Saturday morning I woke up early and did something I'd never done before.
I went for a run.
Voluntarily.
Without Agent May forcing me.
I used the safe routes she'd mapped out. Avoided the high-risk intersections. Kept my head on a swivel looking for threats.
Made it three miles without dying.
Personal victory count: 1.
I got home, showered, and pulled out the briefing documents for Monday's assignment.
Studied the warehouse layout. The approach routes. The sight lines.
I needed to get visual confirmation of what they were building. That meant getting close enough to see inside without being spotted.
The fire manipulator was the main threat. But there could be others.
I needed a plan.
Around noon, my phone buzzed.
Text from Dave—my old coworker from the IT job.
"Hey man! Long time. Want to grab a beer? Catch up?"
I stared at the message.
Dave. My old life. Back when my biggest concern was server migrations and angry clients.
I typed back: "Yeah, that sounds good. When?"
"Today? Around 4?"
"Sure. Where?"
He sent me an address for a bar in Queens.
I checked it against Jennifer's safety map.
Low-risk area. Good sight lines. Multiple exits.
"See you there."
I arrived at the bar at 3:55.
Scoped it out before going inside. Exits. Potential threats. Escape routes.
Agent May's training was making me paranoid.
Or aware.
Still wasn't sure of the difference.
Dave was already there, sitting at a table with a beer.
"Carson! Man, it's good to see you!" He stood up and gave me a hug. "You look... different."
"Different how?"
"I don't know. More intense? Like you've been working out?" He gestured to a chair. "How's the new job?"
I sat down and ordered a beer.
How was the new job?
"It's... different. More physical than IT work. Lots of training."
"What kind of training?"
"Security stuff. Risk assessment. Threat recognition." All technically true. "It's been an adjustment."
"I bet. You just disappeared, man. One day you're here, next day you're gone. We were worried." He took a drink. "But you seem good. Tired, maybe. But good."
"Yeah. It's been intense. Long hours. Steep learning curve." I took a drink of my beer. "How's everyone at the office?"
We spent the next hour talking about normal things.
Office gossip. Bad clients. The new guy who kept breaking the network.
It felt surreal. Like I was playing at being normal.
Dave didn't know I'd died eleven times in three weeks.
He didn't know I worked for SHIELD.
He didn't know I was going on a potentially fatal field assignment Monday.
He just thought I'd gotten a new job.
And I couldn't tell him otherwise.
"You seem distracted," Dave said eventually. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah. Sorry. Just... big project Monday. I'm nervous about it."
"First big project at the new place?"
"Second, actually. First one didn't go great."
"Well, second time's the charm, right?" He raised his beer. "To not fucking up the big project."
I laughed and clinked my beer against his.
"To not fucking up."
If only he knew.
I made it home around 6 PM.
Changed into nicer clothes for dinner with Jennifer.
She'd texted me the address—a Italian restaurant in Brooklyn. I checked the safety map. Low-risk area.
I took a cab because I wasn't risking the subway before a field assignment.
Jennifer was already there when I arrived, sitting at a corner table with good sight lines to the exits.
"You're getting paranoid about seating," she said as I sat down.
"Agent May says it's being aware, not paranoid."
"There's a fine line." She slid a folder across the table. "I reviewed Monday's briefing. Let's talk tactics."
We ordered food and spent the next hour going over the plan.
"Your approach from the south is good. Better cover, better escape routes." She pulled out a printed map. "But this building here—" she pointed, "—is abandoned. If things go wrong, it's a good fallback position. Multiple exits, good sight lines."
"SHIELD didn't mention that."
"Because they're thinking about extraction. I'm thinking about survival." She marked the building. "If you get separated from backup, go here. Don't try to run through open streets. The fire manipulator has range advantage."
"Okay. Fallback position. Got it."
"Also, this." She handed me a small device. "Personal location beacon. Completely separate from SHIELD's equipment. If something goes wrong and you die, I can track your respawn location and come get you."
"You're tracking my respawns?"
"I'm making sure my client survives." She looked at me seriously. "Carson, SHIELD will extract you if possible. But if you die and respawn somewhere outside their perimeter, you could be on your own. This ensures you're not."
I took the beacon. It was small enough to fit in my pocket.
"Thank you. Really."
"That's what I'm here for." She put away the map. "Now, let's talk about the 60-40 odds."
"Those odds suck."
"They're better than 50-50. And they're based on you being spotted like last time. But you're better trained now. If you're smart and careful, I'd put your survival odds closer to 70-30."
"That's still a 30% chance I die."
"Welcome to field work with enhanced individuals. 30% is pretty good." She took a bite of her food. "But let's talk about success criteria. What's your goal?"
"Visual confirmation of what they're building. Number of people on site. Identification of enhanced individuals."
"Good. That's achievable without getting close enough to be spotted. You don't need to be a hero. Just get eyes on the location and report." She pulled out her phone. "I mapped the optimal observation point. This roof, three buildings south. Good sight line, good cover, easy escape route."
"SHIELD didn't mention that either."
"Because SHIELD wants you closer for better intel. I want you alive." She showed me the roof access. "Emergency exit. Fire escape. Easy climb. You could observe from there for hours without being spotted."
"So I ignore SHIELD's approach and use yours?"
"You use tactical judgment. If their approach feels unsafe, you have alternatives. That's smart field work." She put away her phone. "Carson, you're not a disposable asset. You're a person with a valuable ability. Don't let SHIELD forget that."
We finished dinner and Jennifer drove me home.
"Get some sleep. Don't obsess over the mission. You're as prepared as you can be." She handed me another card. "This is my personal emergency number. Not my office line. If anything goes wrong—anything—you call me immediately."
"You're really worried about this."
"I'm really worried about a 25-year-old with three weeks of training being sent on a field mission with 60-40 survival odds." She squeezed my shoulder. "But I also think you're smart and capable and you're going to do fine. Just be careful."
"I will. Thank you. For everything."
"Stay alive, Carson. I've gotten used to having you as a client."
Sunday I stayed inside.
Reviewed the briefing documents for the hundredth time.
Studied Jennifer's alternative approach.
Did bodyweight exercises because I was too anxious to sit still.
Around 3 PM, Dr. Garner called.
"Carson. How are you feeling about tomorrow?"
"Terrified. Prepared. Also terrified."
"That's a reasonable combination." I heard him typing. "Walk me through your preparation."
I told him about the tactical planning. The safe routes. The fallback positions. Jennifer's beacon.
"Good. You're taking control of what you can control. That's healthy." He paused. "Now, let's talk about the psychological aspect. If you die tomorrow, how will you process that?"
"Uh. Badly?"
"More specifically. What's the worst part of dying for you?"
I thought about it.
"The helplessness. The moment when I know I'm going to die and I can't stop it. And then the phantom pain after respawn."
"Both of those are trauma responses. We've been working on coping mechanisms. Let's review them."
We spent twenty minutes going over breathing exercises, grounding techniques, and post-death processing strategies.
"If you die tomorrow, you'll respawn. The mission won't end—it'll just shift. You'll have intelligence from your death. Use it." He paused. "And Carson? Even if you die, that doesn't make it a failure. You're gathering intelligence in an impossible situation. Give yourself credit."
"Thanks. I'll try."
"Good luck tomorrow. Call me afterward. Whether you survive or not."
Sunday evening I packed my gear.
Tactical vest. Comms equipment. Panic button. Jennifer's beacon.
Set three alarms for 5 AM.
Laid out my clothes.
Tried to sleep.
Failed completely.
At 2 AM I gave up and went to my living room.
Pulled out my notebook.
Mission Day Minus 5 Hours:
Deaths: 11
Training: 3 weeks
Survival odds: 60-40 (or 70-30 if I'm smart)
Goal: Visual confirmation of weapons development, enhanced individual identification, survive if possible
Backup plans:
Jennifer's fallback building
Alternative observation point
Personal beacon for post-death extraction
Things I know:
Fire manipulator on site (killed me last time)
Weapons development confirmed
High-risk location
Backup team 1 block away
Things I don't know:
What they're building
How many enhanced individuals
Additional threats
Mental state: Terrified but prepared
Physical state: Can't sleep, too anxious
Support system: Jennifer, Dr. Garner, Agent May, Hill
Conclusion: I'm as ready as I'll ever be. Time to not fuck this up.
I set down the notebook and stared at my ceiling.
Five hours until I had to leave.
My first real field mission where I actually had a chance of succeeding.
Or dying.
Probably both.
But at least this time I had a plan.
And a lawyer with a tracking beacon.
And three weeks of training.
And a support system that actually believed I could do this.
That was more than I'd had three weeks ago.
I closed my eyes and tried to rest.
Tomorrow I'd either complete my first successful field mission or learn what killed me.
Either way, I'd survive it.
That was the job.
My alarm went off at 5 AM.
I was already awake.
Time to go to work.