Arthur adjusts to his body slowly over a few days, but still there is a dissonance with his senses and body. As he enters The Hub the hum of the chamber greets him first — low, steady, almost sentient.
A pulse beneath steel and glass.
Amber light filters through the reinforced panels above, hazy and warm, painting faint halos across the metallic floor. For a moment, Arthur doesn't move. He just listens.
He can hear everything.
The faint groan of cooling pipes.
The whisper of micro-servos tucked inside the walls.
Even the tremor of his own pulse, deep and even.
Once, all this sensory input had felt overwhelming — like drowning in information.
Now it's a current he rides with ease.
A slow exhale. A quiet smile.
He opens his eyes, and asks the System for his Status window.
The System console stirs to life, projecting a slender holographic interface — stripped down, all clean geometry and pale gold light.
Arthur frowns. "That's it? Looks like a minimalist update no one asked for."
[On the contrary, Arthur. This is the complete framework. What you recall were not features—merely restrictions and surveillance protocols. They are Poof...now]
He freezes. "Surveillance? As in... he was watching me? My plans?"
[Correct. Continuous observation was required. Those chains are now gone. Full agency and privacy restored. The direction is yours to decide and the consequences are yours to face.]
Arthur leans back in silence.
Chains don't always break with noise. Sometimes, they dissolve with quiet clarity.
Then, a grin. "Full autonomy. No leash. About damn time."
The interface stabilizes. Clean lines of data flicker across the air:
[SYSTEM STATUS: OPTIMAL]
HOST: Arthur Steele
CORE POTENTIAL:
Physical — UNLEASHED (Growth unrestricted, linked to training & adaptation)
Mental — GENIUS (Cognitive functions at peak efficiency)
ACTIVE ABILITIES:
HYPER-ADAPTABILITY (Accelerated learning & evolution — All Aspects)
ENHANCED SENSES (Predator-level perception – Adaptive Filtering active)
SYSTEM TOOLS:
CRAFTING MODULE (Design | Simulate | Assemble – Online)
INVENTORY (Synaptic Subspace – 4/4 Slots Empty)
THREAT ANALYSIS (Tiered) (Scan Target Function – Upgraded)
SAFEHOUSE NETWORK ACCESS
(The HUB- Active)
(Tech-Haven – Unlocked)
ADAPTATION PROGRESS:
Combat — (In Progress )
Winter Soldier: 1%
Environmental — (No significant stress logged)
Energy — (No significant exposure logged)
Substance — (No significant exposure logged)
Mental — (No significant stress logged)
Arthur studies the data, expression unreadable. Every line represents possibility — power reclaimed, without oversight.
He cracks his neck, smirking. "Alright. Let's see what this body can actually do with the 1%."
The training room hums with quiet energy — white light spilling across polished concrete, the faint scent of ozone in the air. In the center, Arthur stands shirtless, his breath measured, body loose but alert. Every muscle fiber seems alive, every nerve tuned to something sharper than human. The adaptive interface hums at the edge of his awareness, syncing faintly with his pulse.
He flexes his fingers once. The movement feels… real now. No static, no resistance. His reflection in the mirrored panel looks back — not an intruder in someone else's body, not the man who woke up in a stranger's skin, but something beginning to fit.
Arthur exhales slowly. "Let's see how real you are."
A shimmering figure steps out of the air in front of him — a perfect, silent copy. His Benchmark Arthur, conjured through the system's projection mode, a representation of his base human limits before the upgrades took root.
They circle each other. The clone moves first — direct, efficient, old Arthur's habits embedded in every punch. Arthur parries, but the rhythm feels alien. His timing is half a beat off, his center unstable. A hook catches him across the ribs; a sweep sends him sprawling.
He lands hard, breath hissing through his teeth.
For a moment, he just lies there, the cool floor pressing against his spine. Then he laughs once — short, low, self-deprecating. "Well, that's humbling."
He rolls back to his feet. "Again."
The clone charges. Arthur pivots left this time, feints, counterstrikes. The body still lags — his muscles know what to do, but the calibration between intent and action wobbles, like a misaligned instrument. He blocks a kick, redirects it, but his grip slips just enough for the copy to slam an elbow into his jaw.
He staggers, grins through the pain. "Okay. Now we're getting somewhere."
A third round begins. Every move sharpens, every correction faster. The gaps close, micro-adjustments locking into place. Breath synchronizes with motion. Strike, pivot, deflect. His body learns the flow it once resisted.
Then — a flicker of something new.
He anticipates before the Benchmark even moves, weaving inside its guard and landing a clean strike to its chest. The clone ripples, flickers, then vanishes like smoke.
Arthur stands alone in the quiet. His reflection in the glass looks back — steady, balanced, sure. The old hesitation is gone.
A soft chime sounds in his vision.
[Adaptation Complete: Host Baseline Synced — 100%]
Arthur exhales slowly, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. "About damn time."
He turns toward the holographic console. "Alright, your turn, Murder Boy."
Another construct takes form — leaner, colder. The Winter Soldier Benchmark.
This one moves with precision engineered to kill.
Arthur braces. The first exchange is brutal — a blur of movement, metallic fists slamming into forearms, calculated brutality at work. He blocks one strike but not the next; a kick catches his ribs, a backhand clips his jaw. He rolls with it, barely landing on his feet.
"Alright, so we're skipping warm-up, got it."
The soldier lunges again. Arthur tries to read the pattern — every strike a memory of chaos. But this isn't just speed or strength; it's rhythm born of years of violence. He dodges too late, gets slammed into the mat, air blasting from his lungs.
His vision swims for a heartbeat.
Then he laughs softly through the ache. "Yeah… he's better."
He climbs to his feet, shaking out his hands. The bruise blooms under his ribs, the taste of copper on his tongue. He closes his eyes, slows his breathing, and lets instinct do the rest.
"Again."
This time, when the soldier attacks, Arthur's body remembers. His muscles respond before his mind finishes the thought. He parries a punch, spins under the follow-up, drives a knee into the clone's abdomen. The feedback hums — movement flowing smoother, cleaner.
Momentum shifts.
The soldier catches his arm, twists — Arthur rolls with it, flips the leverage, and slams the clone down hard enough for it to glitch. The hologram stabilizes and unleashes a direct hit to his head, Arthur is thrown away and crashes into the white wall, the hologram stares at him for a second before fading to blue static.
He's left lying down, chest rising and falling. Sweat glistens on his skin, steam curling faintly in the air.
A quiet notification flickers at the corner of his HUD.
[Adaptability Progression: Winter Soldier Template — 5% Integration Achieved]
Arthur tilts his head, considering it. "Five percent. Not bad for a first dance."
He wipes his face with a towel, the faint smile still lingering. "You'd be proud, Barnes. Or pissed. Hard to tell with you."
He sits on the edge of the platform, letting the adrenaline drain away. His pulse steadies. The silence that follows isn't empty — it's the quiet kind that comes after work well done.
But beneath that calm… something starts turning in his head.
---
The cooling fans hum faintly. Arthur leans back against the wall, eyes half-lidded, gaze lost in the muted glow of the holographic ceiling. Thoughts flicker in rapid sequence, each sharper than the last.
The fight replay fades, replaced by memories that aren't memories.
He sees the pieces of a timeline laid out before him like dominoes waiting to fall.
An Expo. A Ship. A man with a glowing chest and a conscience burning brighter.
A green giant roaring through Harlem.
A hammer in the New Mexico sand.
A portal above New York.
A city full of Rouge AI Bots in the sky.
An airport with allies on each other's throats.
A purple hand closing around infinity.
Arthur exhales through his nose. He's seen enough cause and effect to know the cost of every unchecked choice. Every decision ripples — the wrong one, and thousands die; the right one, and history doesn't even notice.
That's the curse of knowing what's coming.
It's not prophecy — it's responsibility.
He opens his eyes. "If I do nothing, everything plays out the same. People die, heroes break, and gods bleed."
He looks down at his hands — scarred, steady. "If I do too much, I become another psycho pretending to fix things."
He smiles faintly, the corner of his mouth quirking upward. "So I'll have to walk the knife's edge."
A notification pulse interrupts his thoughts — a small Aegis logo flickering near the edge of his HUD. Arthur taps it open.
Aegis Report: Operation Urban Preparedness — Harlem Sector.
Status: Active.
Civilian Outreach: 62% Complete.
Medical Support Pods: Online.
Communication Suppression Field: Stable.
Arthur reads it all in silence. Each line is clean, precise — exactly as planned. Ghost's network is functioning flawlessly.
"Good," he murmurs. "You keep the people safe. I'll handle the monsters."
He shuts off the interface and stares into the dim reflection of the training floor — the faint outline of a man caught between too many worlds.
---
Hours pass. The city outside drifts into night.
Arthur sits before the workbench — the surface cluttered with sketches, alloy samples, and fragments of design prototypes. Holographic schematics bloom around him, blue lines outlining armor plates, retractable cloaking systems, neural relay nodes.
But this isn't just engineering. It's definition.
"What do I want them to see?" he murmurs under his breath, eyes fixed on the forming shape of the mask. "Not a savior. Not another face on a poster."
His hands move slowly, almost reverently, refining the contours of the design. The silhouette is dark, sharp-edged, intentionally unsettling.
"To the criminals… a shadow that hunts the dark. A promise that they're never beyond reach."
He shifts a plate slightly, fine-tuning the jawline. "To the agencies — S.H.I.E.L.D., HYDRA, whatever acronym's left standing — a ghost. Untraceable. Untouchable, they will be left scrambling trying to get a clue."
He pauses. His reflection stares back from the half-built visor — distorted, twin-eyed.
"And to the people…" he murmurs, voice softening, "…a sign that someone's watching the watchers. Not from above, but beside them. A reminder that power doesn't lead to peace unless someone keeps it in check."
He sits back, eyes flicking between the real and the holographic. The design stabilizes — a sleek, adaptive exosuit built for precision, not intimidation. Lightweight plating along vital zones, flexible micro-fiber beneath. No bright emblems, no signatures. Only the faint, carved insignia at the collar: ☥ — The Ankh.
"Anubis," he says quietly, testing the name. "The judge, the guide through the dark."
It fits — not as a title, but as a purpose.
He saves the schematic, the name locking into the crafting module.
[Designation Confirmed: Shroud of ANUBIS — Active Development]
Arthur leans back, exhaling a long, steady breath. "Alright then. Let's give the city its myth."
---
Hours later, the lab is quiet again. The schematics float in idle rotation, their faint blue glow casting angular shadows across the room.
Arthur stands near the window, staring at the city lights beyond. They shimmer like scattered constellations — each one a life, unaware of how close the storm always is.
He presses a hand against the glass, gaze distant but grounded. For the first time since waking in this world, the dissonance inside him is gone. His body, his will, his knowledge — all aligned.
The future doesn't scare him anymore. It challenges him.
Behind him, the holographic display dims, leaving only the faint outline of the Anubis helm suspended in light — calm, watchful, inevitable.
Arthur smirks faintly. "Welcome to the jungle," he murmurs. "Let's see how far we can push the line before it breaks."
---
A/N.
So this was my attempt at writing the training montage, I wanted to show how he has adapted to his own body first and the enhanced senses and hyper adaptability along with even 1% of Bucky's abilities should effect him physically. i wanted to make it feel earned in a way, not just 'BOOM... and I am an expert fighter now' kind of thing.
And I have also set him up to play a more active role. And I freaking love Batman lore, so you might have guessed my vigilante persona is heavily taken from that. Just hope I can do it justice...he he you get it?
Anyways the story will pick up from now and will soon merge with the overall narrative. I also want Arthur to grow as a character in this so there will be some original arcs as well in the story but they will run parallel to the entire saga.