Work Text:
FRIDAY
Two men watched an alien speak from the podium of the United Nations General Assembly. “It's the unspoken truth of humanity that you crave subjugation. The bright lure of freedom hobbles you, diminishes your life's joy. You were made to be ruled. So I have come to help you fulfill your destiny.”
Phil Coulson, an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. stood behind his Director, Nick Fury, who was sitting in front of a monitor. They watched Loki Odinson continue to deliver his smug, self satisfied speech at the U. N., gloating, more or less, about how he had conquered the world without hardly firing a shot.
Coulson was a middle aged, balding Caucasian man. He also was, as the best S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were, a bland looking bureaucrat in a nondescript suit. And, like the rest of the best, could kill you before you blink. Director Fury, a Black man of indeterminate age, bald, wore an eyepatch over his left eye. He tended toward wearing turtlenecks, and long black leather coats. It was a look that suited him well. He turned to Coulson. “Well, Coulson, what do you think?” His calm voice belied the speed of his thoughts. He'd called experts on Norse mythology, experts on Loki, in particular. Their analyses were already at his fingertips.
Coulson cleared his throat. “I think he could solve global warming in a day with that little blue box, sir.”
“What?” Fury was irritated. “The man just took over the world, and all you can say is that he could solve global warming?!"
“Clearly, sir. Should he choose to, he could end global warming. Stop it cold, if you'll pardon the expression, in its tracks. That's very advanced technology. Who knows what good could be done with it?” Coulson shifted uncomfortably, well aware of his superior's ire.
Fury turned back to the screen, and slowly spoke, “He does have quite a bit of advanced technology at his disposal. Medical too, I'd bet.” He continued, thoughtfully, “He could solve global warming, couldn't he.” Fury raised a hand to rub his chin, and tapped the report on his desk. “Huh.”
He stood up, turned, again, clasped his hands behind his back. “Coulson, what would you say are the world's most pressing problems?”
Coulson hesitated, he could make a list longer than his own arm. “Sir, I wouldn't know where to start.”
“Hmm.” Fury paused. “Would you say systemic racism is a problem?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Homelessness?”
“Yes sir.”
“Inequities in health care?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Childhood poverty?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Pollution?”
“Of course, sir. I could add hunger to the list, and not even make a dent.” Coulson could see the wheels turning in Fury's head. “Sir, where are you going with this?”
Director Fury's cell demanded his attention. It was a text. “She's here.”
Instead of answering Fury clapped him on the shoulder. “After we lay our people to rest, I need to make some calls.” He started walking to the door. “Come on, Phil, we've got work ahead of us.”