The Triskelion, Washington DC-
-March 28, 2005, 2115h local-
An unassuming man is moving quickly down the corridor to report to his boss. Tension can clearly be seen even if he is feigning a calm exterior. Everyone can see it, causing them to move aside to let him through.
He's a caucasian wearing tailored suit and black leather shoes. He has dark brown hair and a receding hairline.
He is Agent Phil Coulson. The right-hand man of the director of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division or SHIELD. An expert in information gathering, stealth, and diplomacy, he has already seen more things than people would believe and can keep his calm through even some of the most chaotic of scenarios. He is generally considered an easy-going individual with a great sense of humor. To find him reacting this way would mean an entirely unprecedented event occurred.
Reaching his destination, he knocked twice and entered the office. He saw his boss pacing back and forth behind his desk while talking on the phone.
"Yes, Mr. President. We already have a quick response team on-site with a secondary team en route... Yes... Yes, sir, We'll send an update when able... Goodbye, sir."
Facing Coulson is an intimidating bald African-American man. He is wearing an all-black combat attire covered by a black leather trench coat. Another notable characteristic is a black eye patch covering his left eye covering a large scar running across it.
"What the hell happened, Coulson!? I had to find out an 083 event from POTUS! Good thing we had people close by who at least had the brains to check it out and take control of the situation. Now I'm going to ask with all the calm that i can muster... What the fuck is going on!?" The man known as Nick Fury asked, finally ending his tirade.
Nicolas Fury, or simply known as Nick Fury is the director of SHIELD. Shield is formed to protect the world from things they are not ready to know, and at its head is the quintessential spy. If one thinks of spies, he is what usually forms in your head. He's an expert on deep infiltration, espionage, and assassination. He had toppled governments, assassinated world leaders. Basically, he changed the world. There isn't much known about him, and that's the way he likes it.
Handing over a tablet that contains the information on the event, Coulson answered the tirade like a professional.
"On 2030 hours, an energy surge was recorded on the north side of central park. Our sensors didn't record the event since the energy surge is what would be considered harmless. The event just released the energy as purely visible light, which is really strange. Accidental recording of the event, which is already circling social media, showed that the light emitted exceeds the brightness of the sun. A large number of people who were accidentally looking at the direction as it happened are already checking into hospitals due to visual issues. The teams on site are already cordoning off the area with the help of local law enforcement. Our New York branch techs are just 3 minutes away."
While looking at the tablet, Fury is formulating a plan of attack and running multiple scenarios in his head. With a plan formed, he ordered Coulson.
"I want you on a flight to New York with our tech with all the toys you can bring. Take another ten agents for investigation and bring Barton with you. He can see things others don't."
"Uh, commercial or private?" Coulson asked.
A hardened stare is an answer he received.
"Right, the quinjet it is. I'll just get going then, sir."
"I'll send Romanoff as your relief team as soon as she gets back from California."
Coulson nodded and walked out of the office, readying himself for another mission.
-The Triskelion, Washington DC-
-March 28, 2005, 2145h local-
Agent Clint Barton is in a meeting room waiting to be briefed about an urgent mission he just been informed about. He is already on his way to the dormitories after his daily workout and conditioning when he has been called back through his phone. He really would like to complain about his working hours if only he had one. Being a high-level SHIELD agent meant that he had irregular hours and can be called at any time. He already changed into his standard sleeveless SHIELD combat uniform. His trusty weapon in a carry case beneath the table.
Some would describe Agent Barton serious guy on a mission but easy-going and relatable off of it. He is also considered a special kind of prodigy. He has a recorded eyesight of 20/5, near-perfect recall, and an outstanding eye to hand coordination. A master marksman in most conventional weaponry by 18 and a gifted infiltrator specializing in assassination and bodyguard missions. What makes people consider him a little weird is his choice of weaponry, which is the bow and arrow. SHIELD tech has upgraded his choice of weapon to allow him to deal with many situations with just a change of the arrow tip that can be remotely changed.
Looking around the room, he counted 20 people in the room, excluding himself. Based on his observations, 10 of them are definitely field agents, and the other 10 are techs.
"Huh, this looks like big op with this many. field agents, but why in the hell do we need this many techs." Barton thought to himself. Technicians or techs are their scientists. They usually stay in the labs, but certain circumstances may need them.
He tapped the shoulder of the field agent in front of him and asked,
"Got any idea what all this is about?"
"Um, no, sir. I have just been called from leave. I haven't even started yet. uh, sir." The agent answered in a nervous tone when he recognized who is asking him.
Not receiving any information, he spied a tech looking in his phone. He walked over to the tech at the other side of the room, Barton asked,
"You have any news about the op?"
"I may have some idea Agent Barton." the tech answered
All the people in the room are now focused on the conversation.
"Well?" Agent Barton urged the tech to continue
"Ah, yes..." Browsing at his phone. "At approximately 8:30 this evening, a bright flashlight was observed at Central Park..." Showing the video playing on his phone to the audience in the room. "Since our sensors didn't record any spike either in infrared, UV, radiation, or otherwise, the only explanation left is that the event is just like a large flashlight only just a few stops brighter than the sun. We are currently unable to form any hypothesis about the event."
"Well, that's basically the gist of what I'm gonna say." A new voice was heard from the doorway. Everybody swung their heads to who it is.
"Hey, Phil! You're the one who called us in?" Barton asked.
Coulson walked over to the podium and said, "No. Orders came from Fury himself with urging from the president."
"Wow. So this is a big deal, huh."
"When are we going to go?"
"In half an hour. I want everyone to pack for at least a week. Bring all the sensors, machines, or doodads that you may need, and you might think unavailable at the New York field office. We're going to take a quinjet to our hotel and start tomorrow morning." Coulson ordered.
"You heard him lets go!" Barton urged the people in the room when no one stood up.
The people in the room started to file out quickly to prepare for travel.
"How bad is it?" Barton asked Coulson with a touch of worry in his voice
"Not as bad as you might think." Coulson significantly calmed down from his earlier state. "It is considered an 083 event. It just caused minor panic to the populace. You know New York, if it doesn't affect them, they don't care. The president is just concerned since he's going to run for reelection, and New York is one of his big bases. What concerns Fury, on the other hand, is what we should worry about. We have no idea what caused the event. Zilch, zero, nada. Remember what the tech said about the sensors?"
"Yeah. What so special about it?"
"Nothing was recorded about the event. No spikes in the infrared, UV, or Radiation. That just doesn't happen. No phenomenon artificial or natural can form this amount of visible light without some by-product. Even a flashlight produces heat." Coulson explained.
"So what is your take on this? Cause my money's on Aliens." Barton offered his opinion.
"Maybe, but I doubt it. My gut says it's going to big."
"Well, shit. How many times is your gut wrong?"
"Not much."
"Well, I hope you're wrong."
They separate from each other at the corridor's intersection with a sense of foreboding on what is to come.