Recent Posts

What makes a hero? Is it the uniform he wears? The lives he's saved? Is it the mask? The shield? Is it the tragic past? Is it the knowledge that his life will burn short and bright? Is it that he will live? That he will die? Is it the man who wins? The one who survives? No. It is none of that. It is only one thing: his heart.

If anyone tried to describe Alfred in one word, it'd be this: American. Because that's what Alfred is, through and through, and that's who he prides himself in being. The world shits on America and Alfred acknowledges the many flaws his government has. But the world has always looked down on the United States. Talk gets you nowhere; it's action that counts. Alfred is loyal to his ideas of good and evil, right and wrong. Nothing is black and white, but his loyalty to his country remains true.

Alfred is a naturally cheerful, optimistic person. Outside of work, he almost always has a bright smile on. Outgoing, combined with a certain charm and his good looks, Alfred naturally draws people to him. People say he simply seems like a confident person and his good-natured attitude makes him easy to approach. His people skills are one of the primary reasons why he works in the field. Alfred is skilled at making good first impressions and his general friendliness earns him plenty of friends or at least, good acquaintances. It's sometimes difficult having friendships outside of work since he is unable to tell most people what he does for a living. Close friends are few and far between. However, he is unbelievably loyal and caring towards his friends, willing to risk his life for them.

Alfred holds a certain “hero complex” and is not one to stand on the sidelines and simply watch. He's well-trained enough to know how to take down most people and will not hesitate to do so if the situation calls for it. However, he's surprisingly humble about it. Arrogant is not a word one would use to describe Alfred. At least not when it comes to his work. His looks though—well, let's just say he's handsome and he knows it.

Through the years, Alfred has developed a certain numbness to physical pain. He does not like appearing weak and suppresses his pain through a constant denial. When Alfred is in severe pain, he will murmur to himself repeatedly that he is fine even when he knows he isn't.

Alfred can be extraordinarily stubborn. He has his own specific set of morals and while he is occasionally willing to break them if it can save a life, Alfred feels unbelievably ashamed of himself afterwards. When he makes a decision, Alfred sticks with it through the end. He spends less time thinking and more time acting, a flaw he is attempting to work on though it remains difficult for him.

Alfred can be reckless, especially when it comes to the safety of someone he cares about. He lives for the adventure and excitement, the adrenaline that rushes through him when he's on a mission. Alfred will willingly put in the time and effort to make things go right, however his recklessness has landed him in several compromising situations. Alfred can be impatient, particularly with desk work, and the longer he sits around the more anxious to be back in the field he will be.

If Alfred thinks something's wrong, either morally or technically, he will speak out about it. Alfred may be a soldier, but he isn't the best at taking orders. He has little problem with being rude to people and can be rather blunt if he thinks the situations calls for it. He'll do what he thinks is right and often screw the consequences. Alfred is not, by any definition, a saint and he never claimed to be.

Alfred has self-esteem issues sometimes, though he won't admit it. This was a bigger problem in elementary and middle school, when Alfred leaned towards being chubby and was frantic about resolving it. After his father's death, Alfred lost weight and began working out more, with the singular goal to live up to his father and make him proud. Alfred still remains somewhat sensitive about his weight though he is more confident and comfortable with himself now.

Food - How can anyone not like food? Alfred enjoys his carbs and meat, thank you very much. Food is absolutely gorgeous, absolutely essential to life, and really one of life's greatest joys.

Hamburgers - Deserving of a category in and of itself, hamburgers just may be Alfred's true love. Well, outside of Steve Rogers that is. But then again, Steve Rogers tops just about anything.

Coffee - Coffee. What a glorious beverage sent from heaven. Alfred needs at least one cup a day to function happily. Without his coffee, Alfred can be a bit of a grump. Caffeine is glorious.

Exercising - It may or may not be a slight addiction at this point. Alfred would very much like to stay as fit as possible, so exercising it is. Not to mention, it's kinda an occupational hazard if he isn't in shape. Whether that's an early morning run or an hour or two at the gym, Alfred certainly enjoys his share of exercise.

Adrenaline - Alfred loves the thrill of the chase, the way adrenaline pumps through him and makes him feel alive. It's part of the reason he enjoys his job so much. He's a risk taker by nature, which can sometimes bite him in the ass. Generally when working with other missions Alfred is more careful, but when it comes to his own safety he's a little more reckless.

Movies and Books - Entering those fantasy worlds is so much better and easier than simply staying in this one, isn't it? Alfred is extremely literate, though since he dislikes classics (they're a bit too slow) and prefers action books, certain people assume his reading ability is rather poor.

Video Games - Who doesn't love them? Alfred is very talented at video games for an amateur who can only play them in his spare time.

Languages - Alfred has a knack for languages, particularly when he devotes himself. When he's starting out his pronunciations always tend to be a little off, but it doesn't take him all that long to adjust and pick it up. Latin-based languages are easiest. This is a useful skill considering his job. He knows Spanish, French, Bosnian, Ukrainian, limited Japanese/Chinese, and limited Pashto/Dari.

Extreme Temperatures - Both hot and cold, but in particular the cold. Alfred can deal with the heat but he absolutely absolutely detests the cold. He gets chilly too easily and it's all around unpleasant. Snow is nice, but it'd be better if it didn't have to be cold as well. That being said, ice cream is always acceptable regardless of the season.

Waiting - Waiting is one of the worst things Alfred has ever come to know. It's just unbelievably dull. How does anyone stand it?

Dieting - Alfred tried. In middle school. It was terrible. Completely shitty. Alfred felt shitty and terrible about himself and he has no interest in doing that again.

Ghosts - IT'S AN IRRATIONAL FEAR. But ghosts are terrifying. You can't do anything about ghosts. Nada. Zip.

Salad - Why. Just...why. Why would you do this to him. It's greens. Lots of greens. Like a mountain of greens. Tasteless greens. With nothing. Except dressing.

Alfred doesn't want anything big at the moment. He has no extreme future goals that he's intent on pursuing. He has no desire for top leadership in the CIA (that means a desk job and basically being erased from the world). He just wants to travel and have fun and live while he can.

Approval – Alfred loves his mother. But to be quite honest, he's missed his father more than he cares to admit. He's proud of his dad, but a selfish part of Alfred wishes his father had just stayed at home and been around through his adolescent and adult years. He wants to think that his father would approve of what he's doing, of the way he's serving his country.

Steve Rogers – aka Alfred's introduction into bisexuality. Alfred aspires to be Steve Rogers (though obviously that's impossible. The man is nothing short of perfection). He wants to embody the same ideals that Steve does, to fight for justice and "the American Dream" the same way that Steve does. Of course, Alfred knows he'll never be Steve Rogers, but he damn sure wishes he could be. Also he'd totally sleep with Chris Evans in a heartbeat.

Family – To be honest, Alfred hasn't really thought about raising a family or having his own kids. He's always been too busy saving the world for all the normal stuff. When asked, he'd probably just laugh and say he'll settle down later. But when he takes a step back and thinks about it...then yes. Yes he'd like to. To have a family. He...he'd like that.

Being forgotten – Alfred doesn't want his life to be a waste and he doesn't want to be forgotten after he dies. Perhaps if he wanted to be remembered, it would've been more appropriate to pursue fame, but that's not really what Alfred wants either. Rather, he wants to make a significant change. Alfred wants to serve his country, just like his father and Steve Rogers. He wants to know that he made a difference.

Death – To some extent, yes. Alfred fears death, especially if he doesn't think that he's changed the world before he dies. If it's after, he doesn't think he'll mind that much. A courageous, heroic death is the best kind of death and honestly, the only way of dying that Alfred can see himself going down. But before that he'd rather stay alive, thank you very much.

Loneliness – Loneliness. Isolation. Solitude. Whatever you call it. Alfred surrounds himself with people and friends. They may not know him or his job but at least they're there. Alfred is trained to survive interrogation and, well, almost anything, but being alone, being locked up...he doesn't think he could do that.

Alfred was born in Virginia to a pair of loving parents. They lived in a small but nice house. Alfred's father worked as a mechanic and carpenter while his mother was a secretary with a passion for art and singing. They were an average, middle-class family and Alfred grew up happy.

As a child, Alfred had few memories of his father. One of the few he recalls is working in the garage. He's forgotten what they would talk about, but they would spend time with grease on their noses and wrenches in their hands, laughing. Another was his father reading Marvel comics to Alfred before they went to bed at night before squeezing his nose and saying that one day he'd be a superhero, just like Captain America. Alfred's father was passionate about his country and a patriot through and through. He sometimes remarked on the flaws of America, but that was because he cared about it.

His favorite though, was just before his father went off to war. Their little family had gone up to the mountains to camp and as they sat around a crackling fire, Alfred poking yet another marshmallow onto his stick, Alfred's father took out his guitar and began to sing a song, his mother joining along. Alfred's forgotten the lyrics to the song, but he remembers the melody and still hums it from time to time.

When Alfred was nine, his father enlisted in the army, much to his mother's distress. It would be alright, his father had said. He always wanted to serve his country and this was the best way to provide for the family. He'd be back in a few years, knowing he had served his country well.

Alfred was extremely proud of his father. He missed him, a lot, but when his father came home, he would always be the same. More tired, though as a nine or ten year old, Alfred had trouble understanding why. They would play soccer or go to the park or they would read books together. Alfred was happy.

Two years later, 9/11 happened.

Alfred watched in horror as the Twin Towers rose in flames. Al Qaeda rose to the world stage and the war on terror began. And Alfred's father was smack in the middle of it. Rapidly, his squad was deployed to Afghanistan and was one of the first to land.

The year Alfred turned 13, Alfred's father was killed in action.

A flag could not replace a missing father, Alfred thought through angry tears. He had been angry since 9/11; now he was furious. He decided that he would serve his country as well. His mother did not agree with this sentiment though, especially after her husband's death. So Alfred kept that to himself as he began to work towards his goal.

Always somewhat on the chubby side (not too noticeably...but Alfred was by no means fit), he lost fat and gained muscle as he worked out almost obsessively. He played more sports, joined more clubs, and really became fairly popular. He graduated high school as senior class president and with honors. Alfred wasn't valedictorian, but as president he got to make a speech anyways. A speech about bravery as his fellow seniors moved onto greater and better things. They were the generation that had grown up in war. They would be the generation to end it.

Originally intending to join the army after graduation, Alfred changed his mind. He decided he didn't want to work as a grunt, because an army grunt was just a soldier. Soldiers were brave and good and patriotic, but they could not bring about the change Alfred sought. So Alfred entered college, determined to find the career that would do just that.

Majoring in culture and politics while studying tactics of war and diplomacy on the side, Alfred decided he didn't want to be a diplomat as he may have originally thought. Politics simply held no interest for him. He wanted to be doing...something. Not just sitting at a table arguing and failing to create change. And diplomacy...no. Alfred liked people, Alfred liked talking, but he could never be a diplomat.

He wanted to save lives...and not from an office chair.

That's when he applied for the CIA.

It was perfect. Alfred had always admired spies, especially after seeing the Avengers. He supposed there were some shady things about being a spy, but Alfred had little interest in the FBI. He wanted to travel, he wanted to be directly involved. So he sent in his application.

He applied for an internship in his freshman year. Soon after, he received a request from the CIA to report for a physical assessment and polygraph test. The next summer, he was admitted for an internship at the CIA. Alfred never ended up telling his mother about this—both to maintain secrecy and because he knew she would be upset that he had chosen to work in such a job. During the summers, he told his friends that he was traveling overseas.

After spending three summers in an intense NCS internship program in the CIA, Alfred's outstanding work both in the field and outside of it allowed him to both graduate early from college and be initiated into the Professional Trainee program. Due to his experience with how the NCS worked, Alfred was able to minimize the amount of time he spent at Headquarters and his supervising officer (SO) recommended Alfred to work abroad. Originally, Alfred wanted to work in Afghanistan and Pakistan, however due to ongoing warfare and the fact that Alfred knew very little of either language, his SO recommended that he start with somewhere simpler. Later that year, Alfred was sent to Bosnia where he spent a year working in the field. Alfred then spent two years in Ukraine. He held a certain knack for languages and studied them fairly seriously on the side. His SO spoke of both working in China or Afghanistan/Pakistan with a team, but told him to return to the U.S. first.

Alfred returned to the U.S. where he received additional training at the MI6 headquarters and operated in the country for a while. During his time in the U.S., his SO brought a new possibility to his mind. International concerns had arisen involving both the U.S. and the U.K. Among these included the increasingly large presence of the London Mafia and the effect of their illegal activities overseas as well as cybersecurity issues that held both U.S. and U.K. interests. The CIA needed someone to cooperate with the MI6 and have both agencies work together to resolve these issues. Though initially somewhat reluctant due to the diplomatic necessities surrounding the assignment, Alfred was persuaded to take it on. Shortly after his 25th birthday, Alfred headed out for England.


Note: Prior to the arrangement with the MI6 was finalized, Alfred was given his glasses. As CIA field agents are required to have perfect vision through their physical assessments, Alfred's glasses act as a gadget. They contain bulletproof lenses, a tracker, an emergency SOS button, and a camera capacity of 25 photos. Due to the naturally suspicious nature of the MI6, the CIA has only informed them of the bulletproof lenses.

Shit.

He felt like shit.

That was the easiest way to put it. The moment Alfred had entered the room, before he was able to even turn the lights on, the door was shut behind him, the lock already twisting in place. Alfred was fast, but he had never expected this. That half second of surprise gave his mysterious attacker the advantage.

Before Alfred could even see who it was, there was already an arm under his neck, a hand pushing against Alfred's head. He tried to jerk his head backwards but the hand kept him in place. Alfred gasped for breath. Shit. Shit shit shit. He had enough sense to know what was happening, but things were happening almost too quickly for Alfred to process.

Alfred struggled against his unknown assailant, trying desperately to twist his body to whatever position that would offer him the slightest advantage. No luck. You know how in stories, the hero always manages to flip the villain over his head like a badass? Yeah, well that usually didn't play out in real life.

Air, air, air. Alfred's fingers, which had been desperately trying to break through his attacker's hold, were beginning to loosen. Shit. He didn't have much longer before he was going to pass out. Alfred's mouth opened, but he couldn't scream. Air. Where was air when you needed it?

His vision began to dim and flicker. No, shit, no. Pound against the wall. Elbow the man (was it a man? Alfred really hoped he wasn't getting his ass kicked by a girl) in the ribs. Anything. His brain was screaming. Air. He just needed air.

His struggling became weaker and waves of nausea seemed to wash over him. It was happening too quickly, no. Alfred's body didn't even seem to be moving at his will anymore. Air. That's all he wanted, air.

And then it was black. Alfred couldn't lift a single finger. The fight was over as quickly as it had begun. He could already feel himself slipping away into the realm of unconsciousness.

No, Alfred thought dully. Shit, no.

He wasn't sure how long it had been. A few seconds? A minute? More?

But then suddenly he could think again. Suddenly, Alfred was aware that he was breathing. He couldn't hear or see, but he could think. Air. Gosh, air was beautiful. All Alfred could concentrate on was breathing. In, out. In, out.

C'mon Alfred, the voice in his head chided him. Get up. You can't stay like this. Move. Do something.

But he had absolutely no control. He tried to open his mouth once or twice, trying to say something. Yell for help, maybe. Even if no one heard, maybe his attacker would be scared off. But Alfred still couldn't move. He wanted to kick something in frustration. Why wouldn't his body just respond?

You're okay, Alfred. Stop sitting around. Get up. But his body wouldn't cooperate. He could only breathe. Air, gosh, air was beautiful. That was the first conscious thought Alfred had.

His brain hurt, god, it hurt. He couldn't feel anything, just blankness. It was like he was falling down a dark chasm. Thinking hurt. It was like he was trapped in a hallucination.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion. It was an hour, or was it a minute? Seconds? Alfred couldn't spare a moment to think of why he was in this situation. All his body could think of right now was how to survive.

Alfred started to regain his hearing. There was the distinct sound of something like tape being torn off. Where was he? Alfred desperately wanted to be able to see. He was sitting up, he could feel that. Was he still at home?

And then the tape was being put across his mouth. Shit, no. Alfred squirmed, tried to get away from whatever was there. No, crap, he was losing his air. Breathe, Alfred, breathe. You still have your nose.

Alfred's eyes were closed and regardless of how much he wanted to, he could not force them open. If this attacker had wanted him dead immediately, he'd be dead already. So he'd come for something else. Not a robber, a robber wouldn't bother with this...

Thinking hurt. Thinking hurt way, way, way too much.

Alfred tried testing out the rest of his body, keeping his eyes shut. His hands...shit, they couldn't move. Could anything move? Not his feet, his attacker had bound them somehow as well. Probably with tape. Alfred couldn't have been out that long, could he? But then...had his attacker just moved that quickly?

...Okay, he was going to have to refer to his assailant as a he because Alfred really thought he would die from humiliation if he'd just been knocked out and captured by a girl.

He cracked his eyes open, the world spinning a little around him. The air coming from his nostrils was not enough and Alfred experienced the sickening sensation of vertigo. It passed in a few seconds, thank goodness, but the feeling of nausea still remained.

Goddamn it. What? Alfred's mind was still a little foggy. Duct tape. Duct tape over his mouth, preventing him from talking, screaming, or otherwise bringing about the attention of anyone around him. His hands were twisted uncomfortably behind him, likely with the same thing. And he couldn't see his legs either, but it was probably the same situation. He shifted about, struggling a little, but whoever had done this had done a good job. He was duct taped, tightly, to a freaking chair. He couldn't move a single inch. Alfred was basically helpless.

Was this a scene out of a movie or something?

As for his assailant...Alfred lifted his head a little.

Holy crap.

It was like a horrifying mixture of the Reaper and that creepy WWII gas mask kid from that Doctor Who show that Alfred secretly indulged in. It was like Death had come to search for Alfred himself. God, was he going to hell already? He wouldn't have been surprised, but this soon? Did Death like to duct tape its victims before sending them to eternal damnation?

...It may have been a joke, but it wasn't the slightest bit funny.

The creepy black hood pulled over what looked rather like a gas mask sent chills down Alfred's spine. A thick coat covered the rest of the man. Or woman. Hell, Alfred couldn't tell. He was sitting in one of Alfred's chairs, his elbows on his knees, leaning forwards slightly. It was like being scrutinized by the devil. Alfred struggled against his bonds a little more. Anything to get away.

"Hello Arnold Jackson." Who the hell was Arnold Jackson? It took Alfred a moment to remember. Gosh, why was his brain suddenly so slow? Jackson had been one of his many aliases in the Underground. Shit, had he screwed up? But how had this man traced him? Alfred was almost certain he'd covered up his tracks.

"...or perhaps you'd prefer to be referred to as..." There was an eerie, gravelly, and robotic tone to the man's voice. The mask...it must be changing his voice somehow. Whoever was behind that mask didn't want him to know a single thing. And it seemed like that man might know everything.

"...Alfred Fitzgerald Jones, da?" Alfred flinched slightly at the sound of his name. Shit. What else did he know? Why wasn't Alfred in some cold prison cell yet? Undoubtedly, there was plenty of information against him.

"I'd very much like to speak to you about your recent activities." Speak to him? Well, this couldn't end well. Not that Alfred would ever say anything. If he had a gun, maybe he could go somewhere. But right now, Alfred was trapped, stuck.

Even with the voice-changing mask, Alfred could almost feel amusement radiate off of the man. It made him sick. Did he think this was a game? Alfred wanted to spit in the man's face. It wouldn't do much except for annoy him, but it would certainly make Alfred feel a little better about his situation. Unfortunately, his mouth was still covered with the blasted duct tape. Instead, he settled for a burning, hateful glare at the man.

His hands twisted painfully behind him as Alfred tried to reach for the pocketknife in his sleeve. If he could cut through the tape, he could actually put up some sort of a fight. Now if only he could reach it...