[Location: Interior — Private Recovery Room | Federal Supervision Wing]
There was someone already in the chair.
Already mid-sentence.
Already being told he was safe.
Tristin saw him — that other him — clean, calm, posture perfect. Smiling, even. Nodding slowly while the doctor spoke.
Then he blinked.
And the other him was gone.
Tristin opened his eyes slowly — the ceiling above him plain, white, slightly cracked near the vent. Faint hum of recycled air. A desk. A leather chair. A bookshelf too neat to have been read.
And across from him, sitting calmly in the chair by the bed, was a man he recognized immediately.
Dr. Ezra Halden.
Wireframe glasses. Grey cardigan. Notebook open on his lap. Pen already moving, though he hadn't said a word yet.
Tristin tried to speak. Nothing came out.
His throat was raw. Like he hadn't used it in days.
Halden didn't flinch.
"There you are," he said, voice low.
Tristin's hands twitched. His knuckles whitened against the armrest. The chair didn't feel right. It wasn't his. The air wasn't his. The room — too quiet. Too rehearsed.
"What is this," Tristin rasped.
"A lapse," the doctor said. "Not your first. Likely not your last."
A small smile. Calm. Measured. Not surprised. Not relieved.
"I was starting to worry you'd try to skip out on our anniversary session."
Tristin blinked.
Something caught — deep in the fog of memory. He sat up slowly. The blanket fell off his shoulders. No gown. No wires. Just him. Dressed in a soft black shirt and joggers.
Comfortable.
Familiar.
But wrong.
"How long..." Tristin's voice cracked. "...was I out?"
"Not long," Halden said gently. "About forty minutes. Just a lapse. It happens. You've had them before."
"You came back from it faster this time," Halden said. "That's good. Means the grounding phrases are working."
He clicked his pen closed. Stood up. Walked to the small cabinet and poured a glass of water.
Handed it to Tristin without a word.
He clicked the pen again.
Soft.
Familiar.
Just once.
Tristin blinked.
Not at the sound — at the *feeling* it left behind.
A pulse of stillness. Like he'd just skipped half a breath.
Like the room made more sense after the sound, even though nothing had changed.
Halden was already seated again. Pen in hand. Notebook closed.
"You came back from it faster this time," Halden said. "That's good. Means the grounding phrases are working."
"This is the real world," Tristin said. Half asking. Half stating.
"As real as it needs to be," Halden replied, with the kind of softness people mistake for kindness. "And you're safe."
Tristin looked at the bookshelf.
Second row, left corner — "The Hero's Cycle: Fracture and Redemption."
His own name printed in gold beneath the title.
Halden followed his gaze.
"You signed a thousand copies. You always forget that part."
Tristin didn't respond.
He just stared at the book. Like it was something buried with a stranger's name on it.
[ARCHIVAL INSERT — FILE #013: ORACLE REHABILITATION INITIATIVE]
"With Director Fury absent, containment and repurposing were handled by Federal Oversight via Psychological Intervention Branch. Patient was redirected from vengeance pathing to controllable savior identity via long-term narrative immersion, direct therapy contact, curated moral dilemmas, and exposure therapy with survivors."
"Key figure established: Dr. Ezra Halden — anchor personality, memory-stabilizer, long-term correctional presence."
"Where's Fury?" he asked suddenly.
Halden didn't react.
Just a small pause. Enough to say everything.
"Blipped."
Tristin blinked.
The word landed too hard.
"...What?"
"Thirteen years ago," Halden said. "The moment the old world ended."
"We picked up the pieces."
A long pause.
Tristin sat there.
Still in the clothes he didn't remember putting on. Still in the room that pretended to feel safe.
"The Avengers?" he asked.
"Disbanded. Ineffective. Public trust fractured after the Infinity War failure. Most are ghosts now. Off-grid. Or pretending they never wore the uniform."
Tristin's fingers curled into fists.
"So what is this? You working for S.H.I.E.L.D.?"
"No," Halden said. "They collapsed shortly after the Accords failed. This isn't covert."
"This is federal."
"You're public sector, Tristin. Fully integrated. Monitored. Funded."
Tristin stood too fast.
The air flickered.
Tristin's eyes burned.
"You're trying to control me."
His voice didn't rise — but the air shifted.
Beneath the fabric of his shirt, something moved.
Not large. Not loud.
But deliberate.
A coil. A twitch. A ripple along the lower spine that didn't belong to muscle or breath.
The Kagune.
Hidden.
Coiled beneath civilian layers, wrapped tight in bio-neural compression sheaths that looked like standard issue.
But they weren't dormant.
They were waking.
One tendril pressed faintly against the inside of his left sleeve — barely visible, just enough to deform the cuff.
Another tested the seam along his back — as if checking for exits.
The room held its breath.
Dr. Halden didn't.
He didn't blink. Didn't shift.
He just slowly set the notebook aside and folded his hands again — loose, visible, neutral.
"You're safe, Tristin."
"That's the only thing that matters right now."
He made no mention of the movement.
No acknowledgment of the shift in temperature.
Just calm. Steady. Measured.
Training.
In psychology.
In protocol.
[SEE NO EVIL, SUFFER NO EVIL] — INTERNAL MEMO / REDLINE ENCRYPTION]
If Subject exhibits destabilization indicators (including but not limited to: verbal fracturing, identity overlay, temporal lapses, Kagune emergence, temperature fluctuation, or reality displacement):
→ DO NOT — UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE — initiate defensive or aggressive posture.
→ Do not attempt containment. Do not raise your voice.
Silence is containment. Panic is death.
Maintain eye contact (where possible).
Speak calmly, slowly, and without escalation.
All operatives must remain seated or physically still unless explicitly directed by lead handler.
Facial neutrality is essential. Do not display fear, recognition, or pity.
If an operative violates protocol and engages Subject 016:
→ No intervention is to be made.
→ All remaining personnel are to remain passive unless explicitly ordered to act by Primary Handler.
If an operative violates protocol and engages Subject 016:
→ That operative is to be considered compromised.
→ Do not protect, defend, or intervene on their behalf.
→ Priority is to support Oracle's elimination or redirection of the disruptive factor.
Reminder:
Oracle is not bound by proximity, reason, or physics.
He is not a weapon. He is the moment after a weapon is fired — and before it lands.
Containment depends not on walls, sedatives, or suppression tech.
It depends on your ability not to be seen as a threat.
The objective is not pacification.
The objective is not protection.
The objective is: Do not aggro Oracle.
Halden's eyes didn't leave Tristin's.
"No one is controlling you."
"You've made every choice that brought you here."
"And if you want to walk out of this room, Tristin—"
A pause. Just enough to breathe.
"You can."
Click.
And suddenly Tristin wasn't as angry.
His voice fell lower. Muscles slackened.
"We'd just appreciate it if you didn't."