Sir Nicholas Fury (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hermajestysfury) wrote2008-06-18 11:53 am
hermajestysfury) wrote2008-06-18 11:53 am
Entry tags:
420: Revolution
"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.
"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.