when we come back, we’ll be dressed in black
“July 3rd, 1997, 13:25,” Coulson said into the recorder. He fought to keep his voice steady despite the dehydration that made his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth and his cracked lips sting with every syllable. “This is Agent Phillip Coulson reporting from somewhere in Nicaragua, precise coordinates currently unknown. If anyone finds this, be aware that our intel regarding Desi Pena as a viable asset was incorrect. The mission has been compromised—”
“You know, Coulson, I’d heard you were the master of the understatement, but fuck,” Medina muttered next to him. Her sunken eyes met his, holding a hint of bleak amusement as she raised her voice loud enough to be caught on the recorder. “In other words, our possible asset turned out to like working for the local drug-lord, killed Powell, stole our goddamn helicopter, and left us in the middle of one of Nicaragua’s rainforests. So yeah, compromised.”
you are a bullet in the chamber of the gun
She awoke to the sound of voices.
Basic instinct kept her breathing steady, her body motionless, as her senses slowly returned. Two men argued nearby, one with a shaky, querulous voice of an old man, the other with the self-assured tone of a man younger and stronger.
“How will we know if it’s worked?” The question came from the younger man, harsh with impatience.
“I told you, you have to give me time,” snapped the old man. “This is a delicate process—”
“The boss gave us a strict time table. Do you really want to disappoint him?”
“No,” the old man said quickly. “No, but—”
dark, the days when the ships came slowly in
It was shame that drove Thor from The Dolphin and onto the streets of Southampton. Shame, and the realization that if he bore witness to yet another soul struggling to hide contempt, or, worse still, pity at the recognition of Thor’s name, he would go mad.
He wandered the streets, his path aimless and uncertain. It was a struggle to think of a means of diversion that would not force others’ company upon him, or his upon theirs. He had already concealed himself away in his room, brooding over the court-martial, for far too much of the past few weeks.
Other Lives and Dimensions
“Doesn’t anyone appreciate banter these days?” Megamind complains, and then ducks as a shot from Doctor Element’s element-gun hums past his shoulder. He is tired and more than a little irritable. Today is his three-month anniversary with Roxanne, and rather than having a nice dinner with her he’s spent the entire evening fighting this unimaginative philistine. “What am I supposed to do with ‘Die, Megamind, die’? I mean, honestly, a little effort would be—”
He pauses to dive behind the remains of a wall as Doctor Element growls out a curse and fires his element-gun again.