I didn't sleep Friday night.
Not because I was traumatized—okay, I was definitely traumatized—but because I was too busy googling "what does SHIELD do to people with powers" at 3 AM like that was going to help.
Spoiler: It did not help.
The search results were a mix of official press releases ("SHIELD protects humanity from enhanced threats!") and conspiracy theory forums ("SHIELD DISSECTS MUTANTS IN SECRET LABS WAKE UP SHEEPLE").
Neither option was comforting.
"Maybe they just want to talk," I said to my laptop screen at 4 AM. "Maybe they're nice. Maybe they'll give me a pamphlet about responsible power usage and send me home."
My laptop screen, being an inanimate object, did not reassure me.
At 5 AM I gave up on sleep entirely and took a shower.
At 6 AM I made coffee I was too anxious to drink.
At 7 AM I changed outfits three times before settling on "harmless IT guy" (khakis, button-down shirt, the kind of outfit that screams "please don't arrest me").
At 7:30 AM I left my apartment because sitting there was making my anxiety worse.
At 8:45 AM I arrived at the address Hill had sent me.
It was an unmarked office building in Manhattan that looked aggressively normal. Like, suspiciously normal. The kind of normal that was definitely hiding something.
"This is fine," I muttered, walking into the lobby. "Just a normal building. Normal Tuesday. Normal conversation with a government spy agency about my illegal respawn powers. Everything is fine."
The receptionist looked up. She had the kind of professional smile that suggested she could kill me with a stapler and file the paperwork without breaking stride.
"Name?"
"Carson Lynn. I have a—" I checked my phone. "—a meeting with Commander Hill?"
She typed something. "Twenty-third floor. Someone will meet you at the elevator."
The elevator ride felt like it lasted a thousand years.
When the doors opened, a man in a dark suit was waiting. He looked like he'd been grown in a vat labeled "Generic Government Agent #3."
"Mr. Lynn? This way, please."
He led me down a hallway of identical doors to a conference room.
Not an interrogation room, I told myself. Definitely not an interrogation room.
It was absolutely an interrogation room pretending to be a conference room.
"Someone will be with you shortly."
He left.
I sat down and tried not to panic.
The door opened ten minutes later.
A woman walked in—thirties, short dark hair, wearing a suit that somehow conveyed both "professional businesswoman" and "I could kill you seventeen different ways before you hit the ground."
She carried a tablet and moved like someone who'd spent time in the military.
"Mr. Lynn. Thank you for coming in." She sat across from me. "I'm Commander Maria Hill."
"Am I under arrest?"
"No. Should you be?"
"I don't think so? I haven't done anything illegal. I mean, I died in a dumpster, but I don't think that's against the law—"
"Mr. Lynn." She set the tablet on the table. "Let's skip the part where you pretend you don't know why you're here."
She tapped the screen.
Security footage appeared. The construction site. The container falling. A figure—me—being crushed.
Cut to: Emergency services arriving. Workers pointing at where my body should be.
No body.
"That's death number one," Hill said calmly, like we were discussing spreadsheets. "Would you like to see death number two?"
She didn't wait for an answer.
New footage. Grainy security camera from across the street. My apartment building. Someone—definitely me, unfortunately—climbing onto a balcony railing at 4:30 AM.
Jumping.
Different camera angle showing the alley below.
Empty.
"And death number three." She swiped again.
Deli security footage. Me behind the counter. Energy blast. My body dropping.
Then nothing.
She looked up at me.
"Three deaths in one week. Three disappearing bodies. Three incidents where forensics found nothing but witnesses insist they saw someone die." She leaned forward. "So. Carson. Want to explain?"
I swallowed hard. "I plead the Fifth?"
"This isn't a criminal investigation. Yet." She pulled up more files. "We also have your phone's location data. Cell tower pings. Credit card transactions. Three separate witness statements. Should I continue?"
"...No."
"Good." She closed the tablet. "Now. How does it work?"
I looked at the door. Looked at Hill. Looked at my options.
I had zero options.
"When I die," I said quietly, "I come back. Nearby. Somewhere random. Fully healed."
"How nearby?"
"I don't know exactly. Couple kilometers? It's random. Always somewhere enclosed and safe-ish. Like a closet or a building or..." I grimaced. "A dumpster, apparently."
"How long have you had this ability?"
"Since the container. Two weeks ago. Before that I was just a normal IT guy who'd never died even once, which I feel was a pretty good track record."
Hill made notes. "The ability manifested during a traumatic death?"
"I guess? I don't know the lore. I didn't get a manual. I just got crushed and then woke up in a creepy building like I'd hit a checkpoint in Dark Souls."
"Dark Souls?"
"Video game. You die a lot. Respawn at bonfires. It's—never mind, not important."
She studied me. "You jumped off your balcony deliberately. Why?"
"To test if it was real or if I was having a very elaborate mental breakdown." I slumped in my chair. "In hindsight, terrible idea. Dying hurts. A lot. Do not recommend."
"And the deli?"
"Wrong place, wrong time. I was literally just trying to get a sandwich. The energy weapon went off by accident and—" I gestured vaguely at myself. "—bam. Death number three. Respawned in a dumpster. Smelled like old Chinese food for hours."
Something that might have been amusement flickered across her face. "You're taking this surprisingly well."
"I'm really not. I'm having a continuous internal crisis. I'm just processing it through sarcasm and bad jokes because the alternative is screaming."
"Fair enough." She leaned back. "Here's the situation, Mr. Lynn. You're an enhanced individual with an ability that breaks fundamental rules of reality. That makes you SHIELD's concern."
"Am I in trouble?"
"That depends. Have you told anyone about your ability?"
"Who would I tell? 'Hey coworker Dave, fun fact, I can respawn?' He'd think I'm insane."
"Good. Keep it that way." She pulled up a new document. "You have two options. Option one: You register as a civilian enhanced individual. We assign you a case worker. Monthly check-ins. You report any use of your abilities. You live your life, we monitor from a distance."
"That sounds ominous."
"Option two is more ominous."
"How?"
"You work for us."
I stared at her. "Work for SHIELD? Doing what?"
"Your ability makes you useful for high-risk situations. Reconnaissance where others would die. Testing dangerous equipment. Rescue operations in lethal environments." She turned the tablet toward me. "In exchange: training, resources, legal protection, and competitive salary."
The salary number made my eyes water.
"That's more than I make in three years of IT work."
"Yes. Because the job involves dying repeatedly." She said it so matter-of-factly. "So. Which option sounds better? Civilian registration with periodic harassment, or employment with actual benefits?"
"...Can I think about it?"
"You have twenty-four hours." She stood. "But Mr. Lynn? Consider this. You're going to keep dying. This is New York. Enhanced incidents happen daily. You can die as a confused civilian being monitored by us, or you can die as a trained professional who knows what he's doing. Your choice."
She walked to the door, then paused.
"One more thing. Don't jump off any more buildings. It's suspicious."
"Noted."
She left.
I sat there alone, trying to process.
SHIELD wanted to employ me as their respawn guinea pig.
Or monitor me forever.
Those were my options.
"I need a lawyer," I said to the empty room.
I walked out of SHIELD headquarters in a daze.
My phone buzzed. Text from Dave: "Hey man, you coming in today? Client's asking about you."
I looked at the message. At the SHIELD building behind me. At my normal life that was definitely not normal anymore.
I typed back: "Not feeling great. Taking another day."
Then I googled "enhanced individual rights lawyer NYC."
First result: "Walters & Associates - Specializing in Superhuman Law."
I clicked through.
Jennifer Walters. Attorney at law. Multiple successful cases defending enhanced individuals against government overreach.
Her photo showed a woman who looked like she could argue with God and win.
The office was six blocks away.
"Fuck it," I muttered, and started walking.
WALTERS & ASSOCIATES was on the fourteenth floor of a building that looked professional but not intimidating.
The receptionist looked up when I walked in. Young guy, friendly face.
"Do you have an appointment?"
"No, but I—" I took a breath. "I'm an enhanced individual. SHIELD just gave me an ultimatum. I need help."
His expression shifted immediately. "Let me check if Ms. Walters is available."
He picked up the phone, spoke quietly, then hung up.
"She can see you now. Third door on the left."
I walked down the hallway on shaky legs.
Jennifer Walters was sitting behind her desk. She was tall—even sitting down I could tell she was probably over six feet. Sharp eyes that immediately assessed me like I was a case file.
"Mr...?"
"Lynn. Carson Lynn." I sat down in the chair across from her. "SHIELD knows about my power. They want me to either register or work for them. I don't know what to do."
"Tell me everything. Start from the beginning."
So I did.
I told her about the container. The respawn. The testing jump (she winced). The deli. The SHIELD interrogation. All of it.
She took notes, asking occasional questions, never once looking at me like I was crazy.
When I finished, she set down her pen.
"Okay. First—you did the right thing coming here before agreeing to anything."
"So I shouldn't work for them?"
"I didn't say that. I said you shouldn't make decisions under duress without representation." She pulled up a document. "SHIELD's standard contracts are notoriously one-sided. But we can negotiate. Get you better terms. Protections."
"You think I should take the job?"
"I think you should understand your options first." She turned her screen toward me. "I've worked with enhanced individuals before. SHIELD can be... intense. But they also have resources. Training. Legal protection from people who might want to exploit your ability."
"People like who?"
"Villain organizations. Rival agencies. Scientists who'd love to dissect you to understand how you work." She said it casually, like this was normal. "Your biggest protection right now is that most people don't know you exist. SHIELD can help keep it that way."
"While making me die for them."
"While giving you training so you die less." She leaned forward. "Carson, you're going to keep dying anyway. This is the Marvel Universe. The question is whether you want to do it with support or alone."
"Marvel Universe?"
"What?"
"You said Marvel Universe. That's what this is?"
She looked confused. "That's... what people call it sometimes. Because of all the... you know what, not important. Do you want my help or not?"
"Yes. God, yes. Please help me not get screwed over by a government spy agency."
She smiled. "That's what I'm here for. Now let's talk about what we're going to demand from SHIELD."