hermajestysfury: (Evolution Fury)
Nicholas Joseph Fury, born in Clinton, New York City, New York, in 1911. He has seen the world change, and seen the darkness grow, and grow, and grow.

The last time things made sense, really, was during the second world war. His Commandos saw too much action and it changed them all. Some of them went hard, the rest of them went harder. The only bright spots, in as much as a war has them, were the times that they worked with Captain America. It gave the Howlers something to fight for that was much more immediate than the "mom and apple pie" of the official spiel. The Captain and Bucky were good, it made the Howlers feel like they were on the right side.

After he lost his eye, Fury was given the Infinity Serum, which retarded his ageing. Initially he had to take the serum every month.

SHIELD was started in the late 50's, under Fury's watchful eye. Most of the surviving Howlers had places in it and they worked like hell to keep the Cold War from boiling over into another hot war. Vietnam strained the original Howlers, now ageing, and caused the organization to grow larger and more unwieldy. As Howlers retired or died fighting Hydra, Fury found himself being forced to delegate more and more to people he did not fully trust...and should not have fully trusted.

By the 80's Fury was the last of the Howlers involved in SHIELD and those untrustworthy people had worked together to make him appear obsolete. Seeing it happen, but not being able to stop it, Fury began a large-scale "office supply" stealing job and established a base underneath Priest Point Park in Olympia, Washington. He recruited people he could trust, stole copies of technology (or, in some cases) the originals, and began working against the organization he had created and the corruption that had overtaken it.

After Reed Richards maimed Victor von Doom, Fury recruited the young genius and promised to help him seek a cure for his maimed body. With von Doom's help he now only has to take the Infinity Serum annually.
hermajestysfury: (Waiting)
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Last updated September 29, 2090 8.42 a.m. PT E-mail this Print this

Who is Anti-Citizen Four?
In addition to the original Anti-Citizens a new suit of armor has shown up in opposition to order, sanity, and the stability of the nation.

Anti-Citizen Four has armor of a dark green and black, with a fully hidden face that makes him unidentifiable. Any person or persons with information on Anti-Citizen Four should contact the President's special Anti-Citizen Capture Line at 555-555-5655.
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Last updated October 10, 2090 9.42 p.m. PT E-mail this Print this

Anti-Citizens Speak Out!
This reporter received the following letter, supposedly from the Anti-Citizens!
Sir,
We do not stand against order, sanity, and stability, rather we stand for those who cannot stand for themselves. The President For Life has muddied the original goals and ideals of this great nation which we love so much. For the weak, for the lost, for those who are targets of people who should protect them; there we shall be.
Sincerely,
Captain America, Sir Nicholas Fury, the Revolutionary, and Freeman.

All positions in the letter are solely the opinion of the writers. The reporter expresses no agreement whatsoever with the opinions of the Anti-Citizens.
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hermajestysfury: (Default)
He's pacing the rug of his office with steps that are no weaker for his age. The media attributes it to clean living, only he and one chemist know the real secret. One chemist who hasn't seen the light of day since before Nick Fury's funeral, not nearly long enough ago.

It was bad enough when there were three of them appearing out of nowhere. Rogers was supposed to have been disintegrated, Fury was dead; he knew because he'd been there when it happened, and the new man? Worse and worse. The last thing he wanted, the last thing he needed, was a new batch of costumed do-gooders showing up to force their ideals on him again.

He's worked hard to get where he is today. He's lied, cheated, stolen, and committed far worse than mere murder to keep people under his thumb and out of his way. Sabotage of this hero, assassination of that one, backing this or that law. Weeding out the strong and leaving the public weak so that his voice would soothe them and make them follow.

This will not stand. One purple finger points at the generals and spooks lined up near the door, "You will find them, each and every one of them. I most especially want the man in the orange suit and the man in the green. One and Four. You will find them and you will bring them to me.

"Dead or alive."
hermajestysfury: (Default)
The target is a caravan of people who have been picked up by the President's squads to be tested and cleaned. The world isn't kind to those who have been picked up, even if they are found clean.

The path has been charted out, the number of people (thirteen) has been confirmed, and so have the number of guards. The point of extraction is between two abandoned warehouses.
hermajestysfury: (Default)
What it's not about: It's not about money, or fame. It's not about making a name for yourself. It's not about being known or about being acknowledged.

What it's about: It's about joining the people who are doing something right, even if you aren't sure that they're going to accept you.

You're on the wrong side of the country, so it took a while. You had to get your life moved to where they are, and do it so smoothly nobody noticed. You had to pack everything carefully just in case. You're not rich, and you're not able to just drop everything and go flying off.

In New York you're impatient and want to go, go, go. That's not how they do things, though, and you want them to accept you into their fold. Assuming you can find them. You haunt the areas you think they might be in, accepting and ignoring the looks you get in certain parts of the city.

The armor sits at home, in boxes, waiting. You talk to it, sometimes, because there is no one else to talk to about all of your plans for it.

And you live your life. Get settled under your real name, the one that everyone knows, and learn the city. If, when, you find them you're going to be ready.
hermajestysfury: (Default)
It's not like that.

It's just.

It's just that you're twenty four, and your friends are all passionate about politics, and tell you that he's done the best job in history.

It's just that you had this cousin, and she had this friend, and her friend's little sister was, you know. And your cousin got swept up in it, and you got a polite little note saying that they were sorry for the mix-up and that you'd be pleased to know that your family was safe.

It's just that you sit in classes about history and you hear about how terrible it was and you think about what people could do, that they can't now.

It's just that you wonder about the definition of the word, when it comes on the media.

It's just that you look at three old, tired faces belonging to three old, tired men and you wonder.

You wonder what happens when the old stop and the new never start.

You wonder what happens when heroes die.

Then you put the last bit of dark green armor on and you check yourself in the mirror. A harshly mechanical voice, which you are pleased to note sounds nothing like you, announces to your dingy little basement room; "Anticitizen Four reporting for duty. Just as soon as I find a way to contact the rest of you."
hermajestysfury: (Angry (How dumb do you feel right now?))
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Last updated September 20, 2090 8.42 a.m. PT E-mail this Print this

Feds say political scientist engaged in terrorist activities.

One of the two prominent political scientists engaged in a debate about the Anti-Citizens, Dr. E. B. Derka, is being held pending investigations of terrorist activities related to the controversial and anti-government side which she chose to debate.

Dr. Derka referred to Anti-Citizen Three as Captain America, in defiance of official policy to call him the alleged Captain America.

Prosecutors have requested warrants to search Dr. Derka's house and workplace in order to fully make the jury aware of the depth of her sympathy toward terrorists.

She faces charges including slander, inciting a riot, and conspiracy. If convicted she could be sentenced to life in prison.

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hermajestysfury: (Grim)
Ms. Gravens, the host of the ever popular Good Morning America, sat poised and smiling for the cameras long before they were actually turned on. Her breathing was even and just a little bit excited – this interview, this debate, could rocket her from well known morning host to the big time and her very own show.

Her guests, two prestigious doctors of history and politics, had been preparing for this event for weeks, ever since the President for Life gave permission for the topic to be discussed.

”Rolling!” The light on top of the camera blinked on and Ms. Gravens' smile beamed out full wattage.

“Good Morning America! Today we have some very special guests in a very, very special debate. Dr. K. Scott and Dr. E. B. Derka will be discussing the current upsets by the small terrorist group that the government is calling the Anti-citizens.

“Everyone knows Anti-Citizen Three – the so-called Captain America who refused to stand down when our President for Life began his genetic reforms to keep us safe from the superhuman menace. As a short recap - Steve Rogers was a fine arts student in the 1940's before America entered World War II. He attempted to enlist in the army only to be turned away due to his poor constitution. A U.S. officer offered Rogers an alternative way to serve his country by being a test subject in the project, Operation: Rebirth, a top secret defence research project designed to create physically superior soldiers. Rogers was given a costume modelled after the American flag, a bulletproof shield, a personal sidearm and the codename Captain America. Throughout World War II, Captain America and Bucky fought the Nazi menace. In the closing days of World War II in 1945, Captain America and Bucky tried to stop Baron Zemo from destroying an experimental drone plane. They reached the plane just before it took off, but when Bucky tried to defuse the bomb, it exploded in mid-air. The young man was believed killed, and Rogers was hurled into the freezing waters of the North Atlantic. Neither his body nor Bucky's were found, and both were presumed dead. Unfrozen much later in time, Captain America was out of touch with the reality of our world and began fighting our glorious President for Life.

“Anti-Citizen Two is something of an enigma. To all appearances he seems to be Nick Fury. Folks at home, Fury was the son of noted World War I pilot Jack Fury and an alleged descendant of one of the men who wore the Phantom Rider mask in the late nineteenth century. Nick Fury was born in New York City's Hell's Kitchen neighbourhood in the late 1910s. Most of his life is under so many classified barriers even now that our press release is more censor bars than not. What we can tell you is that Fury was one of the great heroes of the twentieth century and when he died it was a terrible loss for all normal humans.

“While Fury's death was faked many times, this last time was of old age in a bed at home. We're not sure who Anti-citizen Two actually is, but the chances he's Fury are very slim.

“Then of course there is Anti-Citizen One. Any information on the Man in the Orange Suit will be rewarded greatly by the President For Life. Please call the number on your screen if you know anything at all about where he came from, who he is, or how any of these extremely dangerous men can be caught.

“Dr. Scott?”

The slightly nervous-looking young man, weedy and pallid under the lights, coughed into a handkerchief and offered a weak smile to the camera. He was ready for this, truly, but the cameras were pressing on him in a way that he hadn't felt since defending his dissertation. That all faded when he started speaking, however, and his voice was warm and rolling.

“Thank you for that introduction, Ms. Gravens. I'm going to start by addressing the property damage these three menaces have inflicted on several government installations. No citizen could have missed the news coverage when the Haile was hit – the repository for all of our genetic information. We lost decades of health research when they destroyed that building, let alone the explosion of the experimental laboratories hit later that month.”

Dr. Derka broke in at that point, leaning forward with her hands on her knees and frowning. Although looking more confident than her opponent, her nerves were far higher. She had been given the unpopular stance and was grimly determined to hold her own in the face of dangerous waters. To that end she'd had several shots earlier for strength.

“Now now, Dr. Scott. What do you say about those rumours that the labs were actually weapons depots? That's been floating around for years.”

“All respect Dr. Derka, but poppycock. What do we need weapons depots for in the New York area? We're not at war. The worst that we have to consider is the possibility that the superhuman menace might arise again to put ordinary citizens at risk.”

“Some say that it's the lack of superhumans that has the country in the slump it has been at. How much great art, how many advances in the sciences, have been made since Captain America was executed?”

The tension level on the sound stage rocketed, both Ms. Gravens and Dr. Scott staring at Dr. Derka in complete shock. People just don't call him that any more. Alleged. So-called. It's just How Things Are Done.

“Steve Rogers.” Ms. Gravens says quietly, and Dr. Derka pales.

“Steve Rogers was executed. My apologies. I didn't mean ...”

The cameras switch off and a commercial break begins with a portrait of the President for Life and the nervous voice of the announcer stating, “The views expressed in this show are not those of the network or of any persons other than the guest.”

420: Tests

Jul. 9th, 2008 10:42 pm
hermajestysfury: (Default)
The tests have been run. Every single test that anyone could think to do with several bits of hair and the blood found where Fury and the other man had fallen. Every single test, duplicated as often as they could. The conclusions were as unwelcome as they were undeniable.

The other man did not exist. He simply...didn't. In all of their files, in all the genetic research they've been doing, there is no one who fits. Subtle things were off, to the point where one horribly unhappy scientist had to explain to the President for Life that there was no way that the man in the orange suit could possibly be a native of this Earth.

Or any of the known near Earths. And he's probably not a mutant. Or a standard-type hero. Alien is unlikely. He's just a man, in an orange suit, who appeared at much the same time as Fury.

The President for Life is not amused. At all.
hermajestysfury: (Default)
The target is low on information, this time, but high on things which will be useful in the future to either side; weapons. It's the major depot for this city and the three men who comprise the revolutionaries in this where and when are going to demolish it while looting as much as possible.

The complex has multiple buildings, four of them, and the weapons are stored in such a way that without prior knowledge of what is where they are not usable in current manner. Ammunition is stored in a different building from the clips, which are stored differently from the rest of the weapons. Fuses and mines are also stored separately, one with ammunition and one alone. The idea is that people who are sent here have the time to go from building to building. It isn't an emergency cache, this is a working facility. It is patrolled day after day by grim faced men and women who were personally chosen by the President to protect these weapons.

Lunches are taken in three shifts, with two thirds of the guards on duty at any given time. All gates require both a photographic key-card and verification by someone who personally knows the entrant, the people manning the gates were chosen for photographic memory.

The walls are twice the height of a man, with angled wire to keep people out. They're comfortable for two people to pass, but no wider than that. The stair cases also require use of the key cards to get in.

As a last situation, guard dogs both patrol with the guards and are allowed to wander through the complex on their own. Feeding is performed at dusk and dawn, enough to keep them healthy but not enough to get them fat and slow.
hermajestysfury: (Stabbed in the back)
"Run it again."

"Sir, we've run this five times. It comes up the same every time. A perfect match with the file. Perfect, sir." The analyst has his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his lab coat, where they've been since the second that he handed the papers across to the older, much angrier, man behind the desk. "There isn't an error. I want there to be an error as badly as you do.

"Nick Fury has been dead for sixty eight years." the papers are in a neat stack which is picked up and tapped sharply against the desk, "Dead and buried for sixty eight years. May 4, 2022. Natural causes." He picks up the report again and reads it over again. After the decades of carefully shaping the populace to follow his every whim he's good at reading these sort of reports. The information stares back up at him unflinchingly; Fury. On every page; Fury, Fury, Fury.

"Yes, sir. And he was shot breaking into the Haile building while in the company of a man in a brilliant orange hazardous environment suit."

"Exhume the body. Do what you need to do to make certain."

"Yes, sir. I'll pass the order to..."

"Do it yourself. I want you there at every stage of the operation. Exhume the body, run the tests, I don't want you leaving the side of the sample from the second you personally take it until the results are in my hand. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mr. President."

"Get out of here and find out what the hell is going on." The President for Life, old but still spry, leans back in his chair after the analyst is gone and stares up at the ceiling. He'd almost rather Captain America were back than Fury. The man in orange, that's new too. He doesn't like new. New is dangerous.
hermajestysfury: (Default)
The building is the same as it was the day before. Few obvious people, few obvious cameras. Plenty of open space, and a couple of men across the street getting themselves ready for a snatch-and-grab...while prepared for it to go very, very wrong.
hermajestysfury: (Default)
There are two things that a revolution needs: information and weaponry. Sir Nicholas is distressingly short on both. He has been gaining information as fast as possible, from Rogers, from Gordon Freeman, from books and newspapers and files, but in the end there are still too many things that they don't know which they need to know.

The Haile building is not a terribly important building in the grand scheme of the President For Life's power. It was one of the last things that Emma Frost funded before her murder and was designed to find ways to track movements of money more securely. As a private tool she used it to keep her fortunes growing.

After her death it was confiscated by the government, who used the tools to track mutants instead of money and create files of people who might be carriers of the genes that the President For Life disapproved of. To the normal-looking, weak-willed public it is a building that carries on the task of keeping the mutant menace from disrupting them. To the rare holdouts and those who look different, even more rare since the early 21st century started, it's just another place which occasionally sends out armed soldiers to arrest people for the crime of being too strong-willed to follow the President.

In theory it is also a building which contains a directory of places where information on the dead can be found. Information on the dead, the lost, the mad, and the hiding President. He shows up on the television daily, live, to broadcast his speeches...but his physical position is heavily guarded.

The building is two stories tall, from the outside. L-shaped with a moderately sized parking lot. Two doors in, one at the crook of the L and one at the long end, and an emergency staircase up the other end, darkened windows with the blinds drawn and the occasional small light as someone has stayed to work late into the night.
hermajestysfury: (Default)
"You won't find most of them here." Rogers says, staring at the long braids he's worn for years. Sir Nicholas just grunts, bending over the books, "You could keep them." the older-looking man points out, "They would make you distinct, yes, but also hide your identity a bit. Who do you say I will not find?"

Sir Nicholas is adjusting. Not well, not gracefully, but he is adjusting to this world and the things he needs. The clothing is uncomfortable, foolish, hard to move in. The shoes are nowhere near as sturdy as his boots were. Even the colors are annoyingly different; blue and white rather than the deep purple and gold that he wore for so long.

The two, squalid rooms which he and Rogers are sharing remind him uncomfortably of youth as an orphan, as under and uncovered by the rule of law. That is, he must admit, close to the truth. It still disturbs him.

He thinks that it disturbs Rogers, as well. Every now and then he looks up from his near-frantic reading to see the other man looking at him with an expression of mixed anger and sorrow. He had been friends with Nick Fury, the man who Sir Nicholas so much resembles, for close to a hundred years before Nick died. "Would that other Fury betray you? Would he lie to you?" and "That other Nick Fury you knew? I'm not him."

They've had their fight over it, yes, but Rogers hasn't forgiven Sir Nicholas for not being that other Nick Fury. So be it. is the knight's opinion, We have a common goal, and then I shall go my way and he shall go his.

Eventually the silent but accusatory stare becomes too much, and Sir Nicholas stands, "I must take the air. I shall return anon." It is the kitchen door he opens, not the hallway one. Open, close, open, close, open...Milliways.
hermajestysfury: (Default)
"They needed me, Fury!" Rojhaz is enraged, has been since the second the girl stepped through the door, "You bastard, you made me leave them!" Sir Nicholas looks on impassively as the tall 'American' storms around, "Who is going to protect them? Teach them? Who is going to show them how to avoid the mistakes we made?"

"Someone else." Sir Nicholas finally says, "Someone who will not tear the world apart merely by existing in it. That is what you were doing. And so now, instead of the end of my world, my people, and my home there are two men against a world." His lips curve, but it isn't a nice smile, "Look on the bright side. Once again you are not alone."

"Tear the world apart? What do you mean?" Sir Nicholas rubs his temples at that, privately wondering just how badly the future man was damaged in his trips through time...and if he, himself, is destined to be the same.

"I mean that you were too early. The storms, the quakes, those were all your fault. Doctor Strange, God rest his soul, found that if you had not been sent back we would all have perished. There would be no America, for there would be no Earth."

Rojhaz is quiet the rest of that day.

The next day is slow, and quiet.

"Why are you going to help me?" the American asks in the early morning. Sir Nicholas looks up from where he was polishing a knife in a meditative state and says simply, "It is what I do." before going back to what he was doing. Rojhaz...Rogers. Steve Rogers. Such a strange name, the more because it is almost normal. Regardless, Rogers contacts a man, who contacts another, and by noon there is a tentative knock on the door. It is Rogers who opens the door, collects the box, and shows the young man in.

He's weedy, with dusky skin and dirty hair, and he looks at Sir Nicholas like a man from 1602 might look at God. "He looks almost exactly like the old pictures of Nick Fury." he informs Rogers, while Sir Nicholas sits straight-backed reading history books. He pretends that he can't hear the conversation behind him, but Rogers' comment is clear, "He is Fury." as is the kid's sharp intake of breath and quick retreat.

"Let me bandage you up better." Rogers says when they're alone again, "I've got a first aid kit here that will help keep it from getting infected." Much of what he says is meaningless to Sir Nicholas, infected being amongst those words, so the other man says, "A physic to keep you healthy."

"Very well." Sir Nicholas says, removing the over-large shirt and allowing Rogers to remove the purple bandaging. His mind is racing with the facts he's found out already, and he knows that he's barely scratched the surface. There is no way that he could walk out in public, even if his face was not apparently widely known even to this day.

He's got a tally running through his mind, a tally of things to learn. Money. Maps. Politics, although that is dreadfully obvious. Speech patterns. The technology, enough to get around if not become a master. How to drive, how to use the little telephone, how to survive in this world.
hermajestysfury: (Fight - Elbow to the FACE)
Nothing moves until Sir Nicholas' shoulder is firmly under the heavy weight of the man known as Rojhaz, as Steve Rogers, as Captain America.

Then lots of things happen. The scientists shout, one of them raises a gun, and Sir Nicholas - encumbered by the body of a man much larger than even his broad-shouldered and muscled frame - never the less springs into action. It's a blur, really, as he kicks the man with the gun into the other man before dumping Rojhaz on the gurney, then quickly, efficiently, kicks each of the staggering scientists in the jaw as they attempt to get up.
hermajestysfury: (Feeling old)
The moon hung too low in the sky, and throbbed. Perhaps it had only been in his imagination that the wrongly shaped moon throbbed, but that is what he recalls. He feels old. He is old, of course, but he feels old right now. Old, tired, and broken down. He failed his queen, he may have failed his world. Worse than that, though, he may have unmade his world into a place where the moon hangs too low and the streets are wrong.

Into Hell.

No wind, no clouds, no stars, no anything. The only difference between that and the Hell they speak about in churches is the lack of fire, and he is certain that it would have been less alien if there had been fire; which means that the lack of fire makes sense.

Except that none of it makes sense, and he does not wish for it to make sense, because if it makes sense...if he can wrap his head around it, then he has to face the other side of the equation. "And if you were successful, and one person was causing a time paradox, it's possible that the events you faced were undone or unfolded differently. Time is far more fragile that it would seem."

That world was wrong, and Sir Nicholas may have undone everything. Not saved the world, not saved his friends and country and species, but unmade them.

He is not an introspective man, but there is little do do here other than think, and brood, and wonder.

Failing the queen was bad enough. Did he, too, fail everything else?

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