Several weeks later, the trio of Krei, Coulson, and Akiyama convened again in a small and definitely not cosy meeting room. The SHIELD scientist clutched a folder stuffed full of research findings.
Krei sat down first, touching the tips of his fingers together in a steeple. "Well?"
Akiyama cleared her throat. "Well, sir, the results are surprising, to say the least."
"Go on." A nod.
"At this time, sir, most of the subjects start to show signs of madness, catatonia--"
"I know," Krei interrupted. "And?"
"Well, he hasn't."
"Really?" Krei was surprised, a rare event, and at the back of the room Coulson, too, raised his eyebrows.
"Yes, sir. The subject is perfectly normal. In excellent mental health, in fact. He completed the test given him yesterday with ease."
Leaning across the smooth glass table, Krei took a closer look at the research, with eager interest. "That's very unusual. No signs of carving? At this stage they usually start making the markings." He spread out the photographs on the table, images that all had one thing in common. Painted on canvas, scratched into the wall, scribbled on note-paper, even tattooed onto the body--dozens of strange, snaking patterns, combinations of straight lines and circles varying in size.
Akiyama shook her head briskly. "None at all, sir."
"Are you sure? Did you check the entire room?" Coulson started forward, a perplexed frown on his face. "They've always done it. Without fail. Did you check him? One subject tattooed the markings right onto himself, you know."
"We checked. No markings. And, on that note." The black-haired scientist pulled up another photo on the screen. "His scars have almost completely healed. Normally, with third-degree burns, the patient would suffer heavy scarring. But not in his case."
"An expected effect of the GH-325 serum." With a hasty gesture, Krei waved this minor point away. "I'm more interested in why he isn't showing any of the other symptoms. Perhaps we should run some DNA tests."
They fell silent as Akiyama showed them some footage of the subject. Gradually, Coulson's frown grew deeper, while Krei's expression grew more satisfied. Agent Hamada had spent his days doing exercises, reading, tinkering with the robotics kits he'd been given upon request. He'd written in his journal and doodled on his cast--but only cartoons, not mysterious alien patterns. Excellent mental health, indeed.
"Well, you see, Agent Coulson?" Krei shot him a knowing, gratified smile. "This is amazing. This is a man that would have almost certainly died otherwise, and here he is, fit as a fiddle. Do you still think Project TAHITI should be shut down?"
"This is one man. There were twenty others." Still adamant, Coulson glared at Krei's back as he left the room.
~~~
Full of questions, Coulson set off through the winding hallways to the room where Agent Hamada had been confined for the last few weeks.
He punched in the security code, and Tadashi turned and sprang to his feet when the Level 7 agent came in.
"Good afternoon, Agent Coulson," he said, with a big smile, though livid bags stood out under his eyes.
"Hello, Hamada." Trying to relax, Coulson sat down where Tadashi indicated. "How are you feeling?"
"Good," the boy answered quickly. "Perfectly fine. Agent Coulson, do you...know when I can get out of here?" His eyes were wide, searching, eager.
Coulson briefly considered weaving another lie, but decided against it. "I'm sorry, Hamada. I know you're feeling healthy, but you'll have to stay in here for a while longer. For...further observation. I think I can say that the procedure that saved you was a rather unusual one, and we need to watch you for longer than normal." In the end, he'd veered surprisingly close to the truth.
Tadashi's shoulders slumped in disappointment. "I'm glad I'm safe, and all, but I just miss my family, sir."
His superior noticed the change in his attitude, the sadness in his posture, and knew that they wouldn't be able to go on like this. To keep lying to him, and keep coming up with excuses to keep him from his loved ones, and keep him in this room--little better than a jail cell--forever. In his head he compared the false blue eyes of Krei and the earnest, steady ones of this novice agent. Sooner or later, something would give. And though one could say Coulson earned his living through lies, he decided to drop the pretence.
He stood up and shut down the security systems so no one could hear them talking while a confused Tadashi followed his every move. Then he said, deadly serious, "Agent Hamada, I have to tell you something. Which I'm technically not supposed to. Yet."
The younger agent nodded, seriously as well, swallowing in trepidation.
"Your family doesn't know you're alive."
"What?" Instantly, Tadashi tensed up, his eyes darting uncertainly from side to side as he tried to make sense of it. "Wait. That means that all this time, they thought I was dead?" A realization struck, and fury filled his voice. "Then Agent Krei. He lied to me."
"You aren't really surprised, are you?" Coulson asked drily before going on. "And I'm afraid, Hamada, that they can't know, at least not yet. You were under a program called Project TAHITI, which, like a lot of things around here, is top-secret."
He paused, debating how much to say. "I can't tell you much. But I can tell you that nobody under level 5 even knows of this project's existence. Which means, of course, that your family and friends won't."
Tadashi's breath was coming up short, and he tried to calm himself, closing his eyes to clear his jumbled thoughts. "And most of them never can."
"And most of them never can."
"But this isn't right!" the boy cried out, biting back tears. "They miss me, Agent Coulson. They probably mourned for me. How can SHIELD do this?"
Coulson smiled, a small, sad, matter-of-fact smile. "You know as well as I do that SHIELD pretty much does what it wants."
"Please. I have to see them. I have to let them know I'm okay." His voice shaky, Tadashi clenched and unclenched his fists, feeling deeply the inadequacy of his own strength to solve this.
"You can't. I'm sorry."
Suddenly he was standing, a strange fire in his face, looking ready to tear out the door at that very instant. "I have to."
"Sit down, Agent Hamada." Sympathetic but stern, Coulson folded his arms. "You can't go against the decision of the agency, unless you're willing to give up your position and be severely punished. Are you willing to do that?"
"Yes," Tadashi whispered in a shattered voice, breaking out into a sweat.
"No," Coulson admonished, sitting him down, noting an almost primeval terror, the short gasps for air. He waited until the younger man cooled down.
"So I'm a prisoner." And there was no question, only a bitter resignation.
Hating that he had to answer yes, Coulson nodded slowly. "Basically, you're a prisoner."
As he tried to steady his heartbeat, Tadashi caught at Coulson's arm. "But they have to know. Find a way to tell them I'm okay, Agent Coulson. Please."
Coulson heard the desperation in his plea, and couldn't find it in his heart to say no, even if empty promises were the only alternative.
"I'll do what I can."
~~~
After that Tadashi grew more angry and also more defeated, torn between love for his family and duty to SHIELD, the desire for freedom and the desire to obey. These internal conflicts surfaced: where he had once peaceably plied his tools he now dashed them against the floor, and where he had once slept easily he now buried his head in his hands, occasionally breaking out into heaving sobs.
Coulson observed all this, and mused that this kind of emotional volatility mirrored the instability of the other patients. Except that this kind, perhaps, could be cured.
But what could he do?
~~~
A few days later, Coulson heard news that filled him with unabashed horror.
"You want to what?"
"It's necessary, Coulson. No need for panic."
"I'm not panicking." Coulson scowled at Krei, wondering how the leader could look so unperturbed at the atrocity he was suggesting. Perhaps he really didn't have a heart at all.
Krei threw up his hands in frustration, unusually expressive. "Well, then stop arguing. It's been decided."
"But you can't just erase these people's entire lives!"
"It isn't what I would have chosen, Coulson! However, Dr. Goodman and several other SHIELD medical personnel think we have to."
Coulson lapsed into silence as Dr. Goodman began to speak. She and Akiyama had been the medical staff in charge of Project TAHITI, and he did trust the woman's judgement, at least most of the time. Now she addressed the few agents gathered in the room.
"It's been brought to my attention that the carving, as well as psychosis, that the patients have been experiencing can be explained. As we know, the GH-325 serum comes from a species of alien called the Kree, and their blood has medical properties quite, well, unprecedented."
Considering it could practically bring dead people back to life, that was a bit of an understatement.
"We--" here she glanced at Akiyama-- "believe that the symptoms are caused by the alien genetic memory trying to imprint itself on the patients. Naturally, the human system attempts to fight back, causing severe reactions. The symbols, too, that the patients repeatedly draw are undoubtedly some sort of alien language or picture."
Akiyama then took over, tucking her short-cropped hair behind her ear. "We suggest that by removing these patients' memories, the alien genes have a chance to be freshly incorporated into the mind less violently. With a clean mental slate, the patients' reactions will likely be lessened significantly. We can give them new memories, and from then they can perhaps go on to lead relatively normal lives."
The other high-level agents seated around the table were nodding and listening intently, and Coulson's heart sank. He could see how this idea would have benefits, but still, it was terrible. Didn't anyone realise how terrible it was?
Perhaps he should have thought twice before trusting Dr. Goodman. Yet she looked so earnest, so kindly, and he sensed that she really, really thought she was doing the right thing. Helping patients go on to lead normal lives. What doctors do, right?
They voted, a preliminary gauge of the leanings in the room. Coulson's was the only "no."
"Any objections?" Krei looked straight in Coulson's direction, knowing he'd be the most likely to cause trouble.
"Yes," Coulson said, while Krei sighed as though he'd been expecting it all along.
"Yes, Coulson?"
"It's hard to support this. It doesn't seem right to take away these people's lives like this."
"But that's where you have it wrong," Goodman said. "We're not taking away their lives, Coulson, we're giving them another chance at life."
Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Coulson countered, "That's what you tried to do with Project TAHITI in the first place. And what kind of life did they get? One with rabid scribblings of alien writing on walls." His words came out harsher than he expected, but he didn't regret it.
Goodman's momentary loss for words gave Krei the opportunity to jump in. "But Coulson," he said, abandoning his customary suaveness for a tired, though still eloquent, frustration. "Now these people are in the sad state you've just described, and Dr. Goodman believes she's found a solution to release them from their suffering. Why on earth are you opposing this?"
Coulson opened his mouth to protest, and then stopped. He thought of the crazed, rolling eyes of the blonde who'd once excitedly described how her crush asked her out. He thought of the angry red marks on the man who'd gone from taking down enemy soldiers with a single shot to leaving scratches and scars on his own skin. He thought of the wrinkled lady who'd given half her life to SHIELD only to end up locked and raving in a basement that never saw the light of day.
And he saw these people given a second chance to lead, like they said, "relatively normal lives," and his objection faltered on his lips.
Out of the corner of his eye Coulson saw a satisfied smile already spreading across Krei's face at his silence. Another thought flashed into his mind.
"What about Agent Hamada, sir?"
The people around the table glanced at one another, shifting uneasily in their seats.
"Agent Hamada," Goodman nodded, scrolling down to his case file. "Most recent test subject. Showed none of the usual symptoms. We're still investigating why. Tested his genetic makeup, but nothing out of the ordinary."
"That's the one," Coulson cut in hastily. "He's fine. There's no reason to do anything to him."
"That's true," Goodman mused, while Krei spotted a chink in Coulson's armour and took the chance.
"Well, then, Coulson?"
"What?"
"I advise you change your vote, Coulson," Krei said, as though Coulson were a child who didn't quite understand. "None of us want these people to keep being locked up like madmen. No, of course not." He tapped his fingers together, considering. "In the meantime, your precious Agent Hamada will be left alone." He pronounced these last words with faint disdain, thinking of the two agents who had given him so much trouble.
"It's the only humane thing to do," Goodman agreed.
And then although Coulson seriously questioned how humane replacing people's memories actually was, he didn't really have a choice, did he?
At least one agent would escape the memory overwriting, for a reason nobody yet understood.
He changed his vote to "yes."
~~~
And once again, Coulson found himself wearing a path in the corridor leading to Tadashi's room. Why did he take such a special interest in this case? Maybe it was the fact that the agent had mysteriously defied all their predictions by staying perfectly healthy. Maybe it was a misplaced compassion for the boy that reminded Coulson so much of himself at times, that had proven himself capable both in the field and out of it. Maybe it was that he couldn't put the tiny brother with the unruly hair out of his mind.
Or maybe it was just that Tadashi Hamada had an unshakeable spirit, a brilliant mind, a family and a life, and that he deserved so much more than SHIELD had been able to give.
Regardless, Coulson once again entered the security code and pushed open the door.
He decided to cut straight to the chase. "You want to see your brother again, don't you?"
"Wha-?" Tadashi turned from a project, lifting off his safety goggles and blinking for a moment. Once he realised what Coulson had said, however, his response was immediate, instinctive.
"Yes, sir. Of course. More than anything."
The higher level agent sat down, heavily. "Okay. Since you're in full health, we're allowing you back in the field soon. Wait." He lifted a finger as Tadashi started forward. "That doesn't mean you can go back home. Like I said, nobody below Level 5 knows about TAHITI. Your appearing would raise a lot of inconvenient questions."
Frustration impelled Tadashi to speak. Justified frustration, Coulson noted to himself. "I understand that, sir. But then why are you here?"
"Your brother and his friends are SHIELD agents," Coulson said as a light began to dawn on the younger agent's face. "Good agents, in fact."
"I know." The hint of pride in his voice made Coulson smile. Sort of. If a quick upward tugging of the corners of your mouth counted as a smile.
"And they'll reach Level 5 eventually," Coulson said, although clearly Tadashi had already understood, from the incredulous, joyous grin that broke out. "Now normally we wouldn't let them interact with you until Level 7, which would take years. But they were in the Dual Program, aren't they?"
Tadashi nodded earnestly. The program allowed SHIELD students to receive training in both Sciences and Field Operations. More holistic, and they'd all done extremely well in it.
"From the early months it was already obvious that you work well together. We'd considered putting the six of you on a team," the SHIELD leader explained. "And so we can make an exception. Once they get to Level 5, they can know, and you can work together." Finally relieved of the information, Coulson suggested with a twinkle, "Maybe we'll even get you your own plane."
He was just getting ready to leave when Tadashi stopped him. "Wait, Agent Coulson, um--"
"Yes?"
Tadashi hated to ask more when Coulson had already done so much for him, but he had to. "Sir, what about Aunt Cass? She's not a SHIELD employee. Will I ever be able to see her again?"
Coulson heard the catch in his voice, remembered his young age, and paused. "We can tell her, but from then on she'll be under SHIELD protection. They'll watch her every move. Do you think your aunt will want a life like that?"
It was a difficult question, and Tadashi took a while to answer, hoping he could put his aunt's needs above his own. Finally, though, he knew they would both choose the same thing.
"If she can know that I'm alive and safe, sir? Yes. I think so."
"Well then." The senior agent stood, gazing with sincere concern at his younger colleague. "It won't be easy, you know."
Tadashi looked, and saw months of loneliness and waiting and sorrow before all could be set right. "I know."
"But we'll make it our personal mission to help them get to Level 5 as soon as possible." Coulson could smile now, a real smile, because hope had returned to Tadashi's eyes.
"Yes, sir. We'll do that."
