Chapter 5 : THE INTERVIEW
Seventy-three minutes.
The second wait was longer than the first. I'd exhausted the mints, memorized every crack in the ceiling, and was starting to consider whether the fake plant might be edible in an emergency when the door finally opened again.
Coulson walked in carrying a different folder. Thicker. Official-looking.
Behind him came a woman I didn't recognize—mid-forties, severe haircut, expression like she'd never smiled and didn't plan to start. Her badge read COMMANDER, which meant she outranked Coulson significantly.
I stood out of reflex. "Ma'am."
She didn't acknowledge the greeting. Instead, she circled me slowly, studying me like a specimen.
"He doesn't look like much."
"Neither did Captain America before the serum," Coulson said mildly.
The woman's eyes narrowed. "Don't compare this stray to Steve Rogers."
"Wouldn't dream of it, ma'am."
She completed her circuit and stopped in front of me. "I'm Commander Hill. I oversee operations that Agent Coulson likes to pretend don't require my approval."
Maria Hill. I kept my face carefully neutral. She was second only to Fury in the SHIELD hierarchy, and she was standing in an interrogation room to evaluate a nobody like Jake Mordered.
Either I'd impressed someone, or I'd triggered alarms I didn't intend.
"Mr. Mordered." She said my name like it tasted bad. "Agent Coulson wants to add you to his mobile unit. A team of highly trained operatives with clearance levels you can't imagine. He thinks you'd be a valuable asset."
"I'd like to think so."
"I think you're a security risk." She stepped closer. "You appeared out of nowhere with convenient abilities and a perfect story. No family to leverage, no connections to verify, nothing in your background that proves you are who you claim to be."
"I grew up in the system. Records get lost. People fall through cracks."
"Or records get fabricated. People get inserted."
The accusation hung in the air. She thought I might be a plant—a spy inserted by an enemy organization to infiltrate SHIELD.
The irony wasn't lost on me.
"Commander Hill." I kept my voice steady. "If I were a spy, wouldn't I have a better cover story? Rich parents who died tragically, maybe. Or military service with classified records that can't be verified. Instead, I'm a foster kid who's been washing dishes and delivering packages for ten years. That's not a legend. That's just sad."
Her expression didn't change, but something in her posture shifted.
"You're either exactly what you appear to be," she said, "or you're very, very good."
"Can't it be both?"
The ghost of a smile. Gone before I could be sure it existed.
She turned to Coulson. "He's your responsibility. If he compromises an operation, if he leaks information, if he so much as jaywalks without authorization—"
"Then I'll handle it personally."
"See that you do." She glanced at me one more time. "Welcome to SHIELD, Mr. Mordered. Try not to make me regret this."
She walked out without another word.
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.
Coulson was almost smiling. "She likes you."
"That was her liking me?"
"You should see her when she doesn't like someone." He handed me the thick folder. "Paperwork. Non-disclosure agreements, liability waivers, provisional security clearance forms. Read everything, sign where indicated, and don't skip the fine print."
I flipped through the stack. There had to be fifty pages of legal text.
"Is there going to be a test?"
"Consider every day a test." He headed for the door, then paused. "Oh, and Mordered? We leave in two hours. Pack light."
"I don't have anything to pack."
"Then you're already ahead of schedule."
The door closed.
I stared at the paperwork, then at the empty room, then at the fake plant that had witnessed my entire transformation from viral video sensation to SHIELD consultant.
Two hours until my new life began.
I started reading.
---
The airfield was located behind the facility, hidden from street view by a combination of warehouses and strategic landscaping. I followed Coulson across the tarmac with my freshly signed paperwork tucked under one arm and my recovered belongings—wallet, phone, keys to an apartment I might never see again—stuffed in my pockets.
The aircraft dominated the runway.
I'd seen it in the show, of course. The Bus. Coulson's mobile command unit, disguised as a standard cargo plane but actually a state-of-the-art flying fortress. In person, it was bigger than I'd expected. More imposing. The SHIELD eagle emblazoned on the tail caught the afternoon sun.
"She's beautiful, isn't she?" Coulson said.
"Is it weird to be attracted to a plane?"
"If it is, don't tell me. I don't want to know about my team's peculiarities."
We climbed the rear ramp into the cargo bay. The interior was exactly as I remembered—clean lines, brushed metal, the hum of advanced technology. But the smell was new. Jet fuel and recycled air and something vaguely chemical, like cleaning products designed for environments that couldn't afford contamination.
My detection ability pinged.
Dormant Inhuman. Close. Very close.
The pull was stronger here than it had been at my apartment. Whatever signature I'd been sensing from miles away was now somewhere on this plane.
Skye. It had to be Skye.
I forced myself not to react as Coulson led me up a spiral staircase to the main level. The command center opened around us—screens, holographic displays, a conference table that probably cost more than everything I'd ever owned combined.
And the team.
They were gathered in the lounge area, clearly briefed about my arrival. Five faces turned toward me, each with a different expression.
May stood near the cockpit door, arms crossed, eyes flat. She looked at me like she was calculating exactly how many ways she could kill me before I hit the ground.
Ward occupied a seat at the conference table, posture perfect, smile exactly as practiced as his handshake would be. Every instinct I had screamed danger when I looked at him, but I kept the reaction buried deep.
FitzSimmons—I couldn't think of them separately, not yet—perched on a couch with tablets in their laps. Simmons was practically vibrating with scientific curiosity. Fitz looked more skeptical, but interested despite himself.
And Skye.
She lounged in a chair with her laptop balanced on her knees, dark hair falling across her face as she looked up. The detection ability hummed in my chest, a constant low note that said important, she's important, pay attention.
"Everyone," Coulson said, "this is Jake Mordered. He'll be joining us as a consultant."
"Another one?" Ward's voice was pleasant, professional. "We're collecting consultants now?"
"Quality over quantity." Coulson gestured for me to step forward. "Jake, meet the team. Agent Melinda May, pilot and operations."
"Ma'am."
May's eyes tracked over me. "He's not field-ready."
"He will be. Agent Grant Ward, specialist."
Ward stood and extended his hand. The grip was firm, calibrated. "Welcome aboard."
"Thanks."
His smile didn't reach his eyes. Mine didn't either.
"Leopold Fitz and Jemma Simmons, our science division."
"Call me Fitz." The Scottish accent was thicker than the show had suggested. "Everyone does."
"And I'm Simmons. We're very excited to study your abilities—I mean, meet you. Meet you first, then study you. With your consent, obviously."
"Obviously," I agreed, fighting a smile.
"And Skye. She's our—"
"Hacker, liaison, resident skeptic, and person most likely to ask uncomfortable questions." Skye closed her laptop and stood. "So you're the new weird one."
The pull intensified as she approached. Every cell in my body wanted to reach out, to touch, to begin the copying process. I clenched my hands into fists and forced a casual grin.
"I prefer 'alternatively gifted.'"
"That's just weird with extra steps."
"And yet here we are. Two alternatively gifted weirdos on a plane full of government agents."
Her eyes sparkled. "Want to compare conspiracy theories?"
"I thought you'd never ask."
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