Monday morning, 6 AM, I was back in the training room with Agent May.
She looked at me with the expression of someone who'd just realized they had to train a particularly stupid golden retriever. "Lynn. You survived a two-hour field mission without dying."
"I know! I was there! It was great!"
"Don't get cocky. You got lucky." She started the treadmill. "This week we're increasing intensity. Your success rate needs to improve from 'barely acceptable' to 'actually competent.'"
"Those sound like the same thing."
"They're not. Get on the treadmill. Five miles today."
"FIVE?! I can barely do four!"
"Which is why we're doing five. Stop complaining and run."
I got on the treadmill with the enthusiasm of someone walking to their own execution. Which, given my job, was not entirely inaccurate.
May started her own treadmill next to mine, running at a pace that looked effortless while I sounded like a dying accordion. "Your last mission went well because you made smart decisions under pressure. We're going to make sure that wasn't a fluke."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence."
"I don't give confidence. I give competence. Confidence is what gets you killed." She increased her speed. "Now run faster. You're falling behind."
"I'm dying."
"You're not dying. You're uncomfortable. There's a difference."
"The difference is very small!"
"If you can complain, you can run faster."
I ran faster, mostly because I was too out of breath to argue.
By 8 AM, I'd completed five miles (in 42 minutes, which May called "pathetic but improving"), done an obscene number of push-ups, and discovered new and exciting ways my body could hurt.
Combat training was next.
"Today we're working on environmental awareness during fighting," May said, leading me to a training area that had been set up like an urban street. Walls, corners, fake storefronts, obstacles everywhere. "You need to use your surroundings, not just react to attacks."
"Use my surroundings how?"
"I'm going to attack you. You're going to not die." She dropped into a fighting stance. "Begin."
She came at me fast.
I blocked one punch (progress!), dodged another (barely), then got kicked into a fake wall (not progress).
"Use the wall," May said. "Push off it. Create distance. Think three-dimensionally."
I got up, she attacked again. This time when she drove me toward a corner, I actually remembered to use the wall to dodge sideways instead of getting trapped.
"Better!" May said, right before sweeping my legs and dropping me on my ass. "But predictable. Again."
We did this for two hours. I got dropped on my ass approximately forty times. But by the end, I was actually using the environment. Ducking behind obstacles. Creating distance. Not just flailing blindly.
"You're learning," May said, which coming from her was basically a parade. "Still terrible, but learning. Tomorrow we add weapons to the scenario."
"Can't wait," I said, lying on the floor and contemplating my life choices.
Lunch break. I found the cafeteria and collapsed at a table with a sandwich.
My phone buzzed.
Text from Jennifer: "How's week three?"
"Agent May is trying to kill me through exercise. I've discovered muscles I didn't know existed. They all hate me."
"That's called 'getting in shape.'"
"That's called 'torture with extra steps.'"
"Want to grab dinner this week? You sound like you need normal human interaction."
"Yes please. I'll try not to die before then."
"Your jokes about dying are getting concerning."
"They're not jokes. They're accurate status updates."
I finished my sandwich and headed back to training, blissfully unaware that I'd made it few straight days without dying. This was secretly a new personal record but I didn't want to jinx it by acknowledging it.
Afternoon training was tactical scenarios.
Hill had set up a simulation room—basically a hologram training area like something out of Star Trek. She explained that it could simulate various environments and threats without actually killing me.
"Though you'll probably die anyway," she added. "The simulation has pain feedback. If you get shot, you'll feel it."
"That sounds terrible."
"It's better than actually dying. Probably." She pulled up a control panel. "Scenario one: Hostage situation in a bank. Three armed suspects, two enhanced individuals. Civilians present. Your objective: gather intelligence without being detected."
The room lit up around me. Suddenly I was standing on a street outside a bank. People running. Sounds of shouting inside. Very realistic.
I approached carefully, using cover like May had taught me. Checked corners. Watched for movement.
Got a decent view through a window. Started counting suspects.
Then one of them turned, saw me, and shot me.
The pain was real enough that I yelped and dropped to the ground.
"You're dead," Hill's voice came through speakers. "You lasted forty-five seconds. What did you do wrong?"
"Got shot?"
"You silhouetted yourself in the window. Basic mistake. Reset. Try again."
The scenario restarted.
I lasted two minutes before dying to a different mistake.
Third attempt: five minutes.
Fourth: seven minutes.
Fifth: Completed the scenario without dying! I got full intel and extracted safely!
"Acceptable," Hill said as the simulation ended. "That's the baseline. Now we add complications."
She added more variables. Extra suspects. Civilians in the line of fire. Time pressure. Environmental hazards.
I died in the simulation about fifteen more times over the next two hours.
But by the end, I was consistently completing objectives. Not perfectly, but competently.
"You're improving," Hill said, which was the second compliment I'd gotten today and I was going to ride that high forever. "Same time tomorrow. We'll run different scenarios."
I made it home around 6 PM, exhausted but weirdly satisfied.
Pulled out my notebook.
Week Three, Day One:
Deaths: 11 (STILL 11!)
Training Progress:
Five-mile run completed (death optional but avoided)
Environmental combat awareness (getting dropped less often)
Simulation training (died virtually 15+ times but improved)
Mental state: Tired but accomplished
Physical state: Everything hurts but in that "productive workout" way not "actually dying" way
Conclusion: I'm actually getting better at not dying. This is progress. Agent May almost complimented me. Dr. Garner would be proud.
I closed the notebook and tried to sleep.
Tomorrow: More training. More not dying. Maybe I could make it three days without a death.
That would be a new personal record.
Tuesday was weapons training expanded.
Agent May handed me a rubber knife. "Today we learn knife defense. Someone attacks you with a knife, you need to disarm them without getting stabbed."
"That sounds difficult."
"It is. That's why we're training." She held her own rubber knife. "Defend yourself."
She came at me.
I got "stabbed" immediately.
"You're dead. Again."
We did this approximately fifty times. By attempt thirty, I was actually successfully blocking some attacks. By attempt fifty, I'd managed to disarm her once (she let me, but still).
"Progress," May said. "Slow progress, but progress. Tomorrow: gun defense."
"Looking forward to it," I lied.
Wednesday, simulation training continued.
Hill threw increasingly ridiculous scenarios at me.
"Scenario: You're infiltrating a weapons facility. Guards, cameras, laser grids, enhanced security systems."
I died twelve times in the simulation before completing it.
"Scenario: Building fire, civilians trapped, structural collapse imminent."
Died eight times (got crushed by falling debris twice, smoke inhalation three times, general incompetence the rest).
"Scenario: Hostage situation with teleporting villain."
That one was just mean. Died fifteen times before figuring out the pattern.
But I was learning. Each death taught me something. Each mistake I didn't repeat.
Hill actually said "good work" at the end of the day.
I was going to frame that.
Thursday morning, more PT and combat training.
I was in the middle of getting my ass kicked by Agent May when Martinez walked into the training room.
"Lynn, when you're done getting destroyed, Hill wants to see you in her office."
"Is that good or bad?"
"With Hill, it's always fifty-fifty." He grinned. "But you're not in trouble. Probably."
I finished getting thrown into a wall by May (she was teaching me how to fall properly, which mostly involved falling improperly many times first), then headed up to Hill's office.
She was at her desk with a tablet. "Lynn. Sit."
I sat, trying not to look nervous.
"Your simulation scores are improving. May says you're 'less incompetent' in combat. That's high praise from her." Hill pulled up some data. "We have another field assignment for you. Two weeks out. Different location, similar parameters to your last mission. Are you interested?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"Yes. You can refuse. But I'm asking because I think you're ready." She looked at me seriously. "Your last mission was successful. You made smart decisions. This one would be slightly more complex, but still observation-based. What do you think?"
I thought about it. Two weeks to train more. Another chance to prove I could do this job.
"Yeah. I'll do it."
"Good. We'll brief you next week." She closed the tablet. "You're doing well, Lynn. Better than expected. Keep it up."
That was probably the nicest thing Hill had ever said to me and I was absolutely going to brag about it to Jennifer.
Thursday afternoon I had my regular therapy session with Dr. Garner.
"You look better," he said when I walked in. "More relaxed."
"I haven't died in five days. Personal record."
"That's significant. How do you feel about that?"
"Weirdly proud? Like, I know not dying is the baseline for normal people, but for me it's an achievement." I sat down on the couch. "I'm getting better at recognizing danger before it kills me."
"That's excellent progress. You're applying your training to daily life." He made notes. "Tell me about your week. Any notable moments?"
I walked him through the training. The improvements. Hill assigning me another mission.
"And how do you feel about the mission assignment?"
"Nervous. But also... ready? I think?" I leaned back. "Last time I was terrified. This time I'm still scared but I also know I can do it. That's progress, right?"
"That's significant progress. You're building confidence based on actual competence, not false bravado." He smiled. "Carson, you've come a long way in three weeks. You're not just surviving anymore. You're adapting."
"Thanks. That... that means a lot, actually."
We spent the rest of the session discussing stress management techniques and how to handle pre-mission anxiety. It was helpful. Dr. Garner was good at his job.
Friday evening, Jennifer called.
"Dinner tomorrow? You survived the week. We're celebrating."
"Celebrating not dying for six days?"
"For you, that's a major achievement. I'm proud of you."
I smiled despite myself. "Okay. Dinner sounds good."
"Great. 7 PM. I'll pick the place. Somewhere nice. You've earned it."
Saturday dinner with Jennifer was at an Italian place in Manhattan.
She was already there when I arrived, dressed casually but somehow making it look effortless.
"Look at you," she said as I sat down. "Not dead. Not covered in bruises. Actual progress."
"I'm pretty sure I'm still covered in bruises under the clothes. May doesn't pull punches."
"But you're alive. That's what matters." She ordered wine for both of us. "So. Tell me about this week. Besides the not-dying part."
I told her about training. The improvements. The simulation deaths. Hill assigning me another mission.
"Another mission already? They must really trust you." Jennifer took a sip of wine. "How do you feel about it?"
"Ready. Nervous. But I think I can do it." I paused. "Is it weird that I'm getting used to this? Like, three weeks ago I was terrified of everything. Now I'm just... moderately concerned about most things."
"That's called adaptation. You're building confidence." She smiled. "Carson, you've survived three weeks of SHIELD training and field work. You're not the same panicked IT guy who got crushed by a shipping container."
"I'm a slightly less panicked SHIELD agent who gets crushed by things less frequently."
"Exactly. Progress." She raised her glass. "To not dying for a whole week."
"To not dying for a whole week," I echoed, clinking my glass against hers.
We spent the rest of dinner talking about normal things. Her cases (confidential details omitted). My increasingly absurd training stories. Dave (my old coworker) who kept texting to hang out. It was nice. Normal. Exactly what I needed after a week of getting beat up.
"Thanks for this," I said as we finished. "I think I needed the reminder that normal life still exists."
"That's what I'm here for. Friend and lawyer. Making sure you stay human despite working for a spy agency." She squeezed my hand. "You're doing great, Carson. Don't forget that."
I made it home around 10 PM, pleasantly full of pasta and feeling weirdly optimistic about the future.
Week three complete. Six days without dying. Another mission lined up. Actual measurable progress in training.
Maybe I was actually getting the hang of this.
I pulled out my notebook one more time.
Week Three Summary:
Deaths: 11 (NO NEW DEATHS THIS WEEK!)
Training Achievements:
Five-mile runs completed
Environmental combat improving
Simulation training: died virtually 40+ times but completed all scenarios
Knife defense: still terrible but less terrible
Hill said "good work" (framing that)
May said I'm "less incompetent" (also framing that)
Mental State: Actually optimistic?
Physical State: Sore but alive
Social Life: Dinner with Jennifer, still have friends outside SHIELD
Next Mission: Two weeks out, feeling ready
Conclusion: I might actually be becoming competent. This is weird and unexpected but I'll take it.
I closed the notebook and went to sleep.
Tomorrow was Sunday. Day off. I was going to sleep until noon and do absolutely nothing productive.
It was going to be glorious.