Chapter 4: Haven's Arsenal
The morning sun, a perfect disc in the artificial sky, beat down on the training grounds with a ferocity that made the air shimmer. The smell of sweat and dust was thick, a visceral testament to effort and pain. John Nolan, a man used to the familiar ache of a long day in a garage, was now discovering a whole new world of physical agony. His body, once lean from his trade, was now a canvas of aches and bruises.
His trainer was a man named Ben, a former S.H.I.E.L.D. operative from a destroyed timeline. Ben was lean, wiry, and utterly relentless. He had the hard, cynical eyes of a man who had seen too much, and his movements were a fluid, lethal dance. He was pushing John far past his physical limits.
"Come on, Nolan!" Ben's voice was a harsh rasp, his fists a blur as he pummeled a training pad. "You're fighting a cosmic threat, not a leaky carburetor! You want to be a hero? You gotta earn it!"
John grunted, his arms burning with fatigue, his lungs screaming for air. He threw a sloppy jab, and Ben's fist, a blur of motion, smacked him on the shoulder.
"Too slow! You're thinking about it!"
''Oh, I'm thinking about it. I'm thinking about how much my arm hurts. I'm thinking about how much my shoulder hurts. I'm thinking about how much every single part of my body hurts. And I'm thinking I'd kill for a bottle of ibuprofen right now.''
John's resolve, however, was as stubborn as his old, rusted Ford. He pushed through the pain, fueled by the memory of the Chitauri scout, by the faces of the people he was sworn to protect. He dodged a low kick, his body moving with a surprising fluidity. Ben's eyes widened a fraction.
"Better," he said, a note of grudging approval in his voice.
The training was brutal, a symphony of grunts, strained muscles, and the harsh impact of fist on pad. John learned to move with purpose, to anticipate a blow, and to trust his instincts. He was a student, and Ben was an unyielding, unforgiving teacher.
They sat in the shade of a training tent, a small breeze bringing the scent of the nearby gardens. Ben's face, etched with a thousand scars both physical and emotional, was a study in somber reflection.
"You know, I was with S.H.I.E.L.D.," Ben said, his voice quiet. "I was on the strike team that was supposed to get the Tesseract. We failed. Our whole team. We were… erased. That's why I ended up here. I couldn't save them."
John saw the pain in his eyes. It was a familiar look, one he had seen on the faces of countless refugees. A quiet, haunting grief for a world and a life that was gone.
"And you?" Ben asked, his gaze direct. "What about you, Nolan? What did you fail to save?"
"I wasn't a soldier," John said honestly. "I was a mechanic. I wasn't trying to save anyone. I was just… trying to get by. But I was from a world that was destined to fail. I just didn't know it. The Snap… It would have happened. People would have died. People I couldn't save. I guess I'm here because I get a second chance to save them."
Ben nodded, a faint, understanding smile on his face. "Then we'll make you a soldier. This place… it's a good thing. It's worth fighting for. And you're a good man, Nolan. One of the good ones. We'll make sure you can protect them."
The quiet conversation, a fragile truce of shared grief and mutual trust, was more effective than any sparring match. It wasn't just about fighting anymore. It was about purpose. It was about becoming the man the city needed him to be.
Peggy Carter stood at the edge of the training grounds, her back to the rising sun, watching the brutal sparring session. She saw John's determination, his willingness to push past his limits. She saw a flicker of something familiar in his eyes, a glint of the same quiet heroism she had seen in another man, a man who had jumped on a fake grenade just to save a few soldiers.
''He's not Steve. But he has his heart. That's what's important. The world is full of brutes. It's the men with good hearts who win the war. Or at least… they're the ones worth fighting for.''
Peggy's internal monologue was a mix of nostalgia and bittersweet sorrow. She remembered Steve, a skinny kid from Brooklyn who refused to back down. She remembered their last dance, a promise she had never gotten to fulfill. Her hand went to the cold metal of the railing she was leaning on. The distant shouts from the training grounds were muffled by the wind. She wasn't just here to oversee the training. She was here to find a new purpose.
She had lost one hero, but she had found another. And this time, she would make sure he was ready.
The training progressed from physical combat to the use of John's copied skills. He tried to use his newly copied telekinetic push, a skill he had from a refugee with a background in advanced physics. He focused, his mind a quiet hum of concentration. The air around his hand rippled, and a small, localized energy fluctuation occurred, but the push itself was pathetically weak. He felt a sudden, familiar rush of cold, like a mentholated burn, but it was weak and short-lived. He couldn't even push a small rock.
"What's wrong?" Ben asked, his eyes narrowing.
John tried again, grunting in frustration. Nothing. The skill was gone. He looked at the system interface, a knot of panic forming in his stomach.
** "Oh, that's just great," John muttered, a wave of frustration washing over him. "I have to practice them? I can't just use them as a get-out-of-jail-free card?"
The revelation hit him like a physical blow. His powers were on a timer. His skills weren't a permanent arsenal, but a temporary tool. He was the one who had to put in the work. He was the one who had to earn the mastery.
John's frustration turned to resolve. This was a challenge he could understand. It was like fixing a car engine. You had to put in the work to get the results. There was no easy way out.
John, Ben, and Peggy sat in a medical bay, the air smelling of antiseptic and sterilized equipment. The humming of the medical machines was a constant drone. They were discussing the revelation of skill degradation, a new and dangerous complication.
"So, you're saying you can't just copy a skill and have it forever?" Peggy asked, her brow furrowed in concentration.
"That's what Celeste says," John said, gesturing to the empty air in front of him. "I have to use them. Practice them. Just like any other skill. It's not a cheat code. It's… a blueprint. I have to build the engine myself."
"Then we must integrate training into Haven's routine," Ben said, his voice pragmatic and determined. "We'll need more people. More trainers. We'll need to build a training facility."
"This just got a lot more complicated," Peggy said, a faint smile on her lips. "Good. We like complicated."
John, now energized by a new problem to solve, looked at his System interface. He had earned enough SP for a new skill. He had an idea. He looked at a doctor in the medical bay, a kindly woman with a confident, reassuring aura.
The power was a soft, warm flow, a different kind of energy from the kinetic shield and the electrical manipulation. It was a power of life and restoration.
"What's the plan, boss?" Ben asked, a note of playful sarcasm in his voice.
"The plan," John said, a determined glint in his eye, "is that we're going to get stronger. And we're going to do it together."
John chuckled. "Too right," he said. He looked at Ben and Peggy, at the doctors and the engineers and the soldiers. He wasn't just a City Lord. He was a leader. He was the founder of a family. And he was going to make sure his family was safe. The training was a beginning, not an end. There was a long road ahead, a world of threats waiting just outside their pocket dimension. And John Nolan, the mechanic, would be ready for them.
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