The Captive: Part 4

May 04, 2015:

Fury deals with Upton's executive order to execute Kwabena Odame.

Top-Secret SHIELD Holding Facility

Location: REDACTED


NPCs: Nick Fury


Mood Music: President Carter by Lil Wayne

Fade In…

Steve Rogers is wheeling in a large metallic, crate shaped box through the catacombs of the top secret cells at the Triskelion. He has no idea what he's doing, nor why he's bringing this box to the cell of Kwabena Odame.

Speaking of said cell, the cell opens and in strides the Director of SHIELD with a letter in his hand and a handgun in his belt.

"Odame. Get up," Fury says simply, peering at the Ghanian with his good eye.


Shift can be found seated on his little cot, cross-legged, wearing the prisoner's jumpsuit issued to him. He almost appears to be in a meditative state, even going so far as to ignore the sounds that come into his secret holding facility.

Then, an unfamiliar voice.

Eyes open to reveal silver irises. For a moment or two, he studies Fury before shifting his legs, dropping to his bare feet and turning to face Fury. "Just who de hell ah you?" he asks quietly, after sending a curious glance Steve's way.


"My name is shut the hell up and speak when spoken to," Nick says to Shift absently as he looks to Steve. He hands the piece of paper to Steve whose blue eyes look over it quickly. "What?"

"That's what I said," Nick responds, looking serious.

"You know he's not guilty."

"I know," Nick says with a nod.

Steve hands the paper towards Kwabena. It's an executive order authorizing his death.


What they don't yet realize is that Simmons' treatment hasn't been foolproof. Kwabena has gradually become more self aware of the other entity that's been forced upon him. A side effect of that malicious creature having been cut off from its HYDRA puppet masters for so long. His memory is still fractured, but there are… glimpses.

Hence the meditation.

Hence the attitude.

Odame simply watches the exchange with narrowed, speculative eyes, 'til the paper is offered his way.

There is a long silence. Then, his lips curl back, and he tosses the letter to the floor. "K'pasa," he curses in his native tongue.

A loose translation would be 'bullshit', but it doesn't take a linguist to decipher the way he speaks that word. An intense look is thrown right at Steve. "Don't let dem do dis to me, Rogahs."


Fury reaches for the edge of the box and releases it. There's gas that spits out of the sides, billows into the cell and dissipates. He lifts up the top of the metallic coffin and inside is an almost exact duplicate of Kwabena.

"He won't," Fury says in response as he hoists the man out of the tube and onto the hard, grey surface.

"What?" Steve says as Fury pulls out his handgun.

Nick stops, tilts his head at Steve, and says, "Say what again. Say it again…" Annoyed he turns back to the body and pulls the trigger, splattering the brain matter all over the floor!


The intense look is turned to the coffin, a hardened expression coming over him as he looks toward the coffin, then Fury's handgun doubtfully. Did this guy not read his file?

His jaw works back and forth, and for a moment, he considers using the moment to make his escape. It was now or never. The scientists would find some way of dismantling his ability and -

The production of that man stops his thought process cold. When the gunshot goes off, he flinches, perhaps for the first time since the first time he pulled a trigger himself.

Then, there is silence. Kwabena stares at the corpse with a mouth that steadily becomes slackjawed.


Nick takes a handkerchief and wipes some of the blood from his gun. "So, here's the play. Odame, you now work for me. For the good guys. But you and I, we don't talk. Your contact is this man." He nods towards Steve.

"Your job is to make up for all the bullshit you've caused by bringing down HYDRA. From the inside. Find out about the other guy who got to the President. Find out about Skull. Find out about someone called the Winter Soldier. You hear anything, you contact Rogers."

"Your story is that when you found out you were accused of killing a Congressman, you went underground. Real underground. The guy we caught wasn't the real Kwabena Odame. That bitch was a shapeshifter. A shapeshifter who just got his ass killed when he tried to escape. Eventually, your identity will come out. When it does, that's the story. That's all of our story. Until then, you use these."

Fury tosses Shift a packet of some false identities.

"There isn't really any room for negotiation here Odame. So I'm going to ask you to get in the box. I'm going to have Cap here, wheel you out and onto a quinjet. And I'm going to have him take you wherever it is you need to go. And then you're gonna disappear for a while and make sure those tricks our scientists taught you keeps you demon free."

"We clear?"

Fury motions towards the box.


There are plenty of missing pieces. That executive order, for example, was signed by President Fredrick Upton. Not Pershing. No, they didn't give him a TV or internet access down here. He's been as blind to the world as the world has been to him.

With fast reflexes, Kwabena snatches the packet out of the air. He doesn't need to open it to understand what it contains. The item is studied for a few moments, before he curls a hand around it for safekeeping.

No, he doesn't like it. He doesn't like working for anything that has organization behind it. The only reason he took that first job from Steve? Money. Then again… once he saw what that asshole al-Tawhid was capable of? Well, a few things changed. Even if nobody really appreciated his method of capturing the terrorist alive.

Then again, he recently found himself royally fucked by whomever masterminded his undoing. Eyepatch is giving him a chance to undo that. Perhaps not the way he'd see to it, but. After that long silence, Kwabena gives Fury a very slow nod of his head.

"HYDRA." He turns to look at Steve, shaking his head. "You won't like what I'll need to do to sahcure my covah. Promise I'll keep de collateral damage to a minimum." Because nobody goes underground in a terrorist organization without crossing a few lines.

That being said, he walks toward the coffin with a mixture of something between a pit in his stomach and relief. When he walks by Steve, he slows a bit, and glances toward the man with a rueful look. "I like your boss."

He worked very hard to get that 'your' with the proper, Americanized accent.

Moments later, he's lying down in that coffin with a tight look to his face.

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