Marcus Reid opened his eyes to see an unfamiliar ceiling. Above him, white acoustic tiles were interspersed with fluorescent lights that gave everything a clinical appearance. Somewhere to his left, medical equipment beeped steadily. He could smell the sharp, clinical scent of recycled air conditioning and antiseptic in the air.
When he tried to sit up, his body did not respond properly. The movement felt foreign, as if he was wearing an ill-fitting suit. As he pushed himself upright, his hands appeared in his vision, younger and free of the scars and calluses he remembered. The skin felt smooth, and the fingers were longer than they should have been.
Panic surged through his chest, like ice water flooding his lungs.
"Please lie back down, Agent Reid." A nurse appeared at his bedside, her expression both professional and concerned. She wore navy blue scrubs with a logo he recognized right away, but the recognition sent another wave of disorientation through him. Her shoulder patch displayed the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division's eagle symbol.
SHIELD.
"Where am I?" His voice appeared rough and unfamiliar. Even the sound was off, deeper than he remembered, and with an accent that belonged to someone else entirely.
"You are currently in the medical bay at the Triskelion in Washington, DC." The nurse checked the monitors beside his bed and took notes on a tablet. "You've been unconscious for three days since your training accident. "Can you remember what happened?"
Memories flooded his mind in two separate streams, colliding and overlapping like competing radio signals. One stream showed him a life he had never known, Marcus Jonathan Reid, born in Boston in 1982, an MIT graduate who was recruited by SHIELD at the age of twenty-five and served three years as a Level Four surveillance agent. The other stream contained his true memories, or what he believed were true, a different life, a different world that ended abruptly.
He remembered his death. The sensation remained vivid and terrible, imprinted permanently on whatever he was now. Then there was nothing. Then this happens.
He had to say something, so he lied and said, "I remember." The memories of this body's life were there in his mind, accessible if he reached for them like files in a cabinet he had never opened before.
The training mishap. Something went wrong during a combat drill. An electrical discharge from a damaged equipment panel. Cardiac arrest. He was clinically dead for three minutes before the medical team revived him. He spent three days in a coma as his brain recovered from oxygen deprivation.
Except that none of it was real. He had not experienced any of these events. He died in another world, in another life, and then awoke in this body, in this location, in this impossible situation.
"The doctor will want to examine you now that you are conscious." The nurse smiled with a practiced warmth. "I will inform him that you are conscious. "Try to relax until he arrives."
She left, her footsteps receding down a corridor Marcus had never walked but remembered perfectly. He knew the layout of this facility based on borrowed memories in his head. He also knew it from another source, knowledge that should not and could not exist.
He recognized this location because he had seen it in movies. In stories, in a fictional universe that appeared to be anything but fictional.
The Marvel cinematic universe. That was his current location. The realization sank into his bones with absolute certainty. January 2010, two years before the Chitauri invasion of New York, four years before Hydra was revealed, and eight years before Thanos snapped his fingers and erased half of all life in the universe.
Marcus swung his legs off the bed, disregarding the dizziness that accompanied the motion. His body felt strong despite being unconscious for three days. It was stronger than it should be. He stood carefully, testing his balance, and discovered it solid after the initial vertigo subsided.
He approached the small mirror mounted on the wall beside the sink. The face that returned his gaze was that of a stranger, several years younger than his own, with dark brown hair cut military-short and gray-blue eyes that stared at him with an intensity he did not recall having. A small scar marked his left brow, a reminder of a childhood accident that this body had survived.
This was Marcus Reid. Not him. But somehow also him now.
He splashed water on his face, the coolness shocking against his skin, grounding him in physical sensation just as his mind threatened to spiral into panic. Water ran down his jaw and dripped into the sink. He watched it swirl down the drain, attempting to make sense of the impossible.
Reincarnation. That was the only explanation that fit, no matter how absurd it sounded in the privacy of his mind. He had died in one world and awoke in another, inhabiting a body with its own history, identity, and place in a universe he knew from fiction.
But if he was truly present, everything he knew about the world could be useful. Every movie he'd seen, every plot point he remembered, and every tragedy he'd witnessed from the comfort of a theater seat, it was all real now. All of this was happening or would occur.
And he was inside it.
The implications caused his head to spin. To keep himself steady, he gripped the sink's edge and focused on the cold porcelain under his palms. He needed to think clearly, plan, and understand what he could and couldn't do with the knowledge he had.
But first, he needed to get to know himself. This body felt distinct in ways that went beyond simple unfamiliarity. There was something else, something he could feel at the edges of his awareness, like static electricity accumulating before a storm.
Marcus examined his hands. He concentrated, willing himself to experience whatever sensation it was. For a long time, nothing happened.
And suddenly…
The lamp by the bedside flickered. The light dimmed, brightened, and then dimmed again before stabilizing. Marcus breathed out slowly, his heart pounding in his chest. He had done that. He had somehow manipulated the electricity that flowed through the lamp.
He tried again, focusing on the small alarm clock on the table next to his bed. He could feel it now that he knew what to look for: energy coursing through the device, powering the digital display. He reached out with something other than his hand, a sense he had never had before, and touched the energy.
The display flashed through numbers that were too fast to read, scrolling through minutes and hours before he lost concentration. The clock was set to seven hours from now.
Marcus stared at the device, his thoughts racing with possibilities. Powers. This body, or his presence in it, or the act of crossing between worlds, had somehow bestowed upon him supernatural abilities. At the very least, he was manipulating energy, and there could be more that he wasn't aware of.
He returned to the bed and carefully sat down, observing his body's responses. He lifted the water pitcher from his bedside table with one hand. It was full, weighing about three pounds. He raised it with ease, far more so than three days of unconsciousness and muscle atrophy should have allowed.
Enhanced strength. He set down the pitcher and picked up a pencil, holding it loosely between his fingers. He focused again, searching for the strange new sensation. Energy flowed through the wood and graphite, minimal but noticeable. He gently pushed with his mind.
The pencil rolled across the table without his fingers contacting it.
Telekinesis? Or is it just very precise energy manipulation on the objects around him? He wasn't sure yet. He needed time to experiment and figure out the limits and capabilities of whatever had happened to him.
However, he might not have a lot of time. If he was truly in the MCU, then dangerous things were already happening. Hydra was currently infiltrating SHIELD. The Tesseract was being studied either in this building or in a nearby facility. Tony Stark was most likely recovering from his captivity in Afghanistan when he secretly created the first Iron Man suit.
Marcus Reid, a low-level SHIELD agent, had just awoken with knowledge that could change everything and powers he didn't understand.
The door finally opened. A middle-aged doctor entered, looking professional and reviewing information on a tablet as he approached. "Agent Reid, I'm glad you're awake and moving around. That is a very positive indication. "How are you doing?"
Marcus forced himself to respond normally, as if he were a recovering patient rather than a confused traveler from another reality. "I'm tired, but otherwise everything is fine. My head feels a little foggy, but I believe that is improving."
"It's understandable given what you've been through. We'll need to run some tests to ensure there's no long-term damage from the cardiac event and subsequent coma." The doctor pulled up a chair and sat down, examining Marcus with the care of a professional looking for warning signs. "Do you remember anything about the accident?"
"Yes." The lie came more easily this time, aided by borrowed memories that felt more like his own. "There was an equipment malfunction during the exercise. I remember being shocked, then nothing until I woke up here."
"You were very fortunate. A few more minutes without oxygen could have resulted in permanent brain damage." The doctor took notes on his tablet. "We'll want to monitor you for another 24 hours, but if your tests come back clean, I don't see why you can't be discharged tomorrow."
"Thank you, Doctor."
The examination proceeded methodically. The doctor tested his reflexes, pupil responses, and coordination. Marcus took each test with caution, knowing that any demonstration of his new abilities would prompt questions he couldn't answer. Whatever he had become needed to be kept secret until he could better understand it.
The doctor eventually left, satisfied with Marcus's condition. A nurse brought him lunch, which was bland cafeteria food that he ate without tasting. His mind was elsewhere, attempting to create a framework for comprehending his situation.
He became Marcus Reid, whether he liked it or not. This body, this life, and this identity were entirely his.
He had knowledge that no one else in the world possessed. He knew exactly what was going to happen. He was aware of the dangers, betrayals, and disasters that would occur over the next decade. And he possessed abilities that could allow him to change things, preventing some of those tragedies from occurring.
The weight of responsibility pressed down on him like a physical force. What amount of change should he make? How much could he change without causing further problems? The butterfly effect existed, and any action he took could have unpredictable consequences.
However, doing nothing felt equally impossible. How could he stand by and let people die when he had the knowledge and power to save them? How could he allow tragedies to occur when he knew they were coming?
He would need to be careful and subtle. He would need to establish trust and credibility within SHIELD before acting on his knowledge. And he'd have to keep his abilities hidden until he fully understood and controlled them.
Marcus stood and approached the window. The Triskelion stretched beneath him, a massive structure dedicated to protecting the world from both terrestrial and extraterrestrial threats. Nick Fury was somewhere in this building planning the Avengers Initiative. Hydra agents were making their way deeper into SHIELD's infrastructure somewhere nearby. Loki was planning his invasion of Earth from somewhere on the planet.
And Marcus Reid, newly awakened with impossible knowledge and unexplainable abilities, would have to navigate it all without revealing what he knew or could do.
The afternoon passed in a blur of medical tests and quiet contemplation. Marcus agreed to undergo brain scans and blood tests in the hopes of learning more about his altered state. However, the results were normal, or at least within reasonable bounds. Whatever had changed in him did not register with conventional medical equipment.
As evening fell, Marcus was transferred to a recovery room and informed that he would most likely be discharged the next morning. A nurse handed him a tablet containing messages from coworkers—brief well-wishes from people he knew but was not close to. Marcus read through them, taking in details about the life he had inherited.
Marcus Reid had been a good but not outstanding agent. He was competent, dependable, and unremarkable. He had no close family left after his parents died in a car accident six years ago. He maintained professional relationships with his coworkers but few genuine friendships. He was, in essence, the ideal blank slate for someone looking to create a new identity without contradicting an existing one.
Marcus set aside the tablet and returned to his bed, staring at the ceiling. He would leave the medical bay tomorrow and return to his apartment. He would resume his responsibilities as a SHIELD agent. He'd start the careful process of using his knowledge to change what he could while keeping the appearance of normalcy.
He was terrified. He was exhilarated. He was uncertain whether he was blessed or cursed by whatever force had brought him here.
Marcus closed his eyes and reached in, discovering a strange new sense that allowed him to detect energy around him. The electricity in the walls hummed with a frequency he could almost hear. The medical equipment beside his bed pulsed with its own rhythm. His own body contained currents and potentials that he was previously unaware of.
He was no longer the same, but had changed and improved. And he'd need every advantage he could get if he wanted to survive what was coming.
The nurse returned one last time to check on him before the night shift began. Marcus assured her that he was fine, that he would rest, and that he could call if he needed anything. She left him alone, dimming the lights and closing the door.
Marcus waited until he was confident that no one would disturb him. He then sat up and extended his hand towards the lamp across the room. He concentrated his will, intention, and newborn power on the device. The lamp responded; slowly rising into the air, hovering a foot above the table and glowing softly in the dim room.
He held it there for thirty seconds before exhaustion forced him to break his concentration. With a soft click, the lamp returned to its position on the table. Marcus lay back down, panting heavily from the exertion.
His abilities were real. They were growing. And with practice, training, and time, he may be able to use them to change the world.
Marcus relaxed his concentration. The lamp returned to normal intensity. He looked at his hands, feeling the energy that flowed beneath his skin like electricity through copper wire. The door opened. A nurse entered with discharge papers.
She approached the bed, smiling with professional warmth. "Agent Reid, the doctor has cleared you for release tomorrow morning. I just need you to sign these forms." She extended a clipboard toward him.
Marcus reached for it. As his fingers approached the metal clip, static electricity crackled visibly between his hand and the metal. A small blue spark jumped the gap, brighter than any normal static discharge should have been.
The nurse's eyes widened. Her smile wavered. She looked at his hand, then at his face, and back at his hand, where small flecks of purple energy flickered beneath the skin before fading away.