Marcus's fingers blazed with purple light, the energy responding to his spike of adrenaline before he could think to suppress it. The nurse, or whoever she was, froze in the doorway, her eyes widening as she registered the impossible glow emanating from his hand.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. Then training took over.
Marcus rolled sideways off the hospital bed, yanking the IV line from his arm as he moved. The heart monitor shrieked its alarm as the leads tore free from his chest. He hit the floor hard, his weakened legs barely supporting his weight, but managed to stay upright by gripping the edge of the bed frame.
The woman dropped all pretense of being a nurse. She lunged forward with the syringe raised, moving with the fluid precision of someone trained in close combat. Marcus caught her wrist with his left hand, the purple energy still crackling around his right. She twisted, using his own momentum against him, and suddenly they were grappling in the narrow space between the bed and the wall.
"Who sent you?" Marcus demanded, his voice rough from disuse. He could feel his powers surging, wanting to lash out, but he forced them down. If he used them openly, even to defend himself, there would be questions he could not answer.
The woman did not respond. She drove her knee toward his stomach, and he barely managed to turn aside, taking the blow on his hip instead. Pain flared through his still-recovering body, but he maintained his grip on her wrist, keeping the syringe away from his skin.
They crashed against the medical equipment cart, sending instruments clattering to the floor. The woman's free hand shot toward his throat, fingers seeking pressure points that would drop him instantly. Marcus blocked with his forearm, then shoved her backward with strength that surprised them both.
The purple energy was enhancing his physical capabilities, lending power to muscles that should have been weak from three days of unconsciousness. He could feel it flowing through him like electricity, but the sensation was wild and uncontrolled, threatening to burst free in ways that would be impossible to explain.
The woman recovered her balance with practiced ease and came at him again. This time she abandoned the syringe, letting it drop to the floor as she shifted to pure hand-to-hand combat. Her movements were efficient and deadly, definitely not the work of an actual nurse.
Marcus parried a strike aimed at his solar plexus, then ducked under a follow-up that would have caught him in the temple. His body remembered the original Marcus Reid's training, muscle memory guiding his responses even as his mind raced through possibilities. This was an assassination attempt, that much was clear. But who wanted him dead, and why?
HYDRA was the obvious answer. Perhaps they had noticed something unusual about his recovery, some sign that he was not quite what he appeared to be. Or perhaps this was unrelated to his reincarnation entirely, an attack on the original Marcus Reid for some operation he had been involved in before the accident.
The woman swept his legs, and Marcus went down hard on his back. She followed him down, her hand closing around his throat with iron strength. Her face remained expressionless, professional, as she applied pressure designed to render him unconscious in seconds.
Marcus's vision began to narrow, darkness creeping in at the edges. The purple energy surged in response to his panic, building to a crescendo that he could no longer contain. He grabbed the woman's arms, and power flowed through the contact like a circuit completing.
The woman convulsed, her eyes rolling back as energy surged through her body. She flew backward as if yanked by invisible cables, crashing into the far wall hard enough to crack the plaster. She slumped to the floor, unconscious or dead, Marcus could not tell.
He lay gasping on the cold linoleum, his hands still glowing with purple light that flickered like dying flames. The energy was fading now, retreating back into whatever reservoir it came from, leaving him drained and shaking.
The door burst open, and two security guards rushed in with weapons drawn. They took in the scene in an instant, the unconscious woman against the wall, the overturned medical equipment, Marcus lying on the floor covered in sweat and breathing hard.
"Agent Reid, do not move," the first guard ordered, his pistol trained steadily on Marcus's chest. The second guard moved to check on the woman, his own weapon never wavering from ready position.
Marcus raised his hands slowly, careful to keep them visible and non-threatening. The purple glow was completely gone now, and he could only hope that in the chaos of the moment, the guards had not noticed anything unusual. "She attacked me. She had a syringe. I think she was trying to kill me."
The second guard found the syringe where it had rolled under the bed. He picked it up carefully by the edges, examining it with professional caution. "This is not standard medical supplies. I am calling this in."
Within minutes, the medical bay was flooded with personnel. Actual medical staff arrived to check on Marcus, who allowed himself to be helped back into bed despite his protests that he was fine. The woman was secured with restraints and removed on a gurney, still unconscious. The syringe was bagged as evidence and taken away for analysis.
Agent Coulson appeared twenty minutes later, his expression considerably less friendly than it had been during his earlier visit. He dismissed everyone else from the room and closed the door, then turned to face Marcus with eyes that missed nothing.
"Agent Reid, I need you to tell me exactly what happened, from the moment that woman entered this room until security arrived. Do not leave out any details, no matter how insignificant they may seem."
Marcus had spent the intervening time preparing his story, carefully editing his memories to remove any mention of glowing purple energy or enhanced strength. "I was lying in bed, trying to sleep. The nurse came in, but something about her seemed wrong. Her posture was too alert, too rigid. Then I saw the syringe in her hand, partially hidden. I rolled out of bed and we fought. I managed to subdue her, and she hit the wall hard enough to knock herself out. That is when security arrived."
Coulson studied him with that penetrating gaze that seemed to see through all deception. "The woman has no identification on her, and her fingerprints do not match anyone in our database. The syringe contained a neurotoxin that would have killed you within minutes while mimicking the symptoms of a stroke or heart attack. Someone went to considerable effort to make your death look like a natural complication from your head injury."
The implications of that statement settled over Marcus like a weight. This was not some random attack or case of mistaken identity. Someone had specifically targeted him for elimination and had done so with considerable planning and resources.
"Do you have any idea who might want you dead?" Coulson asked, pulling up a chair and sitting down with the air of someone prepared to stay as long as necessary. "Any operations that went wrong, any enemies you made, anyone you might have crossed during your time with SHIELD?"
Marcus searched through the original Marcus Reid's memories, looking for anything that might provide a plausible explanation. There were several missions that had resulted in arrests or deaths of criminal operatives, but nothing that seemed significant enough to warrant this level of retaliation. The original Marcus had been a competent but relatively junior agent, not someone who typically worked on operations important enough to make powerful enemies.
"Nothing comes to mind," Marcus said honestly. "Most of my work has been analytical, intelligence gathering and pattern recognition. I have participated in field operations, but usually in a support role. I cannot think of anyone I would have angered enough to warrant assassination."
Coulson made notes on his tablet, his fingers moving with practiced efficiency. "The fact that they targeted you while you were injured and vulnerable suggests they viewed you as a threat of some kind. Perhaps you saw something, learned something, or made a connection that someone wanted to ensure remained undiscovered. I want you to think very carefully about your recent work, any unusual patterns or anomalies you might have noticed."
This was dangerous territory. If Marcus claimed to have noticed anything related to HYDRA's infiltration, it might explain why he was targeted but would also raise questions about why he had not reported his concerns through proper channels. He needed to tread carefully.
"I will review my recent case files once I am back at my desk," Marcus said. "Perhaps something will stand out now that I know to look for it."
Coulson nodded slowly, but his expression suggested he was not entirely satisfied with that answer. "I am assigning you a security detail effective immediately. You will not be alone until we determine who was behind this attack and neutralize the threat. I am also moving you to a secure location within the Triskelion. No one outside of essential personnel will know your exact whereabouts."
"Is that really necessary?" Marcus asked, though he already knew the answer. SHIELD took threats against its agents very seriously, especially assassination attempts within their own medical facilities.
"Very necessary," Coulson confirmed. "Someone penetrated our security, obtained a nurse's uniform and identification, and nearly succeeded in killing you while you were under our protection. That represents a significant breach that we must take extremely seriously. Until we understand the full scope of the threat, you remain in protective custody."
Two agents arrived to escort Marcus to his new accommodations. They helped him into a wheelchair despite his insistence that he could walk, and they moved through corridors that Marcus recognized from the original agent's memories. They took an elevator down three levels to a secure wing that required multiple biometric scans to access.
The room they brought him to was small but comfortable, more like a hotel room than a hospital ward. It had no windows, but the furnishings were pleasant and included a small desk with a computer terminal. A bathroom connected to the main room, and Marcus noted the complete absence of anything that could be used as a weapon or tool for escape.
"Someone will be stationed outside your door at all times," one of the agents informed him. "If you need anything, use the intercom. Do not attempt to leave this room without explicit authorization from Agent Coulson or Director Fury."
After they left, Marcus sat on the edge of the bed and allowed himself a moment to process everything that had happened. His hands were steady now, no trace of the purple energy that had saved his life. He flexed his fingers experimentally, trying to call up that power deliberately rather than in response to danger.
Nothing happened. The energy remained dormant, inaccessible to his conscious will. Whatever triggered it responded to emotion and necessity rather than simple desire. He would need to learn control, to understand how to channel and direct this ability before it manifested at an inopportune moment and revealed his secret.
Marcus stood and moved to the computer terminal. It was logged into a secure SHIELD network with limited access, but his credentials still worked. He pulled up news feeds first, confirming dates and current events. January seventh, two thousand ten. Iron Man had testified before Congress six months ago, refusing to turn over his armor technology. Justin Hammer was probably working on War Machine prototypes for the military. Natasha Romanoff was currently undercover at Stark Industries, preparing to evaluate Tony for the Avengers Initiative.
He switched to internal SHIELD databases, carefully reviewing the original Marcus Reid's recent assignments. Most were exactly as he remembered, analysis of weapons trafficking patterns in Eastern Europe, correlation of enhanced individual sightings, assessment of potential threats to national security. Nothing that obviously explained why someone wanted him dead.
Unless the assassination attempt was not about what the original Marcus had discovered, but about what the new Marcus might discover with his knowledge of future events. That thought sent a chill down his spine. Could someone know what he was? Could there be others like him, other people from his original world who had found themselves in this reality?
The idea seemed far-fetched, but so did everything about his current situation. He made a mental note to watch for anyone else who displayed knowledge they should not possess or abilities that defied easy explanation.
A soft knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. "Agent Reid, this is Doctor Chen. I need to examine you following the incident in the medical bay. May I come in?"
Marcus closed the computer terminal and moved to the door, checking through the security peephole before responding. Doctor Chen stood in the hallway, flanked by two armed guards, carrying his medical bag. Marcus pressed the intercom button.
"Come in."
The door unlocked with a heavy magnetic clunk, and Doctor Chen entered alone while the guards remained outside. He set his bag on the desk and gestured for Marcus to sit on the bed.
"I need to check your injuries from the altercation," Doctor Chen explained, pulling on latex gloves. "You sustained significant trauma to your arm where the IV was removed, and there are bruises forming on your torso. I also want to ensure that the physical exertion has not caused any complications from your head injury."
Marcus submitted to the examination, holding still as Doctor Chen checked his pupils, his reflexes, and the various bruises already darkening on his skin. The doctor's touches were professional and impersonal, but Marcus noticed the way his eyes lingered on certain marks, particularly the ones on his hands where he had gripped the false nurse.
"You have unusual bruising patterns on your palms," Doctor Chen observed, his tone carefully neutral. "Almost as if you delivered a significant electrical shock to your attacker. Were there any exposed wires or electrical equipment that might have been involved in your struggle?"
Marcus's mind raced. Had the energy discharge left visible marks? He had not thought to check his own hands in the chaos after the attack. "I am not certain. Everything happened very quickly. I remember grabbing her arms and then she flew backward. Perhaps there was static discharge of some kind."
Doctor Chen made notes but did not press the issue further. He finished his examination and packed his equipment away with methodical precision. "You seem to be recovering well from the head trauma despite the additional stress. I am recommending continued observation for another forty-eight hours, but I see no reason why you cannot return to light duty after that, assuming the security situation is resolved."
After the doctor left, Marcus went into the bathroom and examined his hands under the bright lights. There were indeed marks on his palms, faint patterns that looked almost like lightning strikes, branching across his skin in delicate purple lines. They were already fading, barely visible unless someone knew to look for them, but they had definitely been more prominent immediately after the attack.
He would need to be more careful. The energy he wielded left traces, and people like Doctor Chen were trained to notice anomalies. If he wanted to keep his abilities secret, he would have to learn to use them in ways that left no evidence.
Marcus returned to the computer terminal and began a different kind of research. He pulled up files on enhanced individuals, reading reports about Hulk sightings and speculation about the source of his abilities. He reviewed classified documents about the super soldier serum that had created Captain America decades ago. He searched for any mention of energy manipulation or similar powers, trying to understand if his abilities might have precedent.
The search yielded interesting results. There were documented cases of individuals with unusual abilities throughout SHIELD's history, though most were classified at levels well above his current access. What he could read suggested that powered individuals were rare but not unheard of, and that SHIELD had protocols for dealing with them that ranged from recruitment to containment depending on the perceived threat level.
Marcus made careful notes, encrypting them in a personal file that required his biometric signature to access. He documented everything he had learned about his abilities so far, the purple energy, the enhancement of physical capabilities, the explosive discharge that had incapacitated his attacker. He needed to understand the rules governing his powers if he wanted to use them effectively.
Hours passed as he worked, the timeless quality of the windowless room making it difficult to track the passage of day into night. Finally, exhaustion caught up with him, the combination of his still-recovering body and the stress of the assassination attempt leaving him drained.
Marcus lay down on the bed but did not immediately try to sleep. Instead, he focused inward, trying to sense the energy that lurked somewhere inside him. He could feel it there, a reservoir of potential waiting to be tapped. It responded to his attention, flickering like a candle flame, but remained frustratingly difficult to grasp consciously.
He needed a teacher, someone who understood powers and how to control them. But who could he trust with his secret? Bruce Banner was still in hiding, and approaching him would be both difficult and potentially dangerous. Thor had not yet arrived on Earth, and even when he did, explaining the situation would be impossible. The Ancient One existed somewhere, training sorcerers in the mystic arts, but Marcus had no idea how to find the Sanctum Sanctorum or whether he would be welcome there.
For now, he would have to teach himself through trial and error, practicing in secret whenever he found privacy and opportunity. It was not ideal, but neither was anything about his current situation.
Marcus finally allowed himself to drift toward sleep, his mind still churning through plans and possibilities. He would need to be patient, to move carefully, to build trust and credibility within SHIELD while watching for any sign of HYDRA's influence. He would need to master his abilities without revealing them. And somehow, he would need to find a way to prevent the tragedies he knew were coming without explaining how he knew they would occur.
It was an impossible task. But he had been given this second chance for a reason, thrust into this world with knowledge that could save countless lives. He would not waste the opportunity, no matter how dangerous the path ahead might be.
Sleep took him eventually, pulling him down into dreams where purple energy danced between his fingers and the future spread before him like a map with too many possible roads.
Marcus woke to the sound of his door's electronic lock disengaging. He was instantly alert, his body tensing as he prepared for another attack. But the figure who entered was familiar, even in the dim light filtering through from the hallway.
Nick Fury stepped into the room, his long coat swirling around him, his single eye fixing on Marcus with an intensity that seemed to pierce straight through to his soul.
"Agent Reid, we need to talk about what really happened last night, because the story you told Coulson has more holes in it than Swiss cheese. And I don't like being lied to in my own house."
I have rewritten Chapter 1 and Chapter 2.