Marvel: Open Up, It’s the FBI

Inside the Interrogation Room

Chris Black sat restrained at the steel table—wrists locked in place, a suppressor collar clamped tightly around his neck to neutralize his mutant abilities.

Even in chains, his eyes burned with disdain as he sneered at the man entering the room.

"Oh? Swapping out interrogators again?" he scoffed, his voice laced with mockery. "What happened to the uptight lady who liked to play mind games? You S.H.I.E.L.D. people really scraping the barrel."

Lynn Hall calmly pulled out a chair and sat across from him, unbothered by the bravado.

"Let me introduce myself. Lynn Hall—FBI," he said evenly. "Can't say I know much about S.H.I.E.L.D.'s interrogation tactics, but me? I like the tough ones."

He leaned forward just slightly, voice calm but with an edge. "The last guy who thought he could hold out lasted… five minutes. Told me everything I wanted to know. I'm hoping you'll break that record."

> [Chris Black – Favorability -2]

Lynn saw the notification in his mind and gave a mental nod of approval. Let that score keep dropping. The lower the favorability, the better the reward if he had to eliminate him.

Even if Chris was currently being held by S.H.I.E.L.D., Lynn had his ways.

Chris smirked. "Let's see what you've got then, agent. I've seen worse than your little showboating. Bring it on."

"As you wish."

Lynn nodded to Alice.

Without a word, she opened a sleek black case and removed a syringe filled with a pearlescent white fluid.

"What the hell is that?" Chris snapped, eyes narrowing.

Alice didn't respond. She stepped forward and, with professional precision, plunged the needle into his arm.

Chris's muscles twitched violently.

"What the f—what did you inject me with?!"

Lynn twirled two military-grade knives in his hands, his tone cool.

"Relax. It's not poison. It's a little something developed by our neuroscience division. A pain amplifier. Magnifies every sensory experience by tenfold."

He stopped twirling the blades.

"Pleasure. Pain. You're about to feel both like never before."

Without further warning, Lynn slammed one knife through Chris's hand, pinning it to the metal table.

"AAAAAGH!"

Chris screamed, the sound raw and unfiltered. Gone was the cocky sneer. In its place was a twisted grimace of pain.

His whole body shuddered.

Lynn didn't blink.

"I want information on Adam Morris," he said, voice cold and sharp. "Everything. And I want to know exactly where he goes when he's injured."

Chris gritted his teeth, trembling. "Y-You're violating every international law! This is—this is torture!"

"Human rights?" Lynn let out a dry laugh and exhaled a smoke ring directly into Chris's face. "You shot up a concert. You think you get to talk about human rights?"

> [Chris Black – Favorability -3]

Still too high, Lynn thought, disappointed.

He grabbed the hilt of the knife embedded in Chris's hand—and began to twist.

"AAAAAGHHH!"

Chris bucked in the chair, screaming louder this time.

Lynn slammed his other hand down and drove Chris's face into the steel table with a sickening crack.

"Do you know how close you came to killing someone I love?" Lynn growled, voice low, deadly.

"I was at that concert with Gwen. We were happy. Normal. Then your little Brotherhood buddy opened fire. You think you're justified? You think you're oppressed?"

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Lynn slammed Chris's head into the table again and again, each hit punctuating his fury.

"Now you're going to tell me where that bastard is hiding, or I'll make sure you never use your hands again."

Chris shuddered, bleeding now, his body twitching from a mix of fear and chemically-amplified agony.

Outside the room, the feed was being broadcast to Nick Fury's office at S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ.

Watching the scene unfold via a full-wall projection, Alexander Pierce lit a cigar, puffed it once, and turned to Fury with an amused look.

"I like this kid," Pierce said. "Reminds me of you back in Europe. Remember that embassy op? You blew the entire block to complete the mission."

Fury shot him a glare. "That mission saved thousands. The ones we lost… were the cost."

Pierce grinned. "Still. Ruthless efficiency. That same quality's in this Hall kid."

"You know," he added, "I met him at a gala a few weeks ago—one of those private events Duke dragged him into. President's advisors, the new mayor, the Chief Justice… very elite crowd."

"That alone tells you how much Duke values him."

Fury folded his arms.

"He's already turned us down—twice."

"I'm not surprised."

Pierce took another drag of his cigar. "He's got Duke's backing. And if Duke's right, the next FBI Director retires in two years. Guess who's being groomed for the job?"

He leaned back with a knowing smile.

Fury said nothing.

He didn't like Pierce's tone, nor his certainty.

But he also couldn't deny it: Lynn Hall was effective—and far from ordinary.

Pierce leaned forward, brushing ash into the tray.

"Anyway, enough about prodigies. The Security Council just denied S.H.I.E.L.D.'s next quarter budget request."

Fury raised an eyebrow. "They want justification?"

"Yup," Pierce said. "Your request was almost double last quarter's. They want to know why. I need something I can sell them on."

Fury's gaze returned to the screen.

Chris Black's face was now bloodied and contorted in pain.

Lynn Hall sat calmly across from him, unflinching, surgical.

"You'll think of something," Fury said after a moment. "You always do."

Pierce grinned. "You're lucky we're friends, Nick. I'll go burn some political capital. Again."

He stood, stubbed out his cigar, and made for the door.

"But you owe me one."