Seeing Hill's reaction, Ray knew his explanation had already half succeeded.
He had deliberately framed his ability as "possessing alternate personas with specific skills," describing them as stereotypical figures — martial arts masters, private detectives, special forces soldiers. This blend of truth and fabrication was, in itself, a calculated half-confession.
Information like this — a mix of fact and fiction — was often the hardest to detect. Ray had crafted this narrative from the moment he decided to pose as a mutant.
At this stage, the benefits clearly outweighed the risks.
The most immediate benefit was neutralising the potential threat posed by the Clockwork Psychiatric Hospital.
By half-revealing that he now had a power — specifically, one tied to multiple personalities — even if Fury sent someone to investigate his condition, it wouldn't matter.
He had never claimed to be "cured" — therefore, there was no contradiction to expose.
Furthermore, once Hill and the others realised multiple groups of intruders had died at the hospital, they would inevitably send agents to investigate. There was no telling what they might uncover.
Ray didn't believe he had left any evidence behind, but why take the risk?
By revealing part of the truth now, he removed the danger in advance.
This also gave him a convenient excuse for any strange behaviour in the future — such as using his Deadshot persona to teach. It would no longer raise suspicion.
Of course, there were risks.
He wasn't truly a mutant. A scan for the X-gene would expose the lie.
But Ray had never explicitly claimed to be a mutant. It was Hill who had drawn that conclusion on her own. If the truth came out one day, the blame wouldn't fall on him.
Besides, the world was full of extraordinary individuals: Inhumans created by the Kree, people like Spider-Man or the Hulk whose powers resulted from external triggers…
And those were just the well-known examples. There were countless others, many completely undocumented.
No one — not even S.H.I.E.L.D. — could claim to know every type of superhuman on Earth.
Ray had no reason to worry.
Even if he were exposed one day, Fury wasn't the type to turn on him over something so trivial. Ray was, after all, a victim of the Tahiti Project — not an imposter.
"I still don't quite understand something," Hill said cautiously after taking a moment to process everything.
"Go ahead," Ray replied.
"Even if your elite soldier persona can teach at the Combat Division, wouldn't it be far easier for you to teach psychology yourself?"
"If anyone else had asked me that," Ray said with a wry smile, "I would've just brushed it off. But you're one of us, Hill. So I'll be honest."
His expression grew sombre.
"The reason's simple. I want to stay as far away from psychology as possible. As far as I can. If I can help it, I never want to touch that field again. I hope you can understand."
He hadn't technically answered the question — he'd only expressed a deep unwillingness to return to his old discipline. But considering what he'd been through, and the heavy look on his face, Hill's imagination filled in the blanks.
To her, it made perfect sense.
Ray had clearly suffered deep trauma from the Tahiti Project. It had tainted his view of his profession, filled him with disgust. So much so that he would rather admit to still being mentally unstable, and claim to have awakened as a mutant, than go back to psychology.
His rejection of it must run deep.
"I understand, Doctor," Hill said solemnly. "And thank you for trusting me. I promise you — I give you my word — I'll only share this with Director Fury. Not a single other person will hear about it without your permission."
"Thank you, truly," Ray said, visibly relieved.
"It's us who should thank you," Hill said, shaking her head. "We owe you far more than you owe us. And I'll do my best to explain this to Director Weaver as well — so don't worry."
Seeing how understanding she was, Ray decided not to overplay it. There was no need for more theatrics. Everything had gone well.
No point in pushing his luck. Too much would be worse than not enough.
---
That evening, Hill returned alone to the Triskelion — S.H.I.E.L.D.'s main headquarters — and made her way to the director's office on the top floor.
Fury was reviewing documents when she arrived. Upon seeing her, he stood up with a wide grin.
"Welcome back. You've done good work, Hill. I owe you one."
"You should worry about repaying Dr Raymond first," Hill replied, her tone serious.
Fury's expression shifted immediately. He could tell something was off.
"What happened? Is there a problem with the academy's arrangements?"
"Not exactly."
She then summarised her conversation with Ray.
"A mutant?" Fury repeated, his brow furrowing.
Clearly, this was not what he had expected.
He thought maybe there had been a logistical issue with the academy — something to do with faculty placement. He hadn't expected this.
"I can't confirm that he is one," Hill said. "But the way he described it… an ability awakening after a traumatic event… it matches the typical mutant pattern."
"It does sound like it," Fury murmured.
"What do you plan to do about it?" she asked.
"I'd like to leave it at that."
"What?"
"You know how world governments view mutants. Their situation is precarious. Some extremist groups are even hunting them in secret…"
Fury's tone was grave.
"S.H.I.E.L.D.'s role has always been to mediate between the world of ordinary humans and that of the extraordinary. We don't take sides. But we can't change how the world treats them — and we shouldn't get involved in those conflicts either."