Two days passed.
You'd made it into a small town on the edge of the forest, stealing a hoodie and jeans from a thrift donation bin. You slept in abandoned barns and fed yourself with whatever change you could find—vending machines, leftovers, dumpsters.
But something kept changing.
The longer you stayed outside, the more sensitive you became to your environment. You could feel the subtle shift in air pressure before a car passed. You could mimic a bird's whistled call after hearing it once. You read a physics textbook cover-to-cover in a library in under two hours and understood it all.
Your brain didn't just copy. It adapted—to patterns, to rhythm, to rules. And every time you came into contact with a new skill or stimulus, your body adjusted.
You weren't human anymore.
You were something else.
It wasn't long before someone noticed.
You'd wandered into a rundown diner late at night. A TV above the counter played the news in the background, but your attention was on the man at the far table.
Military cut. Heavy boots. Scar across his left brow. He hadn't touched his coffee. He watched you like a hawk.
And he wasn't alone.
You spotted two others sitting near the door, and one across the street, barely visible through the blinds.
Trained. Coordinated. Familiar.
The agency had found you.
You reached into your pocket, fingers tightening around a butter knife. Useless? Maybe. But your body didn't care. Your mind was already mapping his angle, his stance, his breathing.
As he stood and approached, you shifted your weight instinctively—an echo of the guard whose fighting form you copied two days ago.
"You're a hard man to find," he said evenly.
You said nothing.
"We're not with the ones who made you," he continued. "I work for a group that monitors individuals like you. Enhanced."
You narrowed your eyes. "You're with S.H.I.E.L.D.?"
He paused—surprised.
"No. They're gone. I'm with what's left."
He pulled a small device from his coat and tapped the screen. A holographic projection shimmered in front of you—your image, taken from the lab security footage. Then overlays of your bio-data, followed by words that chilled you:
"Project Repeater: Objective—Weaponized Adaptation."
"They want you back," he said. "But we're offering you a choice. Come with us. Learn to control it. Or keep running—until someone less friendly catches you."
You clenched your jaw. "And why would I trust you?"
He smiled. "You don't have to. But I think you want answers. And we have a few."
You scanned the room again. The other agents weren't moving. No weapons drawn.
Yet.
You nodded slowly. "Fine. But if you try anything—"
He cut you off. "If we try anything, you'll copy us, adapt, and escape again. Yeah, we figured. That's why I didn't bring tranqs."
He reached into his pocket and tossed you a small badge. An eagle motif overlaid with a phoenix.
Not S.H.I.E.L.D.
Not HYDRA.
Something new.
Something watching from the ashes.