"Need artillery fire, where is the air support?"
"Oh God, he's coming! He can't be stopped!"
"Son of a..."
"We can't take him alone, it's the fucking Juggernaut!"
"...*****!"
Monaghan's eyes snapped open. By old habit, he tried to sit up - impossible, with a spinal cord severed between the fifth and sixth cervical vertebrae. The only reason he could swallow, breathe, or even take a crap was thanks to the assistance of the machines he was hooked up to.
Machines that tore out of their sockets as he came to a sitting position. He felt good, his limbs pulsing with strength unlike any he'd had in his life. He felt awake, alive, more alive than he'd ever felt, even before his injury.
It worked. The serum worked! A grin split across Monaghan's face even as alarms began going off. A middle-aged woman in S.H.I.E.L.D. issue scrubs began to step into the room, then screamed like a banshee before hauling ass in the opposite direction.
"Well, that was odd."
He continued unplugging himself, only to hear a click by the door as two agents walked in, gripping shotguns. "Agent Monaghan - if that really is you - you need to lie down and lie still."
"The hell is this about!?"
Four hours later.
"So let me get this straight. You took a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent crippled in action, told him you were going to regenerate his injuries and turn him into a superhuman because you had reverse engineered Captain America's soldier serum, then you took the AVX Serum - a serum that has a habit of driving its users insane - and mixed it with blood taken from Bruce Banner?"
"Yes." The scientist - a man by the name of Doctor Matthew Mendoza - said, meeting Commander Maria Hill's eyes without any trace of fear, shame, trepidation, or much of anything else, just cold calculation and a trace of contempt.
"Does medical ethics mean anything to you, Doctor? The hippocratic oath?"
"I'm have a Ph.D., I'm not a medical doctor. Cellular biologist. You might not agree with my methods, Commander, but it's difficult to argue with results. His body has completely regenerated, not just his spinal injury, but every other injury that he had suffered. Even if you had managed to fix his spinal cord, he would never have walked again. If you had fixed his spinal cord, the pain would have made him beg you to kill him." He pointed at the monitor, where Monaghan stood, pacing nervously. "He may look different. But his mind is intact and his body is healed. Not just healed, enhanced. He's better than ever."
The image shook as Monaghan spun and grabbed the camera. "You people going to let me out of this fucking holding cell sometime today? I did nothing wrong!"
"You mean aside from the mood swings and how he looks like he just escaped from a B-horror movie?"
"He doesn't seem terribly upset by it. I daresay he wouldn't care if he looked like a Morlock if it means he can walk."
"Let me make this abundantly clear, Doctor. You are fired. The only reason I'm not putting you in a holding cell is because Monaghan doesn't have any interest in pressing charges. Get off this helicarrier before I fire you out of a missile tube."
Mendoza didn't seem terribly shocked, he seemed almost satisfied. "As you wish, Commander." The doctor began to walk away, a smirk crossing his face. He reached into his pocket, gripping the small metal vial containing a dose of the serum.
Five days later.
"What's your assessment of him? Is he fit for duty?"
"Do you mean is he suitable for assignment to a unit like Hulkbusters or the the Skrullhounds? No. But S.P.E.A.R. isn't a standard operations team. Agent Ryman should be able to rein him in enough to do his job. He's still loyal, he just needs to be kept on a tight leash. That serum messed with his mind, the discipline that used to be reflexive...well, isn't anymore."
"Alright. Send Director Fury our confirmation."
Minutes later, the PA came on, transmitting instructions. Monaghan looked up from what he had been doing - gripping a raw steak in his bare hands and tearing into it, swallowing massive chunks after ripping them off, and stood. After a moment of regaining his concentration, he looked sheepish, heading over to wash his hands and face, the other agents in the mess looking relieved that the nauseating display was finally over.
Ninety-one seconds later, he stepped into the briefing room, snapping to attention and saluting as soon as he was through the doorway.
"Specialist Kyle Monaghan reporting for duty, Director."