Chapter 18 : PROTOCOL WHISPER - GENESIS
Three days passed.
May's doubled training schedule lived up to its promise—every muscle in my body had developed a personal grudge against me. The bruises from the previous sessions had barely started to heal before new ones appeared. But underneath the pain, something was changing. I was learning to anticipate, to position, to read my opponent's movements before they completed them.
"Better," May said after our fourth session, which was practically a standing ovation from her.
The team fell into a rhythm around me. Fitz continued his sandwich ranking project with input I now provided more carefully. Simmons ran weekly scans to track my healing factor. Ward and I developed a cautious respect through shared training time. And Skye...
Skye was different since Malta.
Nothing dramatic—no declarations, no awkward conversations about what the hand-holding had meant. But she sat closer during briefings. Found excuses to touch my arm, my shoulder, my hand. Looked at me longer than necessary.
The copying was progressing. Nearly two percent now, my body slowly absorbing the potential locked in her dormant genes. Weeks or months until I had enough to manifest anything useful. But the foundation was solid.
More importantly, the foundation of something else was solid too. Something that had nothing to do with powers.
On the evening of the third day, I made my move.
---
Coulson was in his office, reviewing reports on a tablet. I knocked twice, waited for his acknowledgment, and stepped inside.
"Jake. Training go well?"
"May says I'm improving. I think that means she's finding new ways to hit me." I closed the door behind me. "Sir, I need to ask for something unusual."
His eyebrow rose. "Define unusual."
"A private conversation. No electronics. No recordings. Completely off the books."
The office went quiet. Coulson set down his tablet, giving me his full attention.
"That's a significant request."
"I know. And I wouldn't make it if it wasn't important."
He studied me for a long moment—the same assessing look he'd given me in the interview, the same calculation of risk versus reward.
"Close the blinds."
I did. He powered down his tablet, removed the battery from his phone, and gestured for me to do the same with my communicator. When the room was as electronically dead as we could make it, he leaned back in his chair.
"Talk."
I'd rehearsed this moment a hundred times in my head. The partial truths I'd share, the careful framing, the way to make my meta-knowledge sound like precognitive fragments rather than memories of a television show.
Now that the moment was here, the words came harder than expected.
"I have visions," I said finally. "Fragments of possible futures. Not clear, not reliable, but sometimes I see shadows. Patterns that haven't emerged yet. Threats that haven't materialized."
Coulson's expression didn't change. "Go on."
"Some of those shadows are inside SHIELD."
The words hung in the air like smoke. Coulson's stillness became more absolute—the kind of stillness that preceded either violence or very careful thought.
"What kind of shadows?"
"Deep ones. Things that don't belong. People who aren't what they seem." I forced myself to hold his gaze. "I can't give you names or specifics. The visions don't work that way. But I've seen enough to know that something is wrong. Something big. Something that could tear SHIELD apart from the inside."
"You're describing a mole. Or multiple moles."
"I'm describing a threat I don't fully understand but can't ignore."
Coulson was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was careful, measured.
"How long have you been having these visions?"
"As long as I've had the other abilities. They came together."
"And you're telling me now because..."
"Because Malta showed me something." I leaned forward, letting the intensity I felt show through. "When Skye was in danger, I knew. Not suspected—knew. And when Hall made his choice, I saw... fragments. Possibilities. The gravitonium wasn't the only dangerous thing in that room."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning Quinn didn't fund that operation alone. He had backers. Silent partners with deep pockets and deeper agendas." I watched Coulson's face for reactions. "The same kind of partners I see in my visions when I look at SHIELD."
Coulson stood and walked to the window, staring out at nothing. The blinds were closed, but his eyes tracked invisible patterns in the darkness.
"You're asking me to believe that you have precognitive abilities that show you threats inside my own organization."
"I'm asking you to consider the possibility."
"Based on what evidence?"
"Based on my track record." I stood as well, staying on my side of the desk. "I warned Ward about Reyes's soldiers before they moved. I knew something was wrong with Skye before her comms went dark. I've been right about things I shouldn't have been right about, and I'm telling you now that something is coming. Something we need to prepare for."
Coulson turned to face me. His expression had shifted—still guarded, but with something else underneath. Interest. Concern.
"What kind of preparation?"
"Quiet kind. Nothing that draws attention. Hidden caches of supplies and equipment. Backup communication systems that don't rely on SHIELD networks. Extraction plans for the team. Safe houses that aren't on any official record."
"Paranoia insurance."
"Exactly." I spread my hands. "If I'm wrong—if the visions are just noise and SHIELD is exactly what it appears—then we've wasted some resources and some time. But if I'm right..."
"If you're right, we have a lifeline when everything else burns."
"Yes."
Coulson was silent for what felt like an eternity. I could see the calculations happening behind his eyes—the weighing of risks, the assessment of my credibility, the question of whether this was genius or madness.
Finally, he spoke.
"Why me?"
The question surprised me. "Sir?"
"You could have taken this to Hill. To Fury, if you could get access. People with more resources, more authority. Why bring it to me?"
I'd prepared for a lot of questions. This wasn't one of them. But the answer came easily anyway.
"Because you died and came back," I said. "You already know that impossible things happen. You've seen the other side of the rules, the place where the handbook doesn't apply. And because..." I hesitated, then decided to risk honesty. "Because I trust you. Not SHIELD as an institution—institutions can be corrupted. But you, specifically. Phil Coulson. The man who collected Captain America trading cards and believed in heroes when believing wasn't easy."
Something flickered across Coulson's face. Pain, maybe. Or recognition.
"The cards were destroyed," he said quietly. "In the Helicarrier attack."
"I know." I didn't—not the specifics—but the statement fit what I'd seen in the shows, the movies, the grand narrative of this universe. "I'm sorry."
"Fury told me they were in my jacket. That my blood was on them." Coulson's voice was distant, remembering. "It was a lie. They were in a locker somewhere. He used them to manipulate the Avengers."
"That doesn't change what they meant to you."
"No." He met my eyes again, and something had shifted. The armor was still there, but there were cracks in it now. "No, it doesn't."
The silence stretched. When Coulson spoke again, his voice was different. Softer. More personal.
"Start small," he said. "Prove this isn't paranoia. Bring me concrete proposals—locations, resources, timelines. Nothing that draws attention. Nothing that leaves a trail."
"Yes, sir."
"And Jake?" He waited until I met his eyes. "If you're right about this—if there really are threats inside SHIELD—then we need to be very careful about who we trust. Even people who seem trustworthy."
"I understand."
"Do you? Because what you're describing... if it's real, then everyone is a potential threat. Including people on this team."
My stomach tightened. He didn't know about Ward—couldn't know—but his instincts were pointing in the right direction.
"I'll be careful," I said. "And I'll bring you what I find. Off the books. Just the two of us."
"Protocol Whisper."
I blinked. "Sir?"
"Every operation needs a name. This one is Protocol Whisper." He almost smiled. "Appropriate, don't you think?"
"Very."
Coulson unlocked the door and retrieved his tablet, powering it back on. The conversation was over—officially, it had never happened.
"Get some rest, Mordered. May's expecting you at five."
"Yes, sir."
I left his office with something I hadn't had when I walked in: an ally. A partner in the conspiracy that would hopefully save us all when the shadows finally emerged.
HYDRA was inside these walls. I couldn't name them, couldn't point them out, couldn't act against them without revealing knowledge I shouldn't have. But I could prepare. Build caches. Establish safehouses. Create the infrastructure of survival while pretending it was just paranoid precaution.
The proof was coming. Winter Soldier was coming. Everything was going to burn.
But maybe—just maybe—we'd be ready when it did.
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