Chapter 8: Initial Training and Covert Operations
"Alright, team, listen up! Or, as I like to call you, 'The Nerds of Destiny.' Our first order of business: not getting caught by S.H.I.E.L.D. Because apparently, Fury has a personal vendetta against anyone who can punch the Hulk and then vanish. It's less about national security and more about his ego, I think. But hey, job security for us, right?" Adam stood in the center of his makeshift base, a whiteboard behind him covered in hastily drawn diagrams and cryptic notes about Yelena's last known canon whereabouts.
Fitz, looking slightly rumpled, adjusted his glasses. "Adam, with all due respect, 'Nerds of Destiny' is hardly a professional designation. And our current operational security is… rudimentary, at best. We need proper protocols, secure comms, a more robust firewall. And perhaps a less… exposed location."
Simmons nodded. "Indeed. Our current situation is highly precarious. Director Fury is not known for his patience with unknowns. And frankly, your vanishing act, while impressive, leaves us with considerable… logistical challenges."
Adam just waved a hand dismissively. "Details, details. We'll get to the secure comms. First, we train. You two are brilliant, no doubt. But you're used to labs and data, not dodging bullets and disappearing into thin air. Luckily, I'm a master of all trades, thanks to my handy-dandy System."
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: TRAINING PROTOCOL INITIATED. ADAPTIVE BODY OPTIMIZING FOR INSTRUCTIONAL EFFICIENCY. TARGETS 'LEO FITZ' AND 'JEMMA SIMMONS' LEARNING CURVE ACCELERATED.]
"Alright, first lesson: stealth. Fitz, try to walk across the room without sounding like an elephant tap-dancing in clogs." Adam demonstrated, moving with an almost unnatural silence, his feet barely disturbing the dust on the concrete floor. He was a whisper, a shadow. Fitz tried, and promptly tripped over an imaginary obstacle, sending a stack of old files clattering.
"Oh, for the love of… Fitz, it's a flat floor! How do you even do that?" Adam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Simmons, you try. Just… don't break anything." Simmons, with more grace than Fitz, managed a slightly less clumsy shuffle, but still sounded like a normal human walking.
Adam spent hours, patiently (or impatiently sarcastic, depending on his mood) drilling them. He'd demonstrate a complex parkour move, effortlessly scaling a wall, then watch them struggle. "No, no, Fitz, use your core! Pretend that wall is a particularly stubborn equation you need to solve with your entire body!" He'd show Simmons a precise disarming technique, his movements fluid and efficient, then watch her try to replicate it, her hands a little too hesitant. "Come on, Simmons, imagine that's a deadly pathogen, and you need to neutralize it with extreme prejudice!"
Despite the initial struggles, the System was right. Their learning curve was accelerated. Fitz, once he started thinking of movement in terms of vectors and force distribution, began to improve dramatically. Simmons, with her meticulous attention to detail, quickly honed her observational skills and precision. They weren't Black Widows, not yet, but they were adapting, becoming more aware, more capable.
"Okay, enough physical torture for one day," Adam finally declared, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. "Now, for the fun part: the hunt for Yelena. You two are my intel and tech arm. Your job is to sift through every piece of data, every whisper, every obscure record that might lead us to her. Think of it as the ultimate scavenger hunt, with a sarcastic prize at the end."
They spent days hunched over the salvaged computers, Fitz's fingers flying across the keyboard, Simmons meticulously cross-referencing databases. They used their S.H.I.E.L.D. access, carefully masking their digital footprints, creating layers of proxies and encrypted tunnels. Adam fed them fragmented pieces of his meta-knowledge – vague locations, specific timeframes, known aliases Yelena might have used in her pre-Black Widow movie days. He knew she was out there, a ghost in her own right, but they needed to find the faintest echo.
"Adam, I've found a series of financial transactions, highly encrypted, linked to a defunct shell corporation in Budapest," Fitz announced one evening, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "The patterns suggest… a highly skilled operative. And the dates align with your… 'historical' data."
"Budapest, huh? Always Budapest," Adam muttered, a wry smile on his face. "Good work, Fitz. Simmons, anything on the Red Room's old network? Any whispers of a rogue agent, a 'little sister' who went off-grid?"
Simmons tapped her chin. "There are fragmented reports, whispers of a 'White Widow' operating independently, but the data is heavily corrupted. It's like someone deliberately scrubbed the records. But I'm piecing together a timeline. Her movements suggest a period of… intense psychological re-evaluation. Perhaps a break from conditioning?"
Adam's heart gave a little lurch. Saving her memory. That was part of his promise. It wasn't just about finding her; it was about helping her heal. He knew the trauma she carried, the conditioning, the pain. He could help her with that. He would help her with that. The System was already suggesting protocols for psychological adaptation, for understanding and countering mind-altering techniques. He pushed the thought aside for now. One step at a time. First, find her. Then, fix her.
Their first covert mission was a test of their new skills. Infiltrating a seemingly abandoned safe house in upstate New York, believed to be an old Red Room contact point. Adam moved like a phantom, guiding Fitz and Simmons through the shadows. Fitz, surprisingly agile now, bypassed the laser grids with a series of precise, almost balletic movements. Simmons, her senses heightened, detected a hidden pressure plate just before Adam stepped on it.
"Nice one, Simmons," Adam whispered, a genuine note of pride in his voice. "See? Not just for dissecting alien goo."
Inside, they found nothing but dust and old memories. Another dead end for Yelena. But the mission was a success. They worked as a unit, a nascent team, moving with a synchronized efficiency that belied their short time together. The banter was there, the frustration, the occasional moment of genuine fear, but underlying it all was a growing trust. Adam saw it in their eyes, the quiet respect, the dawning realization that this crazy, meta-knowing guy was actually leading them somewhere important. And they were following.