coulson free to call those capable of letting subject 'Thor' go, informing them that he was a simple local that heard of the challenge the Item presented. Thor was revealed as being a farmer to the guards that kept him isolated, and that he wasn't very bright, as his mother always said.
The two guards accepted the bullshit they were fed with the good grace of those that had been trained extensively in operational security, and in less than twenty minutes, Thor was driven away from the premises and dropped in the closest city.
The Diner was as common as they came: large glass panels kept the dust and the punishing heat of the desert outside while letting in the light, as well as showcasing the clients having an actual good meal inside.
There were tables arrayed almost as booths against one of the glass walls that let the clients look at the road outside, a proper bar where people could sit on their own, each eating or drinking on a somfortable section of the counter under the eyes of the owner, and there were simple, round tables scattered around, with chairs being moved freely by the people that wished to eat in groups of four or less.
At one of these tables, after being dumped by the singularly irritated physicist Jane Foster, sat Yamamoto, his eyes closed and his cup of coffee untouched in front of him. He had suffered through the attempts of English Tea of his subordinate for an outrageous number of years, but that didn't mean that he had to blatantly torture himself.
He had eaten the day before, confused by the hunger of his body, and while he was starting to feel his stomach churning, as if awaiting other food already, Yamamoto remained as stoic as he had ever been. Apparently, the foolish child had his power bound for startingly good reasons. Yamamoto was used to the mask of incompetence of Shisui, and he had assumed that the boisterous blonde wore a facade in the same manner of his more rebellious student.
How foolish of me, letting expectation colour my measure of the world. Yamamoto sat, still as a rock, barely breathing, as he thought about any plan that he could make work in order to forge anew his Soul-Cutter. Finding the blond fool had been so lucky it looked almost suspicious, and while the blonde didn't look capable of being a liar, incompetent as he was, his help in order to find this mysterious Nidavellir had just turned from reliable promise into meaningless words. Flights of fancy, whimsical desires.
Busy as he was considering his position and the necessary steps he had to take, he almost didn't notice the sudden ripple in the spiritual pressure just outside the diner. Almost.
His eyes opened fractionally, and he immediately identified the being that exhuded a power that was so clearly beyond those of mortals that made her stand out like the sun amidst a sea of lit candles: wearing monk-like robes in tones of burnt-yellows and warm browns, a bald woman strode calmly along the street until she entered the diner.
Yamamoto observed with something akin to curiosity the way in which her strange reiatsu washed over the mortals who suddenly lost any interest they had for her.
"Good morning." she saluted in japanese while she sat in front of him, a stone-like teapot appearing an istant later on the table, smoke rising with a scent that promised actual tea.
The not-so-mortal woman poured two cups of the beverage she had personally brewed and rose her own in a respectful toast, drinking a small sip, tasting the richness of the flavour with a content smile on her face.
With his only remaining hand, Yamamoto rose the cup of tea, slowly, and once he was relatively sure of the lack of poisons, he drank. Finally finding something he enjoyed the taste of in this world of mortals.
"Most aren't so eager to make themselves comfortable with me." the bald woman sitting in front of hims spoke once Yamamoto took a sip of a familiar-tasting tea.
The shinigami' eyes opened by a fraction, letting the oddity that was that woman know that he didn't appreciate word games: "Don't be foolish."
Speaking with practicality in mind, Yamamoto found that most people were foolish, in a way or another, he himself didn't escape his own judgement, considering the kind of dressing down he received with his last defeat. Oh, Ywach was a fool too, too blind to actually see. But some of the things he had said were true. Victory defeated you.
Why didn't you heal your left arm? Had you ordered that human girl, she would have surely done it... but why didn't you? I already know. You just didn't want to depend on a human.
The words were seared in his soul now, and so, he stopped himself from naturally tearing into the newcomer with his military attitude. He managed to do so only barely, but in his defence, he had spoke with Kisuke enough times to grow extremely aggravated, extremely quick, with people that treated each word like a piece moving on a chessboard.
The bald woman rose an eyebrow at that, almost tauntingly, but refrained from taking the bait.
"You are Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto. And you were Captain-Commander of the whole Gotei 13." she spoke, and for an instant, the world froze.
Yamamoto blinked, for the space of a single hearbeat his reiatsu washing over the strange woman like a tide swallowing the rocks before immediately retreating.
The monk-like woman kept talking as if nothing of note had happened: "I am called Ancient One, and I defend this earth from threats outside of this dimension. Threats like you."
"Oh?" Yamamoto found himself openly expressing curiosity, after all, if the woman actually wished to attack him, she would have been better served by doing so from the shadows, wihout giving him a warning. Besides that, he couldn't detect one hint of the Ancient One's nature, her soul was closely guarded from peering eyes.
"Imagine my surprise when something as mundane as the Golden Prince of Asgard falling here was coupled with the appearance of a God of Death, even if one without a domain or a... what's the name again? Oh, yes, Soul-Cutter." the voice of the woman had remained perfectly controlled during the whole period, even if her words hitched at the mention of the Zanpakutō.
Yamamoto kept his eyes closed, unwilling to give up information for free.
"I have ways to peer into the future, and I know that, lacking anything else, you'd chose to defend mortals from the actions of those that mortal are not." the woman went ahead with a calm smile, "However, in this universe there are ways for a mortal to bear a power never meant for them."
Yamamoto drank from his cup, silence was still one of the most effective methods to have people explain themselves. This woman had come to him out of her own will, to share information, to either manipulate him into helping her, or to actually tell the truth. In any case, it looked like she wanted to manipulate him into protecting the mortals, which was a reasonable enough assumption. Even if the woman could actually scry the future, Yamamoto knew better than to let himself be dragged around by empy prophecies and hollow prophets. He would act following his own will, like he had always done.
Information was always useful. When it reported true facts, it was a weapon, when it wasn't truthful, it gave an insight into the ones weaving the lie. Yamamoto could fight using both kind of news, he had done the same in more than one occasion.
So he listened as the woman spoke of beings such as Celestials, which were unbound will set free into the cosmos, of items known as Infinity Stones, each a key to a power beyond reason, of class Omega metahumans, mortals that channeled a power that couldn't be defined, and of fools that breached parasitic dimensions that were kin to an aggressive Hueco Mundo.
"I am not up to par with the events of the outer universe, for the linchpin between dimensions is indeed here, but I'm aware of those threats that transcend the lines between mortal and more, between dimensions." the Ancient One continued, "And even if your soul is the very flame of Chaos, you are a being of Order. Thor is misguided, for he has been raised to rule a kingdom that will never be his, but he can do much good for the mortals of all the worlds. Once he is ready, follow him to Asgard, and on Nidavellir the Dwarves will be able to forge once more your soul, but you'll need something they don't have to become yourself."
Yamamoto opened his eyes, staring unblinkingly into the Ancient One carefully hidden soul, and waited. The question clear even if he hadn't uttered it out loud.
"You'll need the Soul Stone, and another already is seeking them all, with the aim of bringing untold ruin across the universe."
In the late afternoon, Thor eventually found his way back to the lab\apartment of one Jane Foster after he had been dropped off in the sadly familiar mortal city, and whatever rage he might have felt towards his much older companion, towards everything, was long since spent after the news he had been delivered while prisoner of SHIELD.
His father, dead. His mother, broken by grief. Peace, which was the last wish of Odin, could be kept only as long as he was banished from the Golden Realm. And his own brother forced to upkeep the previous ruling of Lone-Eye Odin, lest the God of Trickery undermined his own newly born reign.
The mortals were at several stages of upset when they met him, not that he cared all that much, his own problems spanned measures that couldn't be conceived by fleeble minds such as theirs.
And yet, the feeling of knowingly having failed his promise to Jane Foster sat ill with him. Moslty because it was so closely tied to Mjolnir's betrayal. How could his mighty hammer refuse his command? Wasn't he Thor the Thunderer?
Apparently not. He thought, the amount of bad news surrounding the past days so overwhelming that it made him almost completely numb. How much weight can you put on someone's back before it becomes irrelevant? How much pain can someone bear before it becomes unending and meaningless?
The blonde ex-god dragged his calloused hands on his face, absolutely lost.
Then, out of nowhere, spoke a voice that stirred something within him, something that he couldn't recognize and that he couldn't name: "Wallowing in self pity is meaningless. Your own grief, is meaningless."
The Japanese words washed over the seated form of the blond ex-god, making him immediately whip his head towards the bald man that had uttered them: "How dare you..."
"What will you do? Await death?" Yamamoto stepped inside the room where the ex-Thunderer was seated, his steps unyelding as the dawn itself, until he was less than a meter from Thor: "You are meaningless, because you are weak, and the weak have only the voices lent them by the strong."
Thor rose to his feet, a familiar rage making itself known behind his eyes, but he restrained himself: he remembered too well the humiliatin of being pushed around like a child with no idea of what he was doing, the words of Yamamoto only worsening the whole situation.
"Mjolnir refuses me!" he objected, taking a step towards the one-armed, ancient being, "My father is dead, my mother could very well be, my home stripped from my fingers! What do you want?!"
The last question, more a snarl than an actual string of words, met the singularly unimpressed visage of a man that had seen far too much, for far too long, to care one lick about the self-loathing and misplaced guilt of a stupid brat. Yamamoto had hardly the patience to teach the foolish welp how to actually be a respectable warrior. One that understood himself and the position he carried in the wider cosmos, one that knew what he wished for, one that built, instead of tearing down because of ignorance and willful stupidity.
And yet, this welp was his best bet to reach the first step to reforge Ryujin Jakka: "Stop being weak."
Before Thor could break out his undoubtedly long list of insults, Yamamoto opened his eyes by a fraction, pinning down the ex-god of Thunder just as surely as you'd pin a picture on a corkboard: "You think power comes from the weapon you wield? You think strenght comes from outside? You think you need limbs and eyes and teeth to fight?"
Yamamoto's fist blurred forward, just a shadow faster than it should be possible for a baseline human, and when Thor instinctively went to parry with the flat of his hand, used to being the stronger out of any that challenged him, he fell short when the punch disappeared, switched out for a punitive kick that sweeped out the blonde's right leg from under him, forcing him to one knee.
Yamamoto extended foot transitioned from a forward kick into a sweeping motion, made to nail the temple of Thor, who was forced to roll on one side in order to avoid getting a concussion.
"You're like an animal." the flat tone of Yamamoto left no escape while he pressed the ex-god.
With battle now singing in his blood, and rage newly awakened finally finding an outlet, Thor jumped to his feet, leading with an haymaker to the shorter, one-armed man.
Yamamoto took a single step backwards, stopping mid motion while he shifted to his right, his left leg kicking Thor's right hip, preventing him from taking a step forward in order to engage once more.
"You Growl and Howl, and for what?"
The blonde hunk staggered for an istant, bringing down his left in a jap that was batted sideways with a casual ease that offended him, turning the blow into a backhanded slap, Thor threw a right hook, only to be kicked in the solar plexus by the one-armed man, who stared him down once he collapsed on the floor, breath leaving him suddenly.
"Rage is useless if you can't wield it."
The kick that connected to his face a second later turned everything black.
AN
I really wasn't sure about the SHIELD's report. But I wanted to showcase a bit of Coulson and Fury interaction. Did it work?
And it was only a matter of time before the Ancient One became interested, wasn't it? Yamamoto is an extradimensional entity. How did the chat between them go? Does it flow well enough? Yamamoto is naturally curious about the possibility of going back to his home, but he is obviously curt and unyelding, while the Sorcerer Supreme is both happy to know that the Shinigami is a 'good guy', and eager to make sure he isn't swayed by random happenstance, so she sets him on the optimal path.
The Time Stone is bullshit people, there is no fucking way around it, I'm guessing that she saw enough to witness the worst case scenario. Can anyone imagine a better warden for the stone than Yamamoto himself? I can't.
Opinions? Ideas? Let me know people.