Saturday morning I woke up at 9 AM.
No alarm. No Agent May waiting to make me run. No Dr. Hayes planning creative murders.
Just me, my apartment, and the blessed freedom of sleeping past 5 AM.
I laid in bed enjoying the luxury of not being in pain for the first time in two weeks.
Well, not being in NEW pain. Everything still hurt from training. But it was familiar pain. Comfortable pain.
I'd developed a relationship with pain.
This was my life now.
I eventually dragged myself out of bed, made coffee, and sat on my couch trying to remember what normal people did on weekends.
My phone buzzed.
Text from Jennifer: "Survived the week. Proud of you. Want to grab lunch later?"
"Yeah, that sounds good. Anywhere specific?"
"There's a place in Manhattan. Good sandwiches. I'll text you the address. 1 PM?"
"Perfect. I'll try not to die on the way there."
"That joke gets less funny every time you make it."
"That's because it's not a joke. It's a legitimate safety concern."
I spent the morning doing aggressively normal things.
Laundry. Dishes. Cleaning my apartment.
It felt weirdly therapeutic. Like I was reclaiming some normalcy in my chaos life.
At noon, I got dressed and headed out.
Made it two blocks before I heard shouting.
Please be nothing. Please be a normal argument. Please don't be another enhanced incident.
I turned the corner and saw two guys in masks robbing a convenience store.
Again.
"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!" I yelled at the universe. "IT'S SATURDAY! I HAVE LUNCH PLANS!"
One of the robbers turned toward my voice.
He had a gun.
"Oh shit—"
He fired.
Death #10: Gunshot (wrong place, wrong time, AGAIN)
I woke up in a supply closet screaming.
"FUCK! I HAVE LUNCH PLANS! I HAVE ACTUAL LUNCH PLANS WITH AN ACTUAL FRIEND!"
My phone was buzzing.
I checked it.
12:17 PM.
Text from Jennifer: "You're going to be late, aren't you?"
I called her.
"I died."
"Carson—"
"I DIED. I was walking to lunch. Two blocks from my apartment. Convenience store robbery. Guy shot me. I just woke up in a supply closet." I was pacing in the tiny space. "I can't even walk to LUNCH without dying. LUNCH, Jennifer. The most normal activity possible."
"Okay. Breathe. Where are you?"
"I don't know! A building somewhere! There's office supplies and a very aggressive motivational poster about teamwork."
"Check the address. I'll come get you."
I found a label on a box. Read her the address.
"Twenty minutes. Stay there. Don't die again."
"I'M TRYING NOT TO."
Jennifer picked me up thirty minutes later.
I climbed into her car looking like I'd been through a war.
"You okay?" she asked.
"I'm fine. Physically. Mentally I'm questioning why the universe hates me specifically." I buckled my seatbelt. "That's death number ten. Double digits. I've died in double digits in three weeks."
"That's... a lot."
"That's an understatement." I put my head in my hands. "I can't even go to lunch. I can't walk down the street. I can't exist in public without something trying to kill me."
"It's New York. Enhanced incidents happen—"
"Not to everyone! Normal people walk past convenience stores without getting shot! Normal people have lunch without dying!" I gestured wildly. "But not me. The universe sees me and says 'you know what would be funny? If I killed Carson right before lunch.'"
Jennifer was quiet for a moment.
"You're spiraling."
"I'M AWARE."
"When was the last time you ate?"
"...Breakfast. Maybe. I don't remember."
"We're getting food. Then we're going to talk about this pattern because Carson, you've died ten times in three weeks and six of them were random accidents. That's not normal even for someone with your ability."
"You think I don't know that?!"
"I think you're too stressed to see it clearly." She pulled into a parking lot. "Come on. Food first, crisis second."
The sandwich shop was blessedly normal.
No robberies. No enhanced individuals. Just people eating sandwiches like functional humans.
Jennifer ordered for both of us while I sat at a table trying to calm down.
She came back with two sandwiches and a very large coffee.
"Eat. You're hangry and traumatized. Bad combination."
I ate.
She was right. I was immediately less panicky with food in my system.
"Better?" she asked after I'd finished half the sandwich.
"Yeah. Sorry. I didn't mean to lose it."
"You're allowed to lose it. You died right before lunch. That's frustrating." She took a bite of her sandwich. "But let's talk about the pattern. Ten deaths in three weeks. What's the breakdown?"
I counted on my fingers. "Container at the start. Test jump. Deli robbery. Then SHIELD killed me four times for science. Food truck explosion. Fireball on field assignment. And now convenience store robbery."
"So six random accidents. Four deliberate for testing."
"Yeah."
"That's a concerning rate of random accidents." She pulled out her phone. "Average person in New York encounters maybe one enhanced incident per year. You've encountered six in three weeks."
"So I'm either the unluckiest person alive, or..."
"Or something about you attracts danger. Or you're subconsciously drawn to it." She showed me her phone. "I pulled the locations of your random deaths. Look at this pattern."
She'd mapped them out.
They were all in a roughly two-mile radius of my apartment.
"You're staying in a high-incident area," she said. "Queens has elevated enhanced activity. You're living in a hotspot."
"So I should move?"
"Or be more aware. Take different routes. Avoid obvious danger zones." She zoomed in on the map. "See this intersection? Three of your deaths happened within two blocks of it. That's not coincidence. That's a high-risk area."
I stared at the map.
She was right.
I'd been walking the same routes, going to the same places, and dying repeatedly in the same general area.
"I'm an idiot."
"You're stressed and not thinking strategically. But Carson, if you want to die less during your off-hours, you need to start treating New York like the danger zone it is." She zoomed out. "SHIELD teaches tactical awareness for field work. You need to apply it to daily life."
"So my entire life is fieldwork now."
"Kind of, yeah." She put away her phone. "But that's adaptable. You can learn patterns. Avoid high-risk areas. Plan safer routes. You don't have to accept dying every time you leave your apartment."
I thought about that.
"You're right. I've been treating deaths as random bad luck. But they're not random. I'm just not paying attention."
"Exactly." She finished her sandwich. "Next week, we're going over basic urban survival strategies. How to recognize danger before it kills you. Where to avoid. When to take a cab instead of walking."
"You're teaching me how to not die."
"I'm teaching you situational awareness. SHIELD focuses on field survival. I'm focusing on daily survival." She smiled. "Consider it part of my legal services. Keeping my client alive enough to pay my retainer."
"That's actually really helpful. Thank you."
"You're welcome. Now finish your sandwich before something else tries to kill you."
I made it home without dying.
Personal victory count: 1.
Spent the rest of Saturday researching my neighborhood.
Crime statistics. Enhanced incident reports. High-risk areas.
Jennifer was right. I'd been living and moving through a hotspot without realizing it.
I mapped out safer routes. Identified buildings with good respawn history (ones I'd woken up in before). Planned alternatives for my daily routines.
It felt weirdly empowering. Like I was taking control instead of just accepting death as inevitable.
My phone buzzed.
Text from Hill: "Saw the incident report. Death number 10. You're developing a concerning pattern of civilian encounters. We need to discuss field awareness training."
"Already working on it. Jennifer's helping me map high-risk areas in my neighborhood."
"Good. That's showing initiative. We'll cover this more in Monday's tactical seminar."
Another text came through.
Agent May: "Saw death #10. Convenience store robbery. That's preventable. We'll work on threat recognition tomorrow."
"Looking forward to it."
"You won't be. Bring water."
I laughed despite myself.
Sunday I actually stayed inside.
Watched Netflix. Ordered delivery. Avoided the outside world entirely.
If I couldn't encounter danger, I couldn't die.
Foolproof plan.
Around 3 PM, Dr. Garner called.
"Carson. Checking in. How are you processing death number ten?"
"Honestly? I'm pissed. I died on the way to lunch. I can't even have a normal Saturday without dying."
"That's a valid frustration. But I saw your conversation with Ms. Walters about mapping high-risk areas. You're taking strategic action. That's good."
"I'm mapping my neighborhood like a war zone."
"Because it kind of is one. You're adapting to your environment. That's healthy." I heard papers rustling. "How are you sleeping?"
"Better, actually. I think accepting that I need to be more careful is helping. Like I have some control now."
"Good. Keep doing what you're doing. I'll see you Wednesday for our regular session." He paused. "And Carson? Ten deaths in three weeks. That's significant trauma. Don't downplay it just because you're getting used to it."
"I know. I'm just... trying to survive."
"You are surviving. That's the important part."
Sunday evening I prepped for Monday.
Checked my training gear. Reviewed the tactical seminar materials Hill had sent. Planned my route to SHIELD using Jennifer's safer route recommendations.
I pulled out my notebook and updated my stats.
Deaths: 10
Weeks at SHIELD: 2 (complete)
Random deaths: 6
SHIELD testing deaths: 4
Deaths this weekend: 1 (fucking convenience stores)
High-risk areas identified: 7
Safer routes planned: 3
Mental state: Frustrated but proactive
Physical state: Everything hurts but I'm alive
I stared at that last line.
Ten deaths in three weeks.
But I was still here. Still functional. Still adapting.
I closed the notebook and tried to sleep.
Tomorrow was week three.
More training. More dying probably.
But at least I was learning how to die less.
That was progress.
Sort of.
Monday morning, 5:45 AM, I arrived at SHIELD headquarters using Jennifer's recommended safer route.
Took fifteen minutes longer but I didn't die once.
Victory.
Agent May was waiting in the training room.
"Lynn. Heard about Saturday."
"Yeah. Died on the way to lunch. Convenience store robbery."
"That's preventable. You're not paying attention to your environment." She gestured to the training room, which had been set up differently. "Today we're doing urban threat recognition. You need to learn how to spot danger before it spots you."
"That would be nice, yeah."
"Drop your bag. We're starting with scenario training."
She spent the next two hours showing me surveillance footage of various incidents.
"Watch this. What's the first warning sign?"
I watched a video of a convenience store robbery.
"Uh... the guy with the gun?"
"Before that. Look at his body language. Watch how he's checking the street. See his partner by the door? They're casing the place." She paused the footage. "You could have avoided this entirely by recognizing pre-incident behavior."
She showed me dozens of examples.
How to spot someone casing a location. Body language that indicates threat. Environmental cues that suggest danger.
"Your problem," she said, "is you're not paying attention until something's already happening. By then it's too late."
"So I need to be paranoid constantly."
"You need to be aware constantly. There's a difference." She pulled up another video. "Now watch this one. Tell me when you should leave."
The rest of Monday was more of the same.
Threat recognition. Situational awareness. How to read an environment.
By lunch, my brain hurt from trying to analyze every video she showed me.
"You're getting better," May said. "Slower to recognize than I'd like, but you're learning."
"Thanks?"
"Not a compliment. Just an observation." She tossed me a water bottle. "Tomorrow, we apply this to field scenarios. Bring comfortable shoes. We're doing urban navigation training."
"That sounds ominous."
"It should."
I made it home that evening exhausted but weirdly optimistic.
I was learning. Actually learning how to not die as much.
My phone buzzed.
Text from Jennifer: "Survived Monday?"
"Yeah. Agent May spent all day teaching me threat recognition. Apparently I'm terrible at noticing danger."
"We knew that. But at least you're getting better."
"Slowly. Very slowly."
"That's still progress. Proud of you for making it through without dying."
"The bar is so low it's underground."
"In your case, yes."
I smiled despite myself and settled in for the evening.
Week three was off to a decent start.
I'd only died once this weekend.
And I was learning how to die less.
Progress.