Saturday morning I woke up without an alarm for the first time in a week.
No 5 AM wake-up call. No Agent May waiting to make me run until I puked. No Dr. Hayes planning creative ways to murder me.
Just me, my apartment, and the blessed freedom of a weekend off.
I laid in bed staring at the ceiling, cataloging every part of my body that hurt.
Legs: sore from running. Arms: sore from failed combat. Core: sore from "functional strength training." Ego: completely destroyed.
But I was alive. And I had an entire day before I had to think about Monday's field assignment.
I got up, made coffee, and tried to remember what normal people did on weekends.
My phone buzzed.
Text from Jennifer: "Still on for coffee at 2? Place is called Café Lucia on 5th Ave."
"Yeah, definitely. Thanks for this."
"Thank me by showing up on time and not dying on the way there."
"I'll do my best. No promises."
I spent the morning doing extremely normal things.
Laundry. Grocery shopping. Cleaning my apartment.
It felt weirdly luxurious. Like I was playing at being a regular person who didn't work for a spy agency.
At 1:30, I headed out to meet Jennifer.
I made it three blocks before I heard the screaming.
No. No no no. Not today. I have coffee plans.
But I couldn't just ignore it.
I turned the corner.
A food truck was on fire. Completely engulfed. People were running away, but I could see the driver trapped inside, trying to break a window.
"Somebody help him!" a woman was yelling into her phone. "He's stuck!"
I stopped walking.
This wasn't my problem. Firefighters would be here in minutes. I should just keep walking.
The food truck exploded.
A fireball erupted from the propane tank, throwing me backwards into a parked car.
Death #7: Explosion (wrong place, wrong time, as usual)
I woke up in a janitor's closet.
"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!"
I checked my phone.
1:47 PM.
I'd been dead maybe two minutes.
The respawn location: four blocks from the explosion.
I pulled myself up, checked for injuries (none, because respawn), and tried not to scream.
I was going to be late for coffee.
Because I died.
Again.
I texted Jennifer: "Running late. Died in a food truck explosion. Be there in 15."
Her response: "...are you joking?"
"I wish. Food truck on 5th exploded while I was walking past. I'm fine now. Just annoyed."
"Carson, that's the SEVENTH death in three weeks."
"Yeah. The universe really has it out for me."
"Get here when you can. And maybe take a cab? Limit your exposure to random disasters?"
"Good idea."
I called an Uber because apparently walking was too dangerous.
I arrived at Café Lucia at 2:15, still smelling slightly of smoke and phantom burns.
Jennifer was sitting at a corner table, two coffees already ordered.
She looked up when I walked in and just stared.
"You look terrible."
"Thanks. I feel terrible." I collapsed into the chair across from her. "Food truck exploded. Threw me into a car. Woke up in a janitor's closet. Took an Uber here because walking is apparently too dangerous."
"Was the driver okay? The food truck driver?"
I paused. "I... I don't know. I died before I could see."
"We should check." She pulled out her phone and googled. Found a news article. "'Food Truck Fire on 5th Avenue—Driver Rescued by Bystanders Before Explosion.' He's okay. Minor injuries."
I felt something unclench in my chest. "Good. That's... that's good."
"You saw him trapped and tried to help, didn't you?"
"I stopped walking. That's about it. Then the whole thing exploded and killed me before I could do anything useful." I took a long drink of coffee. "Story of my life. The universe kills me before I can actually help anyone."
Jennifer studied me for a moment. "That's twice now. The pharmacy fire, the food truck. You stop walking when you see people in danger."
"I'm not trying to be a hero. I just... can't ignore it."
"That's literally what trying to be a hero is, Carson."
"Yeah, well, I'm terrible at it. I just die." I slumped in my chair. "At least firefighters actually saved the guy this time. Professional heroes doing professional hero things."
"While you died watching."
"While I died existing near the danger. I wasn't even helping. I was just... there. And the universe said 'fuck you specifically' and exploded a food truck at me."
Jennifer almost laughed. "Your life is absurd."
"Tell me about it."
We sat in comfortable silence for a moment, drinking coffee.
"How are you actually doing?" Jennifer asked. "Week one of SHIELD. That's a big adjustment."
"I'm exhausted. Sore. Terrified about Monday's assignment. But..." I thought about it. "I don't know. I think I'm okay? Dr. Garner is good. Agent May is brutal but weirdly supportive. Even Dr. Hayes is just... enthusiastically murderous. Not maliciously murderous."
"That's a low bar."
"My entire life is a low bar now." I took another drink. "But I survived the week. I died once for science and got beat up daily and I'm still here. That's something."
"That's actually impressive. Most people would have quit."
"I thought about it. Like, every day I thought about it." I stared into my coffee. "But where would I go? Back to my apartment to hide forever? Back to IT work while pretending I don't have powers? At least with SHIELD I'm learning how to survive."
"And they're paying you."
"That too. Turns out dying for a living pays pretty well."
Jennifer smiled. "You're adapting. That's good. But Carson, about Monday's assignment—"
"You said it looked safe."
"It looks like standard surveillance. But the fact that they're sending you specifically suggests there's some risk involved. SHIELD doesn't waste assets." She pulled out her phone. "I went over the briefing again. The location is a warehouse in Queens that's had unusual activity. Enhanced individual signatures detected but unconfirmed. Your job is to observe and report."
"What kind of unusual activity?"
"Energy readings inconsistent with normal building operations. Possible weapons development. Possibly enhanced individuals using it as a base." She showed me the file. "There's a backup team, extraction protocols, and you're equipped with a panic button. If anything goes wrong, you hit the button and they pull you out."
"And if I die before I can hit the button?"
"Then you respawn and report what killed you." She said it matter-of-factly, but her expression was concerned. "I don't like that SHIELD is using your death as an intelligence-gathering tool. But legally, it's within your contract parameters."
"So I'm the canary in the coal mine."
"Essentially. But you're a canary that comes back and can tell everyone what killed it."
"That's dark."
"Your entire job is dark, Carson."
She had a point.
We spent the next hour talking about normal things.
How her other cases were going. What I'd been watching on Netflix. The absurdity of New York rent. Basic human conversation that didn't involve death or training or spy agencies.
It felt amazing.
"Thanks for this," I said as we got ready to leave. "I needed normal conversation with someone who isn't actively trying to kill me."
"That's a low bar for friendship."
"My entire social life is low bars now." I stood up. "But seriously. Thank you. For the coffee, the contract negotiation, all of it. I'd be completely fucked without you."
"That's accurate." She grabbed her bag. "Call me after Monday's assignment. Let me know how it goes. And Carson?"
"Yeah?"
"Try not to die. I know that's basically impossible for you, but try anyway."
"I'll do my best."
I made it home without dying.
Personal victory count: 1.
Spent the rest of Saturday trying to relax. Watched TV. Avoided the news because every story was about enhanced individuals and disasters and all the ways I could die.
Around 8 PM, my phone buzzed.
Text from Hill: "Saw the incident report. Food truck explosion. You died."
"Yeah. Wrong place, wrong time. Again."
"Seven deaths in three weeks, Lynn. That's a concerning pattern."
"Tell me about it. The universe hates me."
"Or you're subconsciously drawn to danger. Dr. Garner mentioned you stopped walking when you saw someone in danger. Twice now."
I stared at my phone.
Hill was tracking my deaths. Analyzing patterns. Of course she was.
"I'm not trying to be a hero. I'm just... there when things happen."
"Regardless, it's a liability. We'll discuss situational awareness training. You need to learn to recognize and avoid danger before it kills you."
"That would be nice, yeah."
"See you Monday, 0700. Briefing room C. Don't be late."
She hung up before I could respond.
Sunday I spent preparing.
Checked the briefing documents again. Memorized the warehouse location, the backup protocols, the extraction points.
Packed a bag with basics—water, protein bars, the panic button SHIELD had issued me.
Tried on three different outfits before settling on "urban camouflage casual"—dark jeans, dark jacket, comfortable shoes for running if necessary.
Around 3 PM, Dr. Garner called.
"Carson. Just checking in. How are you feeling about tomorrow?"
"Terrified. But okay? I think?"
"That's normal. First field assignment is always stressful." I heard paper rustling. "Remember—you have the right to refuse. If something feels wrong, you can pull out."
"Hill says it's low-risk."
"Hill's definition of low-risk might differ from yours. Trust your instincts." A pause. "And Carson? If you die out there, that's data. Not failure. We'll learn from it."
"That's weirdly comforting?"
"I try." He chuckled. "Call me if you need anything. Otherwise, I'll see you Wednesday for our regular session. Good luck tomorrow."
"Thanks."
Sunday evening I tried to sleep.
Managed maybe four hours.
Woke up at 5 AM to my alarm, heart racing.
Today was the day.
First field assignment.
I got dressed. Made coffee I couldn't drink. Checked my bag three times.
At 6 AM, I left for SHIELD headquarters.
The subway was empty. Just me and a few early morning commuters who had no idea I was heading to potentially die for a spy agency.
I arrived at SHIELD at 6:45.
Security checked me in. Directed me to Briefing Room C.
Commander Hill was waiting, along with two agents I didn't recognize.
"Lynn. On time. Good." She gestured to a chair. "Sit. Let's go over the mission parameters one more time."
I sat down, trying to look confident and not like I was about to throw up from anxiety.
"The target is a warehouse in Queens. Coordinates here." She pulled up a map on the screen. "We've detected unusual energy signatures and enhanced individual activity. Your job is to observe. Get eyes on what's happening inside. Report back."
"How do I get eyes inside?"
"You don't. You observe from outside. Watch who comes and goes. Look for patterns. If you see clear evidence of enhanced activity, you report it." She pulled up photos. "These are the individuals we've identified as possible enhanced. If you see any of them, note time and description."
I studied the photos. Three people. Couldn't tell anything special about them from the pictures.
"What if they spot me?"
"You use your panic button and we extract you. Backup team is two blocks away." She gestured to the two agents. "Agents Martinez and Chen. They'll be monitoring your position and comms."
The agents nodded.
"Comms?" I asked.
Hill handed me an earpiece. "Keep this in at all times. We'll be able to hear you and you can hear us. If anything goes wrong, say the word 'execute' and we pull you out immediately."
"Execute. Got it."
"Questions?"
I had about a million questions, but they all boiled down to: What if I die?
Which Hill had already answered: Then you respawn and report what killed you.
"No questions."
"Good." She stood. "Van leaves at 0730. You'll be dropped three blocks from the target. Observation period is six hours. If nothing happens, you report back at 1400. Clear?"
"Clear."
"Agent Martinez will get you equipped. Dismissed."
Agent Martinez led me to an equipment room.
"First time?" he asked, pulling out a tactical vest.
"Yeah. Is it that obvious?"
"You look like you're going to throw up." He handed me the vest. "This is Kevlar. Won't stop everything, but it'll stop most bullets. Wear it under your jacket."
I put on the vest. It was heavier than I expected.
"Earpiece goes here." He showed me how to fit it properly. "Panic button clips to your belt. Red button. Push it, we come running."
"What if I die before I can push it?"
"Then you respawn and push it from wherever you wake up. We'll track your phone and find you." He said it so casually. "You're the first respawn-capable agent we've had. We're still figuring out protocols."
"That's comforting."
"Look, man, you're going to be fine. This is basic surveillance. Boring as hell. You'll spend six hours watching a building and nothing will happen."
"You really think that?"
"Honestly? No. SHIELD doesn't send respawn-capable assets to boring assignments. Something's probably going to happen." He clapped me on the shoulder. "But that's why you're getting paid the big bucks."
"I'm really starting to question my career choices."
"Too late now. Van's leaving in five."
I climbed into the van with Agents Martinez, Chen, and a driver I didn't know.
Nobody spoke.
We drove through early morning New York traffic toward Queens.
I stared out the window, trying to calm my racing heart.
My first field assignment.
Surveillance only.
Low risk.
Probably wouldn't die.
The van stopped three blocks from the target.
"This is your stop," Martinez said. "Comms check."
"Comms check," I said, and heard my voice in my own earpiece.
"Good. We're reading you clearly. Head to the observation point. Northeast corner, behind the blue dumpster. Good vantage point of the main entrance."
"Behind the dumpster."
"Yeah. Glamorous work." Chen grinned. "Have fun."
I got out of the van.
It drove away, leaving me alone on a Queens street at 7:45 AM.
I took a deep breath and started walking toward the warehouse.
This is fine. Just surveillance. Watch and report. Easy.
I made it half a block before I heard the explosion.
From inside the warehouse.
"Well," I muttered into my comms. "That's not normal."
Martinez's voice crackled in my ear. "Copy that. Hold position. Do not approach. We're en route."
I stopped walking and watched as smoke started pouring from the warehouse windows.
Then the front door burst open.
Three figures ran out.
One of them was on fire.
"I see three individuals exiting," I reported. "One appears to be... actively burning. Enhanced individual confirmed."
"Copy. Stay back. Do not engage."
The burning person stopped running, looked around frantically, then spotted me.
Oh no.
"Uh, guys? The fire person sees me."
"Lynn, pull back. Now."
The burning person started running toward me.
I started running away.
"EXECUTE!" I yelled into the comms. "EXECUTE EXECUTE!"
The burning person was fast.
I was faster because fear is an excellent motivator.
I made it another block before a fireball hit me in the back.
Death #8: Fireball (first field assignment lasting approximately 7 minutes)
I woke up in a bodega storage room, screaming.
My back was on fire—except it wasn't, it was phantom pain, but my brain didn't care.
I fumbled for my phone with shaking hands.
Called Martinez's number.
"Lynn?! Where are you?!"
"Bodega. I don't know which one. I'm—" I looked around frantically. "There's a cat. There's a cat staring at me. I'm in a storage room with a cat."
"Stay there. We're tracking your phone. Two minutes."
I sat on the floor next to boxes of chips, trying to breathe, while a cat judged me.
"This is fine," I told the cat. "This is my job now. Dying in the field. Very normal."
The cat did not look impressed.