V
THE CONCERNED CITIZEN: SKEPTIC NEWSLETTER
Dedicated to providing you with the unvarnished, unscripted truth that our government and its cloak-and-dagger agencies are determined to conceal.
August 2011
Howdy, fellow concerned citizens! Randy Houser, here again with your monthly installment of transparency that you aren't getting anywhere else in the corporate-driven propaganda machine that is the "mainstream" media.
This month, I'd like to ask if anyone heard about the New Mexico Incident. No? No one? I'm not surprised. S.H.I.E.L.D. and its government lapdogs have been zealously keeping this one out of the independent news cycle. But I've got a source that was close to the action, with an understandable grudge against the backhanded ways S.H.I.E.L.D. blackmails anyone with knowledge of the truth from coming out with their stories. And they're talking, folks.
By the way, the chatter corroborates their story: both over local law enforcement frequencies and the frequencies several government agencies don't know we've been able to tune into (not naming them here, in case they're monitoring this correspondence – looking at you, NSA). Not to mention the eyewitness accounts of citizens of the town of Puente Antiguo and the surrounding area.
Through a combination of these sources and through exercising our right to a reasonable amount of transparency in the public records, we here at The Concerned Citizen have tentatively confirmed the presence of an unidentified object that fell from the sky and landed in a crater in the New Mexico desert. Yes, you read that right – an unidentified object falling to earth. In S.H.I.E.L.D. speak, an 0-8-4. Anything to avoid the truth, even in their terminology.
Despite the secrecy and typical obfuscation, we're pretty sure this is the real deal, ladies and gents. We can't print everything – not because you don't deserve it, but to protect our sources' safety. Who knows where S.H.I.E.L.D. would disappear them to.
We can say that our source revealed that not only did an object fall to earth, but that an extraterrestrial biological entity came after it. Our source describes the extraterrestrial as "humanoid in shape, and boy, was he in shape." It is unclear whether the male gender pronoun can be properly ascribed to this EBE.
S.H.I.E.L.D. had of course immediately taken action to confine this unidentified object, and our source alleges that they came into conflict with the EBE as it/they/he attempted to recover it. How the following sequence of events precisely unfolded is unclear, but here are the facts we can tell you with relative certainty:
· 0-8-4 falls to earth on the evening of June 23rd
· EBE arrives on Earth, time unknown, but no more than 24 hours after
· S.H.I.E.L.D. engages EBE as a hostile, despite likelihood that the 0-8-4 belongs to the EBE's civilization/species/home-world/hive
· Reports of disaster in Puente Antiguo, buildings leveled and several people injured - most witnesses describe a 'metal monster' with a 'laser-mouth' decimating the downtown streets
· S.H.I.E.L.D. hastily forces down initial media reports and bullies citizens into NDAs, then releases a carefully constructed statement alleging the damage caused to the town was the result of a 'gas main explosion'
None of the above facts can be satisfactorily explained by the story S.H.I.E.L.D.'s PR people cooked up. The collective witnesses could have been having a mass hallucination – but let's face it, if a hallucinogen was released into the water supply or as an airborne substance, that very same agency would be the likeliest suspect.
S.H.I.E.L.D. can't explain away the witnesses' statements given previous to the NDAs on their social media or to friends and family over the phone. Nor can they dismiss the photographic evidence of the square-shaped, apparently metal 0-8-4 (though admittedly, the quality of the picture is poor given it originated from a cheap flip phone and was taken from a distance). Nor the very real evidence of destruction that now litters the streets of the tiny New Mexico town.
This is the question I'd like to have answered, and I'm sure our readers will as well. What right does S.H.I.E.L.D. have to conceal evidence of intelligent extraterrestrial life visiting our planet? The obvious argument is that the secrecy is for our own protection. What protection is that, I ask? Engaging EBEs as hostiles in a town populated almost exclusively by civilians is not protecting the common good. S.H.I.E.L.D. is not known for their diplomatic approach. Are they who we want as ambassadors for humankind?
Is this 'metal monster' some new prototype weapon that S.H.I.E.L.D. has developed under the thin justification of 'protection'? Is the EBE deceased and now being dissected by the agency's exobiology experts?
Log into our website and comment on the forum to tell us what you think about the answers to these questions and to get in on the discussion of the particulars of the 'New Mexico Incident' and to see the pictures and evidence log.
And one final question, some food for thought: What's going to happen when the next extraterrestrial event is too big for even S.H.I.E.L.D. to hide?
Stay skeptical, concerned citizens.
VI
Steve tugs at his uniform and wishes he'd been given a black S.H.I.E.L.D. issue standard like Barton's or the rest of the team. The suit itself was nice – nicer than his old one, which had apparently been relegated to a museum. And wasn't that a surreal thought. He'd sweated and bled and crawled through the mud in that uniform. Had they washed it before they put it on display?
Whoever had been in charge of designing this one had spared no expense. It had all the bells and whistles, more than Steve ever would have thought possible. A material called Kevlar that Steve was told is bulletproof, some sort of G-P-S embedded that would enable S.H.I.E.L.D. to track Steve's location in the midst of a firefight. They'd even given him a sort of radio, impossibly tiny, to fit into his ear that allowed crystal-clear communication with the rest of his team. And he didn't even need to tune it, just tap it twice to activate.
The future was proving awe-inspiring despite the lack of flying cars that Howard Stark had promised. Yet Steve can't help the wistfulness with which he thinks of the ole beaten up transmitter Jim Morita would lug around, of his cursing as he tuned to the secure frequency. The feel of a paper map in his hands. Or the self-consciousness and embarrassment that he feels wearing his conspicuous uniform amidst all the professionally dressed S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. He still suspects he's being handled, that the missions they've been sending him on are only to break him in easy. The thought irks him.
Barton must have noticed him fidgeting and tugging at the thick blue fabric of his sleeves. He comes over and claps a hand on his shoulder. "You look good, Cap," he says with a half-smile.
Steve had met Barton a few times around S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, when he was being evaluated for field readiness. They'd made him go through a litany of physical fitness tests that barely quickened Steve's heart rate, and then some psychological evaluations that definitely did. Barton had been in the firing range when they tested Steve's marksmanship. He'd never been a sniper, not like Bucky, but he was a good shot. He had an eye for trajectories. Otherwise he'd've lost his shield a long time ago.
Barton had watched quietly during the test and afterward came up and introduced himself. "You're pretty handy with a gun, for a guy who fights with a shield," he'd said.
Steve's reply had been sharper than he'd meant it to be. But he was tired of being underestimated. He'd thought that was over when he stepped out of the Vita-Ray in his new body. "I was a soldier during wartime. Did you think we went in unarmed?"
Barton had simply shrugged. "Wanna spar?"
They'd met up in the training facility a few times a month after that. Steve was careful to hold back despite Barton's protests. His partner Natasha had come round the last few times and watched silently with an amused look. There was a reassuring stillness to Clint that put Steve at ease, reminding him of Bucky after he'd gone through his sniper training.
Agent Coulson calls them all to the table for the briefing. He drops into the chair next to Clint. Coulson gestures, flicks with his hand, and brings up a transparent, three-dimensional image that is suspended in the air over the table. Steve studies it with fascination. He doesn't recognize it – some kind of animal, frozen in a pounce. It has a diamond shaped head like a rattlesnake, with a thick forehead and squashed snout that nonetheless contains razor-sharp fangs. There are four legs, bunching with muscle yet lithe and lean, lending the elongated body of the creature a distinctly feline grace.
Coulson glances around. "This… creature, for lack of a more descriptive term, appeared in the Mexican state of Jalisco roughly three hours ago. Given the rural nature of the area, S.H.I.E.L.D. was not notified of its arrival until the creature reached the town of San Miguel el Alto. It's on a rampage, slaughtering civilians and destroying homes and businesses. We're going to put it down." Coulson's tone is steel.
This isn't precisely what Steve had expected when he'd agreed to work with S.H.I.E.L.D. But there was no more Great War, no need to send Steve in to blow up Hydra bases. He'd take what he could get. Better than loitering in the gym, destroying bags and questioning if he was really dead and this bewildering future was no more than a fevered hallucination, taking place in the seconds before his heart finally guttered out.
Another agent asks Coulson a question, but Steve tunes him out. He's still staring at the ghostly image of the creature, wondering how they projected it.
"That's Stark's tech. Some hologram shit. Pretty cool, right?" Clint says at his side. "Didn't have nothing like this back in the forties, huh, Cap?" he quips. Steve pushes down the surge of annoyance. The patronizing edge is both familiar and unwelcome.
"Nope," he says. "I'm still wrapping my head around a lot of the stuff you've got here in the future." He huffs a rueful chuckle. "At least there's no moon colonies or alien visitors."
The gleeful grin that spreads across Clint's normally stoic face gives Steve a foreboding feeling. "Right?" he asks nervously.
"Man, remind me to show you my after action report on the New Mexico Incident. I can't wait to see your face."
Steve frowns at him. "Is it something I need to know?"
Clint laughs. "Oh yeah, Cap. I think it is. I dunno why Fury or Coulson didn't tell you. Probably didn't wanna freak you out. But you have the clearance for it." His eyes glint mischievously. "Unless you're not interested."
Curiosity is a flare in his chest. "I'm interested," he replies quickly. Is S.H.I.E.L.D. preparing a moon colony in New Mexico? He pushes the thought away. It can wait until after the mission.
The quinjet lands in an open field under a half-moon, as close as possible to the last known location of the creature. Steve files out with the rest, hefting his shield as he surveys the terrain. Scrubland, from what he can make out. A wide, arid plain. He thinks he can see a green blanket of forest far to the west. The night air is cool on his skin.
Floodlights crackle to life and bathe the area in a fluorescent glow. Coulson's agents scurry around, dragging out extension cords from the generator to set up a lighted perimeter around the jet. Coulson thinks the light and sound and smell of a group of people will tempt the creature in their direction.
Steve isn't sure. They know practically nothing about it save for a physical description given by a bunch of frightened locals. Where did it even come from? He supposes they'll get to that in the debriefing. Still, he doesn't like going in with less than solid information.
They pace around, scuffing their feet in the dirt for nearly an hour. Clint's moaning and sighing, carefully out of earshot of Coulson. Steve rubs his eyes. They're scratchy and dry. He hasn't gotten enough sleep lately. Too many dreams.
One of the agents at the edge of the perimeter turns to get Coulson's attention. "Hey, boss, I think there's—"
He cuts off with a shriek as something big and dark and fast pounces on his back. Steve's up and running before his mind realizes what his legs are doing. The creature slashes long, curved talons at the agent's back, and sinks its teeth into his shoulder. The shield crashes into the side of its head and when the creature glances up to snarl, he gets his first real look at it.
Panther, is his immediate thought. But the shape of the skull is too broad and triangular, and it's not covered in fur, rather a dark coat of something Steve can't discern. Wide, eerie blue eyes are set on either side of its head instead of looking forward. The projection certainly didn't capture the high-pitched, grating whine emitting from its throat. He notes all of this in a corner of his mind, but he's most arrested by the sight of wicked, sharp black fangs dripping with either red saliva or the agent's blood.
He catches the shield's rebound and charges at the beast. Using the vibranium as a battering ram with his body's weight behind it, he knocks it away from the downed man. They go tumbling across the sandy ground. Steve leaps to his feet and barely dodges another pounce in time. Claws whip through the air next to his ear. His comm blares to life.
"Keep it distracted, Captain – we're prepping the big gun. Regular rounds don't seem pierce the skin," Coulson says.
"Got it," he huffs. Steve waits for the beast to lunge at him again, and at the last second, twists around and launches himself into the air, landing on its back. His hands scrabble for purchase, winding around its neck. The creature bucks him like he's in some freakshow rodeo, still snarling that awful, high-pitched whining noise, but it doesn't think to flip on its back and crush him. The skin is slick and unexpectedly ridged under his fingers and Steve realizes they're scales. He tries not to shudder. He's never liked snakes, not one bit. Rats and mice and bugs he was used to, living in New York City's tenements, but snakes were not part of the deal.
The creature finally jerks with too much force for Steve to counter and he flies off, tucking into a roll before he hits the ground. He'd abandoned the shield when he'd leaped on its back. When the claws come slashing down towards his head, he rolls out of the way. The edge of one catches him on the upper arm, drawing a stripe of blood. The creature seems to perk up at the scent, angling its head so the left eye can lock on Steve.
He tenses, ready to flip back to his feet the moment he sees the muscles coiling to pounce. Before it makes its move, a blinding burst of blue light collides with the beast's torso. It screeches, high and piercing as a banshee. Steve crouches a safe distance away. Coulson's strange laser weapon emits another blast, catching it in the head this time. After a few more, it doesn't get back up.
Steve lifts his cowl and wipes the sweat from his forehead. He and Coulson stand over the body. "What was that? Weapon?" Steve asks breathlessly. The blue light had been an unsettlingly familiar color.
Coulson eyes him. "Not quite sure."
Steve frowns. "But you used it anyway?"
"Brought it just in case regular ammunition wasn't enough. It's an 0-8-4, recovered from Peru. Packed a punch, from what my agents said. Thought it might come in handy." Coulson shrugs.
"0-8-4?" Steve repeats, unfamiliar with the term.
"Object of unknown origin."
Steve thinks back to Clint's impish promise of an explanation. "You mean alien, don't you."
Coulson freezes, barely distinguishable from his usual stillness. Steve sighs. "You don't have to keep hiding things from me. I'm not gonna collapse if I hear one more crazy detail about the future. At this point, I'll just add it to the list."
The downturn of Coulson's mouth is sympathetic. "I'm sorry, Captain. I was only trying to make this a little easier." He glances back to the carcass. "Yes. 0-8-4s are usually alien. We think. Our lab techs haven't finished analyzing it yet. This was an unofficial test."
"Steve," he blurts. Coulson raises an eyebrow at him. "You can call me Steve. You don't have to keep saying Captain."
Coulson's cheeks turn faintly pink and a smile tugs at his lips. "Steve," he reiterates dutifully.
They're silent for a few minutes, watching as the agents load the creature into the cargo hold. Steve hopes it doesn't start to smell while they're in flight. He trails in after Coulson.
"Barton," the man suddenly says. "It was Barton, wasn't it."
Steve bites his lip against a smile and nods. Coulson shoots Clint a sour look. Hawkeye doesn't even blink, just slouches over and claims the seat next to Steve when they strap in for takeoff. When they get in the air, Clint hands him a tablet displaying a document titled "AAR 352708. New Mexico Incident. Barton CL-7."
Afterwards, Steve wonders if he's just been pranked and Coulson's poker face is just that good.