FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

-Secret Hydra Base: Location, Unknown

“Ladies, Gentlemen," the man in the finely-tailored Suit says, his face obscured like the rest of his compatriots. “The world is changing, and we have to change with it. You all knew exactly what you were getting yourselves into when you signed up to join our cause. Hydra has had many heads throughout the ages and many goals, and while there are still those out there who serve a greater purpose, we cannot deny that our purpose is to continue the legacy of Dr. Daniel Whitehall."

A few soldiers in Hydra gear approach the other six members of the tribunal, each of them producing a briefcase. “With the discovery of the true power of the obelisk, there is only one course of action left for those of us who worked under Whitehall's tutelage. We must prove to his legacy that we are the true leaders of this new world, or crumble to dust with the ashes of the old one. Is there any among you who does not wish to take the challenge?"

Greg looks down at the briefcase in front of him. The hydra operative's life flashes before his eyes. He was at the top of his class at the SHIELD academy, but no one ever really listend to the prematurely balding, snaggle-toothed loser. He hardly made it out of the Triskelion when SHIELD fel, thanks to his unique appearance. He had so many ideas, yet the director of SHIELD and the heads of Hydra had all looked him over for his seeming flaws and defects. Did he really have a life worth risking?"

“This is preposterous," an older woman says. “There are far too many more plans Hydra has that risking our lives for this suicide gambit is utter nonsense."

“Is it utter nonsense for the members of the higher tribunal to send members off to their glorious mission?" the finely-dressed genrleman says. “Is it nonsense to send a nuclear missile out to New York to eliminate our enemies and protect the world we so love?"

“He's right," Greg says. “Hydra is built on risks. Calculated, yes, but risks, to be sure. If we didn't believe in a world free from the corruption of free thought, a world ruled by the kinds of leaders that it needs to survive in an age of gods and monsters, then what are we even doing here?"

“I think," says another member of their group, looking over towards the first woman, “that some of the old guard among us don't have what it takes to live in this new world. With us."

“An astute observation," says the man with the impeccable fashion sense. “Well, then, madam. What shall it be?" He nods, and one of the soldiers pulls a gun, placing it to the back of her head. “Are you going to die, seeing if you are among the chosen to lead us? Or are you going to die with your brains splattered all over this wonderful table of ours?"

She closes her eyes and places her thumbs upon the case. “H… Hail Hydra…" she mutters.

“Hail Hydra," everyone else says, their thumbs going to the cases.

With a click, each of the cases open simultaneously, and resting within them is a small crystal.

“Thanks to SHEILD squabbling with themselves over who should be in charge, we were able to acquire and synthesize this material they call Terrigen. Touch it, and if you are worthy, you will emerge a power strong enough that even the Avengers will have trouble with you. If, that is, you are worthy."

Greg sighs, his hand hovering over the crystal. “Worthy…" he mutters to himself.

“WEll, ladies, gentlemen," the finely-dressed man says, “I hope to see you all on the other side, but I have no delusions that we will… Now!" He grabs the crystal, his body tensing up as the calfiying cocoon crawls up along his body. Greg grabs it as well, and so does the woman and everyone else. His body disappears behind a rocky exterior, forming, perhaps from his own flesh? The sensation is unlike anything he had ever felt before, and the cool rock travels up along his arm, over his shoulder and finally covering his head, drowning him in darkness and in solitude.

The darkness encompasses him for longer than he could count, but soon, he feels a sensation much like as if he were in a dream. Soon, Greg was floating, flying high in the darkness, free, yet confined at the same time.

Voices rise up frmo that darkness—the sounds of people arguing and murmuring, and soon, actual words. “He's stirring. Sir. Are you alright?"

He groans, his eyes fluttering open, through the hard, flaky shell of his cocoon. Soon, Feeling returns to his arms and his legs, and he breaks free, the cocoon crumbling to dust around him. He falls forward, his hands catching him. But when he looks at them, he blinks, tilting his head. That's not his ring… that's not his hand.

“Sir, none of the others survived," one of the soldiers said. “We were worried about you."

He looks around the table. Sure enough, where there were half a dozen members of Hydra's elite now rest nothing but the ash of failed inhumans. Greg clears his throat and adjust his—the well-dressed man's—tie, and says. “S.. So," that isn't his voice. “I guess that makes me the leader, then."

“Yes, well, we still need to figure out what your abilities are, sir, before we can determine if you're up for taking on SHIELD, let alone the Avengers."

“Of course, do you think I forgot my own plans?" he asks, looking over his shoulder, smiling with his perfect white teeth. “Let's run the gamut of tests. I can't wait to see what I'm capable of!"