Coulson's agents stepped in behind them. Hands on their holsters.
Jason nodded, slowly disarming.
Coulson didn't break eye contact. "We'll find out what happened today. And if you're lying?"
His voice dropped.
"You won't like how we will deal with this."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The interrogation room was quiet except for the soft hum of the fluorescent light overhead.
James sat at the table, posture loose, as if he had all the time in the world. Across from him, Jason, one of the Division's senior agents, stared back with the carefully neutral face of someone who had spent years training to hide facial tells.
Behind the reinforced glass, Coulson watched, with his arms folded. The feed from the SLR-enhanced optics gave him every detail — eye dilation, micro-expressions, and stress responses. The setup was unrecorded by design. This wasn't standard procedure. This was their ace in the hole. No one outside this room and the observation post knew what they were doing.
"Not going to talk?" James asked casually, his tone almost conversational. "Why was there no response to my distress call? Why did those gangsters arrive so quickly to the scene? And the ambush team — were they yours?"
Jason's reply was measured. "I don't know what you're talking about. We never got a call. You can check the logs."
[Cortana: Pulse elevated by twelve percent. Micro-spasms in the jawline — controlled anger. He's not improvising; he's reciting a prepared denial.]
James leaned back in his chair. "Really? So this wasn't Hydra clearing the board?"
The change in Jason's pupils was small, but it was there. Enough to make Coulson lean closer to the glass. Jason caught himself, locking down his expression.
"I don't know what you mean. Hydra's been gone for decades," Jason said flatly.
James stood, moving behind him. His left hand came to rest on the back of Jason's neck — not rough, not gentle. Just contact and a show of intimidation.
"I think you've already seen who we picked up tonight," James said quietly, close to his ear. "You think we'd grab that many people without proof? And some of them aren't even from this Division. HQ sent them. You want to guess why?"
Jason's breathing spiked, then steadied. "How should I know? I'll file a report when the Division Chief gets back."
That was the slip James was listening for. The Chief wasn't Hydra. This was about undermining the leadership under him.
James returned to his seat. "Doesn't matter if you admit it. You're not talking because you're more afraid of Hydra's punishment than anything we can do here."
Jason's jaw twitched. For a trained operative, that was a crack in the armor. It was as if he felt that James was reading him.
"Show me proof," Jason said, forcing a challenge.
James shook his head. "Not today. We're not here for procedures. We're here to mark names. You'll get pulled later."
Jason shoved back from the table, hands slamming down. "This is against protocol. I'm a Level Six agent—"
The door swung open. Coulson stepped in with two agents flanking him. "We've got Director Fury's authorization. This "is" protocol. Take him to the holding cell."
Jason was walked out, still muttering under his breath. Coulson turned to James. "Well?"
James pulled a pad toward him and wrote quickly. "Already confirmed from him. They're all Hydra. Don't pull them all at once — bring them in batches. Anyone not on the list, bring them to me."
While Coulson began calling names, James tore into the food he'd brought with him. [Cortana: Calorie burn rate is forty percent above baseline. Recommend immediate intake before next scan.]
Next in was James — not Gibson, but the other Level Six agent on duty. Two senior agents working the same night were already suspicious. After ten minutes of verbal sparring, the second name list grew longer.
By the time the night shift was fully processed, nearly a third of the Division's personnel were tagged as compromised. Most of the off-duty operatives were still at home. The building felt different now — much quieter, the background hum of idle chatter now gone. Agents not on the list moved more crisply, knowing something was happening but not asking questions. Those on the list sat isolated, under discreet guard.
Coulson came in again. "Do we hit them now?"
James shook his head. "No. If they didn't send an alert, they're not expecting us to ID them. No reason to tip them off. Let the night roster run. We move in the morning when everyone's here."
Coulson nodded. "We'll do it your way then."
An hour later, James led a detail to Stark Tower to retrieve the prisoners being held there. Tony met him in a lower-level bay, arms crossed.
"That quick?" Tony asked.
"Easier than expected," James replied.
"They give you trouble?"
"Not the kind that matters."
Tony smirked. "I'll hold the cell open in case you need it again."
Morning came, gray and cold.
Agents began arriving for the day, many heading straight for the training floor. Others took desks or checked their mail slots. Those on James's list didn't make it far. A casual "you're needed for a mission" was all it took to get them to the secure wing.
By mid-morning, the detention rooms were crowded. The atmosphere in the Division was taut. Conversations dropped to whispers when certain names passed in the hall. The building's usual rhythm was broken.
James walked into the control room, rubbing the bridge of his nose. The repeated use of his ability had left him drained. Not even the constant food intake was enough to energize him.
"Phil, these cells won't hold them long. Have you called the Director?" James asked.
"Already on it," Coulson replied. "He's inbound with the Division Chief. They'll handle processing soon."
James nodded. "Don't expect this at HeadQuarters. Hydra's strongest there, and they're running predictive models off the Fraternity's Loom of Fate. If we purge the HeadQuarters outright, the rest will scatter before we can cut their life lines."
Coulson's expression hardened. "Then we keep it controlled. One branch at a time."
James looked at the holding wing through the security glass — the rows of cells, the agents inside who hours earlier had been walking the same halls as everyone else.
[Cortana: Hydra operatives are exhibiting calm body language. No panic. Behavioral profile suggests confidence in external rescue or political shield.]
"They're waiting for someone to clean this up for them," James said quietly.
Coulson glanced at him. "We won't give them that."