The SHIELD van picked me up at 5:30 AM.
Same team as last time—Agents Martinez and Chen, plus the silent driver whose name I still didn't know. Martinez handed me a comm unit and a tactical vest as we drove through early morning New York traffic. The vest was heavier than last time, reinforced with some kind of material that he said would "reduce fire damage but not prevent it entirely." Chen reviewed the mission parameters one more time while I tried not to throw up from anxiety.
"You remember the approach route?" Chen asked, pulling up a map on his tablet. "South entrance, using the construction site for cover. Observation point is the loading dock area. Good sight lines into the warehouse floor."
"Got it," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. I'd memorized the route, along with Jennifer's alternative approach and about three different fallback positions. My pocket had both SHIELD's panic button and Jennifer's tracking beacon. I was as prepared as I'd ever be, which still didn't feel like enough.
"Fire manipulator's last known position was the west side," Martinez added, checking his own equipment. "Stay on the south and east. Don't get clever. Don't get close. Just observe and report."
"And if he spots me?"
"You run. You call for extraction. We pull you out." Martinez looked at me seriously. "Lynn, you lasted seven minutes last time because you followed protocols right up until a fireball killed you. That was good instinct. Do that again, just faster."
The van stopped three blocks from the warehouse.
"This is your stop," the driver said—the first words I'd heard him speak. His voice was rough, like he'd smoked too many cigarettes or yelled too much. "Comms check before you move."
I fitted the earpiece and did a quick test. "Comms check, reading you clearly."
"Copy that," Chen's voice came through. "We're set up one block north. Eyes on the north and west sides. You've got south and east. Move when ready."
I climbed out of the van, adjusted my vest, and started walking toward the warehouse.
The sun was just starting to come up, painting the Queens industrial area in orange and grey. Most businesses weren't open yet. The streets were quiet except for the occasional truck making early deliveries. My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears, and I forced myself to breathe slowly and steadily like Dr. Garner had taught me. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Focus on the present. Pay attention to your environment.
I approached from the south like we'd planned, using a construction site for cover. The site was empty this early—no workers, just equipment and half-built structures. I moved between concrete barriers and idle machinery, keeping low and checking my sight lines. Agent May's training kicked in automatically. Check corners. Watch for movement. Listen for sounds that don't belong. Don't silhouette yourself against the skyline.
The warehouse came into view. Three-story industrial building, probably built in the seventies based on the architecture. Lots of windows, most of them grimy or broken. Several loading docks on the ground level. No obvious security except for one camera on the northeast corner that looked functional. I noted its position and adjusted my approach to stay out of its field of view.
"In position," I whispered into the comms. "Moving to observation point alpha."
"Copy that," Chen responded. "We have eyes on your position. Looking good so far."
I made my way to the loading dock area, using a stack of old pallets for cover. From here I had a decent angle into the warehouse through a broken window. I pulled out my phone and switched it to camera mode, zooming in on the interior. The morning light was dim but getting brighter, and I could make out shapes moving inside.
"Visual confirmation," I reported, keeping my voice low. "Multiple individuals inside. Counting... six, no, seven people. Three on the ground floor, four on the second level. One of them looks like our fire guy from last time—same build, same weird heat shimmer around his hands."
"Good intel. Can you see what they're working on?"
I adjusted my angle, trying to get a better view through the window. There was some kind of workstation set up on the ground floor—tables covered with equipment I didn't recognize. Looked like they were assembling something. Metal components, wiring, what might have been power cells. One guy was wielding something that sparked with blue energy, clearly not a normal tool.
"Looks like weapons assembly," I said, taking photos with my phone. "Enhanced tech for sure. Some kind of energy weapons, maybe similar to the one that killed me in the deli. I can see at least a dozen completed units on the far table."
"Can you get closer? Better angle?"
I looked at the distance between my position and the next piece of cover. Maybe twenty feet of open ground. The window I was looking through had a partial view, but if I moved to the next loading dock, I'd have a clear sight line to the whole operation. But I'd also be more exposed, and the fire guy was somewhere on the second level with a good view of the ground floor approach.
This was the decision point. SHIELD wanted better intel. Jennifer's voice in my head said don't get close, stay safe, you've already got enough for a successful mission. My own instinct said moving was risky but doable if I was smart about it.
"Negative," I said, making the call. "Too exposed. Fire guy has height advantage and clear sight lines. Risk assessment says current position is optimal."
There was a pause. Then Martinez's voice: "Good call. Hold position. Keep observing."
I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. I'd just refused a direct suggestion from my handlers and they'd backed me up. That felt like progress, or maybe I was just getting better at not dying stupidly.
I spent the next twenty minutes taking photos and making observations. The operation was bigger than we'd thought—at least a dozen people total, three confirmed enhanced individuals including the fire guy. The weapons they were assembling looked functional and dangerous. I noted everything, whispering details into the comms while Chen and Martinez recorded it all.
Then I heard voices getting closer to my position.
"—check the perimeter," someone was saying. Male voice, annoyed tone. "Boss says we've had too many people snooping around. Wants a full sweep before the shipment arrives."
Shit.
"Two individuals approaching my position from the east," I whispered into the comms. "They're doing a perimeter check. I need to relocate."
"Copy that. Move to fallback position beta, two buildings south."
I started moving, staying low and using the pallets for cover. The voices were getting closer. I could hear footsteps on gravel. My heart was racing again but I forced myself to move carefully and quietly, the way Agent May had drilled into me. Fast gets you spotted. Smooth gets you out alive.
I made it to the edge of the loading dock and dropped down to ground level, rolling behind a dumpster just as two men rounded the corner. I pressed myself against the dumpster and held my breath, listening to them walk past. They were maybe ten feet away, close enough that I could hear their conversation clearly.
"—waste of time. Nobody's been here in days."
"Just do the sweep. Boss is paranoid about that SHIELD guy who showed up last time."
They knew about me. They knew SHIELD was watching them. That was new intel and also deeply concerning.
The footsteps moved past my position, heading toward the area I'd just vacated. I waited until they were far enough away, then started moving south toward the fallback position. I stayed in the shadows, moving between buildings and using parked vehicles for cover. The route was longer but safer, and I was starting to understand that in this job, longer and safer was better than fast and dead.
"Fallback position beta reached," I reported once I was clear. "Two hostiles confirmed they know about SHIELD surveillance. Quote: 'Boss is paranoid about that SHIELD guy who showed up last time.' They're actively looking for watchers."
"Noted. That's valuable intel. Hold at fallback position. Observe for another thirty minutes then we extract."
I found a good spot behind an HVAC unit on a low roof, exactly where Jennifer had suggested as an alternative observation point. From here I had a wider angle on the warehouse but less detail. I could see people moving around inside, see vehicles arriving at the loading dock, see boxes being loaded and unloaded. I took more photos, noted license plates, counted personnel.
The sun was fully up now. The industrial area was starting to wake up. Normal workers arriving at normal jobs, having no idea that the warehouse three buildings over was manufacturing illegal enhanced weapons. The contrast was surreal—normal life happening right next to the kind of danger that got people killed.
My phone buzzed. Text from Jennifer: "Tracking beacon shows you're alive. Good. Stay that way."
I smiled despite the tension and texted back: "So far so good. Haven't died yet."
"That's the spirit. Call me when you're clear."
Thirty minutes passed slowly. I watched the warehouse, took notes, tried to ignore the fact that I was lying on a roof in Queens at 7 AM spying on criminals with actual superpowers. This was my life now. This was my job. And weirdly, I was actually doing it without dying immediately.
"Extraction in five," Chen's voice came through the comms. "Make your way to the pickup point. Two blocks south, alley behind the Chinese restaurant. We'll be waiting."
"Copy that. Moving now."
I climbed down from the roof using a fire escape, dropped into an alley, and started making my way south. I kept my head down, moved like I belonged there, tried to look like a normal person going about their morning. Just another guy walking through Queens. Nothing suspicious here. Definitely not a SHIELD agent who'd just spent two hours spying on enhanced criminals.
I made it to the pickup point without incident.
The van was waiting, door open. I climbed in and Martinez pulled the door shut behind me as the driver pulled away from the curb.
"Two hours, no deaths, good intel," Martinez said, grinning. "Lynn, you just completed your first successful field mission."
I sat back against the van wall, adrenaline still pumping through my system, and started laughing. "I didn't die. I actually didn't die."
"Better than that—you got good intel and made smart tactical decisions." Chen showed me her tablet where she'd been recording everything I reported. "Weapons assembly confirmed. Three enhanced individuals identified. Personnel count. Vehicle information. And confirmation that they know SHIELD is watching. That's a successful reconnaissance mission by any standard."
"Commander Hill is going to be pleased," Martinez added. "You just justified your entire salary with this one mission."
The van drove us back to SHIELD headquarters. I sat there in a daze, coming down from the adrenaline high, processing the fact that I'd actually done it. I'd gone on a field mission and survived. Not by dying and respawning, but by actually not dying in the first place. Two hours in the field. Good intelligence gathered. Zero deaths.
We arrived at headquarters around 8 AM. Martinez and Chen walked me up to the debriefing room where Hill was waiting with a tablet and a very satisfied expression.
"Lynn. Excellent work," she said immediately, which was possibly the first time she'd started a conversation with a compliment. "I've been monitoring your comms. You made good tactical decisions, gathered valuable intelligence, and adapted when the situation changed. That's exactly what we need from field operatives."
"Thank you," I said, still not quite believing this was happening. "I just did what the training taught me."
"You did more than that. You assessed risk independently and made the right call when we suggested getting closer. That shows judgment." She pulled up the photos I'd taken. "This is actionable intelligence. We can move on this location now. Possibly shut down the entire operation because of what you gathered today."
"So it was worth it?"
"Absolutely. You proved your value as a field asset." She closed the tablet and looked at me seriously. "That said, this was still a high-risk assignment. You handled it well, but don't get cocky. The fact that you survived doesn't mean the next one will go as smoothly."
"Understood. I'm not planning to get cocky anytime soon."
"Good. You're dismissed for the day. Write up your field report and send it to me by end of business. Take tomorrow off. You've earned it." She actually smiled slightly. "Good work, Lynn."
I left the debriefing room feeling like I was floating. I'd done it. I'd actually done it. First successful field mission. No deaths. Good intelligence. Commander Hill called it excellent work.
I pulled out my phone and texted Jennifer: "Mission complete. Zero deaths. Hill called it excellent work."
Her response came immediately: "I KNEW IT. I'm so proud of you. Dinner tonight to celebrate?"
"Hell yes."
I texted Dr. Garner: "Survived the field mission. No deaths. Feeling pretty good actually."
"Excellent. We'll process this in our session. This is significant progress."
I texted Agent May: "Completed field mission. Didn't die. Followed training protocols."
"Good. That's what training is for. See you next week."
I even texted Dave, my old coworker: "Big project went well. Feeling good about the new job."
"Nice man! Told you second time's the charm."
I sat down in the SHIELD break room with a coffee and pulled out my notebook.
Mission Day Plus 3 Hours:
Deaths: 11 (SAME AS YESTERDAY)
First successful field mission: COMPLETE
Intel gathered: Weapons assembly confirmed, 3 enhanced individuals identified, 12+ personnel counted, SHIELD surveillance compromised
Survival time: 2 hours (vs 7 minutes last time)
Tactical decisions: Refused unsafe approach, used fallback positions, followed training
Mental state: Exhausted but accomplished
Hill's assessment: Excellent work
Support system reaction: Everyone proud
Conclusion: I can actually do this job. Holy shit.
I closed the notebook and let myself enjoy the moment. Three weeks ago I'd been an IT guy who kept dying randomly. Now I was a SHIELD field operative who'd just completed a successful reconnaissance mission. I'd gone from seven-minute disaster to two-hour success story. I'd made smart decisions under pressure. I'd trusted my training. I'd survived.
This was progress. Real, measurable progress. And for the first time since this whole thing started, I felt like maybe I could actually handle this job. Maybe I wasn't just a disposable asset who kept respawning. Maybe I was actually becoming competent.
My phone buzzed one more time. Text from Hill: "Next field assignment tentatively scheduled for two weeks. Different location, similar parameters. We'll brief you next Monday. Enjoy your success."
Two weeks until the next mission. Time to train more, get better, keep improving. But for today, I was going to enjoy the fact that I'd made it through a field assignment without dying.
That was worth celebrating.