Location: The Bus - Over the Atlantic Ocean
Date: September 13, 2013
Time: 0323 Hours
Altitude: 42,000 feet
Antonio should have been sleeping.
They were four hours from the Hub, the 0-8-4 was secured in the lab under Fitz-Simmons' constant monitoring, and the adrenaline from Peru had long since faded. Everyone else had retired to their bunks—even May had put the Bus on autopilot to grab a few hours of rest.
But Antonio stood in the cargo bay, moving through combat forms in the dim emergency lighting.
Krav Maga. Systema. Jiu-Jitsu. The choreography of violence that had been beaten into him as a child, refined over decades into something approaching art. Each movement precise. Controlled. Normal human speed.
The grenade was sloppy, he thought, flowing from a strike into a defensive roll. Ward saw. He knows something's off.
Can't happen again.
He accelerated for exactly 0.3 seconds—just enough to complete a spinning kick at three times normal speed, then immediately returned to human velocity. The transition was seamless. Invisible to anyone watching.
If anyone had been watching.
"Can't sleep either?"
Antonio's hand was on his sidearm before conscious thought—pure reflex, pure training. He released it immediately when he recognized Skye standing near the cargo bay entrance, wearing an oversized S.H.I.E.L.D. hoodie and looking sheepish.
"Sorry," she said quickly. "Didn't mean to startle you. I heard someone moving around and thought maybe we were under attack or something."
"Just restless," Antonio said, forcing his heart rate to calm. "Peru was... intense."
"Yeah." Skye moved closer, wrapping her arms around herself. "I've never heard real gunfire before. I mean, I've heard it in movies, but that's different. The sound it makes when it's actually trying to kill people you know..."
She trailed off, looking younger than her twenty-something years.
Antonio grabbed a towel, wiping sweat from his face. "It doesn't get easier. But you learn to function through it."
"How long did it take you? To learn?"
Six years old, Antonio thought. First time they put a gun in my hand and told me to shoot or be shot.
"A while," he said instead. "Everyone processes differently. The fact that you're asking means you're already thinking about it the right way."
Skye nodded, then seemed to notice the cargo bay setup—practice mats, training equipment, heavy bag suspended from the ceiling. "Do you do this every night?"
"Most nights. Helps me think."
"Think about what?"
Who I am. What I'm doing. Whether twelve years of lies can be unmade. Whether I even want them to be.
"Work," Antonio said. "Keeping skills sharp. The usual."
Skye sat on one of the equipment crates, pulling her knees up. "Can I ask you something? And you can totally tell me to mind my own business."
"Go ahead."
"That thing with the grenade. Ward said you moved impossibly fast. Like, superhero fast."
Antonio's blood went cold, but his expression remained neutral. "Ward exaggerates. Adrenaline distorts perception. Everything happens fast in combat."
"I know, but—" Skye hesitated. "I saw the security footage. May's got cameras all over the exterior. I wasn't supposed to be looking, but I was worried about you guys, and I pulled up the feed, and..."
Damn it.
Antonio's mind raced through options. Deny? Deflect? Silence her? The last thought came automatically, trained response from another life, and he immediately crushed it. He wasn't that person anymore.
Was he?
"What did you see?" he asked quietly.
"You. Moving really, really fast. Like, the grenade was mid-air, and then you were just... there. And the way you threw it back, the distance..." Skye met his eyes. "I'm not an expert on human capabilities, but I know when something doesn't add up."
Antonio stood very still. This was the moment. The exposure he'd feared for twelve years. And it was happening because he'd saved two scientists from an explosive.
Because he'd chosen the team over the mission.
"Why are you telling me this?" he asked. "Why not go to Coulson?"
"Because I know what it's like to have secrets," Skye said softly. "To be something people wouldn't understand if they knew. I've been hiding who I am my whole life. I figured... maybe you were too."
Antonio studied her. Really looked at her. Saw past the hacker, the civilian consultant, the girl trying to prove herself. Saw someone who understood what it meant to live behind a mask.
He made a decision.
"The footage," he said. "Can you delete it?"
"Already did. The second I saw it. I figured if you wanted people to know, you'd tell them yourself."
Something in Antonio's chest loosened. "Thank you."
"So I'm right? You are... what, enhanced? Like Captain America?"
"Not like Captain America." Antonio sat on the crate next to her, maintaining careful distance. "It's complicated."
"I'm good with complicated."
"Skye—"
"You don't have to tell me," she said quickly. "I mean, I want you to trust me eventually, but I get it. We barely know each other. I just wanted you to know that your secret's safe. Whatever it is."
Antonio found himself smiling despite everything. "You're going to be good at this job. The observant ones usually are."
"Or the first ones to die in horror movies."
"This isn't a horror movie."
"Tell that to the glowing alien artifact currently sitting in our lab."
Fair point.
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment. Then Skye said, "Can I ask one more thing?"
"Sure."
"Did Ward see? What you did?"
"Probably."
"Is that going to be a problem?"
Antonio thought about Ward's suspicious stare, the careful way he'd asked about Prague, the recognition in his eyes when Antonio had deflected.
"Maybe," he admitted. "Ward's smart. Observant. If he thinks I'm hiding something that could compromise the team, he'll push."
"What will you tell him?"
"Whatever I have to." Antonio stood, rolling his shoulders. "Get some sleep, Skye. Tomorrow's going to be busy."
"Yeah. Okay." She hopped off the crate, then paused. "Hey, Antonio? For what it's worth? I'm glad you moved that fast. Fitz and Simmons are good people. They didn't deserve to die because of some stupid grenade."
"No one does."
After she left, Antonio stood alone in the cargo bay, listening to the Bus's engines, feeling the slight turbulence as they crossed weather patterns.
One person knew. One person had seen. One person had evidence, had deleted it, had chosen to protect him.
It should have felt like a threat.
Instead, it felt like trust.
And that was somehow more terrifying.
0847 Hours - Lab
"It's definitely Asgardian," Fitz announced, pulling up holographic displays of the 0-8-4's internal structure. "Or at least inspired by Asgardian technology. The energy matrix is similar to readings we got from the Destroyer in New Mexico."
Simmons nodded, adding her own analysis. "But the power source is unlike anything we've seen. It's not drawing energy from an external source—it's generating it internally through some kind of quantum fluctuation process."
The team had assembled in the lab after breakfast—Coulson, May, Ward, Antonio, and Skye. The 0-8-4 sat on the examination table, still glowing faintly, still humming with that rhythmic pulse.
"English translation?" Coulson asked.
"It's a battery," Fitz said. "A really, really powerful battery. Potentially infinite power generation."
"How powerful?" May asked.
"Well," Simmons hesitated. "If our calculations are correct, this device could power a city the size of London for approximately... fifty years. Continuously."
Silence.
"And we just have it sitting on a table in our lab," Ward said flatly.
"A very reinforced table," Fitz offered.
"That's not reassuring, Fitz."
Antonio moved closer to the 0-8-4, studying it with enhanced perception. The glow wasn't random—it pulsed in patterns, mathematical sequences that repeated every 3.7 seconds. And beneath the metal casing, he could sense movement. Energy flowing through channels, building, cycling, waiting.
"Has the power output increased since we extracted it?" he asked.
Fitz checked his instruments. "Actually, yes. Seventeen percent increase over the last four hours. It's accelerating."
"Why?" Coulson's tone sharpened.
"Unknown. It could be reacting to Earth's magnetic field, or atmospheric pressure differences, or—"
The 0-8-4's hum suddenly spiked in volume. The blue glow intensified, spreading across its surface like liquid light.
"Or it could be doing that," Simmons said, backing away quickly.
Antonio's enhanced perception caught the energy surge before the instruments did—saw the power building, the containment matrix straining, the inevitable conclusion rushing toward them at the speed of physics.
"Everyone out," he said calmly. "Now."
"We need to stabilize it first," Fitz protested. "If we can just—"
"No time. Move."
Coulson heard the certainty in Antonio's voice. "You heard him. Everyone to the cockpit. Now."
They evacuated quickly, professionally. Antonio was the last one out, pulling the lab door shut behind him. Through the reinforced glass, he watched the 0-8-4's glow reach critical intensity.
"May," Coulson said over comms. "Get us on the ground. Anywhere safe. We need to—"
The 0-8-4 exploded.
Not fire. Not shrapnel. Pure energy—a wave of blue-white force that blasted outward, shattering the lab's containment systems, ripping through bulkheads, and sending the Bus into an uncontrolled spin.
Antonio was thrown against the wall. Alarms screamed. The lights flickered and died, replaced by emergency reds. Somewhere, May was shouting coordinates. Fitz and Simmons were yelling about containment breach. Skye was screaming.
And through it all, Antonio felt the Bus falling.
Spiraling.
Dying.
He accelerated his perception, letting the world slow down around him. In this frozen moment, he could see everything—the team thrown against bulkheads, Coulson reaching for a handhold, Ward already moving to help, May fighting the controls in the cockpit.
And he could feel the Bus's trajectory. The angle of descent. The rate of spin. They had maybe ninety seconds before impact.
Not enough time for May to pull them out.
Not enough time for anything.
Unless.
Antonio moved.
At full speed, he was a blur even to himself. He raced to the cargo bay, grabbed emergency parachutes, distributed them to the team so fast that when time resumed, they'd appear to have materialized from nowhere. He reached the cockpit, saw the control panel, saw what needed to be done.
Saw that it was impossible at human speed.
But he wasn't human speed.
His hands flew over the controls, making micro-adjustments faster than the Bus's computer could register. Compensating for the spin. Redistributing power. Bleeding off velocity. Doing in seconds what would take minutes normally.
Doing the impossible.
The Bus shuddered. The spin slowed. The descent angle improved—not by much, but enough. Maybe enough.
Antonio released his acceleration and stumbled back from the controls as time snapped back to normal speed.
May was staring at him. "What did you—"
"Crash positions!" Antonio shouted. "Everyone brace!"
They hit.
Hard.
The Bus skidded across what felt like open terrain, tearing up earth, shedding parts, screaming metal protest. Antonio was thrown forward, his enhanced durability barely enough to prevent serious injury. Around him, the team was tossed like dolls in a box.
And then, finally, they stopped.
Silence. Broken only by settling metal and distant alarms.
Antonio lay on the cargo bay floor, tasting blood, his ribs aching from where he'd hit something solid. But alive. Moving. Functional.
"Sound off," Coulson's voice, strained but steady. "Everyone okay?"
One by one, the team responded. Bruised. Shaken. But alive.
"Fitz?"
"Here. I think I broke my arm."
"Simmons?"
"I'm okay. I'm with Fitz."
"Ward?"
"Functioning."
"Velaz?"
Antonio pulled himself to his feet, testing each limb. Everything hurt, but nothing was broken. Enhanced healing already starting to work.
"I'm good."
"May?"
Silence from the cockpit.
Antonio was moving before conscious thought, accelerating just enough to reach the cockpit in seconds instead of minutes. May was slumped in the pilot's chair, blood running from a cut on her forehead, unconscious but breathing.
"May's down," Antonio called back. "Head injury. She needs medical attention."
Simmons appeared beside him with surprising speed, medical kit in hand. "Let me see. Everyone else stay back."
While Simmons worked, Antonio checked the cockpit's instruments. They were on the ground. Location... uploading to GPS. Middle of nowhere, somewhere over... Ontario, Canada. They'd been blown severely off course.
And the Bus wasn't flying again anytime soon. Maybe ever.
Coulson appeared in the cockpit doorway, blood on his face from a dozen small cuts. "Sitrep?"
"We're alive," Antonio said. "That's the good news. Bad news is we're in Canada, the Bus is trashed, and we have no idea if that energy discharge attracted attention."
"It did." Ward's voice from behind them, tense. "I've got movement on thermal. Multiple contacts. Two kilometers out and closing."
"Hostiles?" Coulson asked.
"Unknown. But they're moving fast and coordinated. Probably heard the crash."
Coulson's jaw tightened. "All right. We secure the Bus, we protect the team, and we hold position until S.H.I.E.L.D. can extract us. Ward, Velaz—perimeter defense. Skye, help Fitz set up communications. We need to get word to—"
"AC," May's voice, weak but conscious. Simmons had gotten her stabilized. "The 0-8-4. Where is it?"
Everyone looked at each other.
"Still in the lab," Fitz said. "Or what's left of the lab."
"We need to secure it," May said, trying to stand. Simmons pushed her back down gently.
"You need to rest."
"The artifact—"
"I'll get it," Antonio said. "Ward, take perimeter. I'll handle the 0-8-4."
Ward looked like he wanted to argue, but Coulson nodded. "Go. Fast."
Antonio made his way through the damaged Bus to what remained of the lab. The explosion had torn through containment, shredded equipment, scattered debris everywhere. But the 0-8-4 itself sat in the center of the wreckage, intact, no longer glowing.
Dormant.
Antonio approached carefully, scanning for energy signatures. Nothing. The device had discharged its entire load in that explosion. It was inert now.
Safe.
Relatively.
He grabbed it, surprised by its weight—heavier than it looked. Asgardian construction, probably. He turned to carry it back to the team.
And found Grant Ward standing in the doorway, rifle in hand, eyes hard.
"Put it down," Ward said quietly.
Antonio didn't move. "Ward—"
"I said put it down."
"What's going on?"
"That's my question." Ward's finger wasn't on the trigger yet, but it was close. "I've been watching you, Velaz. Prague. Peru. That grenade. Just now, in the cockpit. You do things that aren't possible."
"Ward, this isn't the time—"
"Answer the question. What are you?"
Antonio stood very still, the 0-8-4 in his hands, Ward's weapon pointed at his chest, the rest of the team just meters away in the cargo bay.
This was the moment. The exposure. The end of twelve years of perfect cover.
Or the beginning of something he couldn't predict.
"I'm an agent," Antonio said carefully. "Just like you."
"Bullshit." Ward moved closer. "I've seen enhanced individuals. I know the signs. Whatever you are, you're not standard human."
"Does it matter?"
"It matters if you're a threat to this team."
"I saved this team," Antonio said, letting steel enter his voice. "In Peru. In the cockpit. I've done nothing but protect them since I joined."
"Or you've been positioning yourself. Gaining trust. Waiting for the right moment to strike." Ward's eyes were cold. Professional. "I've seen sleeper agents before. I know how they work."
The irony was almost painful.
"I'm not a sleeper agent," Antonio said. And technically, that was true. Hydra hadn't contacted him in seven years. He wasn't sleeping anymore. He was just... living.
"Prove it."
"How?"
"Tell me what you are. Tell me the truth."
Antonio calculated odds. Options. Consequences. Ward was smart, trained, suspicious. And right. Antonio was hiding something. Something significant.
But telling Ward meant telling everyone. Meant exposure. Meant questions about where the enhancement came from, how long he'd had it, what else he was hiding.
Meant the possibility of someone digging into his past and finding the hole where Antonio Velaz didn't exist before 2001.
"I can't," Antonio said finally.
"Then we have a problem."
"Ward—"
"Drop the artifact. Step away from it. Slowly."
Antonio's mind raced. He could disarm Ward in 0.4 seconds. Could incapacitate him without permanent harm. Could—
Could become exactly what Ward suspects I am.
He set the 0-8-4 down carefully. Raised his hands. "I'm not your enemy."
"That's what an enemy would say."
"Ward, I'm serious. We're on the same side. I'm not—"
"Ward! Velaz!" Coulson's voice, sharp with command. "What's going on in there?"
Ward didn't lower his weapon. Didn't take his eyes off Antonio.
"Having a conversation about trust," Ward called back.
Coulson appeared in the doorway, taking in the scene instantly—Ward's weapon, Antonio's raised hands, the tension thick enough to cut.
"Lower your weapon, Ward."
"Sir, I have reason to believe Agent Velaz is compromised."
"Based on what evidence?"
"Based on impossible reaction times, enhanced physical capabilities, and twelve years of a record that's too perfect." Ward's voice was hard. "He's hiding something. Something significant."
Coulson looked at Antonio. "Is he right?"
Antonio met his handler's eyes. Saw the man who'd died for his principles and been brought back. Saw someone who valued truth, who'd asked for honesty when it mattered.
Saw someone he wanted to be worthy of.
"Yes," Antonio said quietly. "I'm hiding something."
The admission hung in the air like smoke.
"Are you a threat to this team?" Coulson asked.
"No."
"Are you working for hostile forces?"
"No."
"Are you enhanced?"
Antonio hesitated, then: "Yes."
"How long have you been enhanced?"
"Since I was sixteen."
Coulson absorbed that. "And you've been hiding it your entire S.H.I.E.L.D. career?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Because the Red Skull told me to. Because I was a weapon. Because revealing myself would mean exposure, investigation, discovery of who I really am.
"Because I didn't want to be treated differently," Antonio said instead. "Didn't want to be seen as just a set of abilities instead of an agent. Didn't want to lose opportunities because people saw me as too valuable to risk or too dangerous to trust."
It wasn't the whole truth. But it wasn't entirely a lie either.
Coulson studied him for a long moment. Then he looked at Ward. "Lower your weapon."
"Sir—"
"That's an order, Agent Ward."
Ward hesitated, then complied. The rifle dropped to his side, but his posture remained combat-ready.
"Velaz," Coulson said. "We will discuss this. In detail. But right now, we have bigger problems. Ward says we have contacts approaching. We need to secure this location, protect the team, and survive until extraction. Can I count on you to do that?"
"Yes sir."
"Then let's move. Grab the 0-8-4. Let's get out of this deathtrap."
Antonio picked up the artifact, feeling Ward's eyes boring into his back. The secret was out—partially, at least. They knew he was enhanced. They didn't know how, or why, or what exactly he could do.
They didn't know about Hydra.
Yet.
But the foundation of his cover was cracking. And Antonio had no idea how to stop it from shattering completely.
1134 Hours - Bus Crash Site
The team formed a defensive perimeter using the Bus's wreckage for cover. May was on her feet despite Simmons' protests, rifle in hand, blood still seeping through the bandage on her forehead. Fitz had his broken arm in a makeshift sling but was working on getting long-range communications operational. Skye crouched behind an equipment crate, looking terrified but determined.
And Ward... Ward stayed close to Antonio. Watching. Waiting.
"Contacts at one kilometer," May said, scanning through rifle scope. "Six individuals. Military movement patterns."
"S.H.I.E.L.D.?" Coulson asked.
"No S.H.I.E.L.D. insignia. Civilian clothes. But definitely trained."
Antonio's enhanced vision could make out details even at this distance. The approaching figures moved with professional coordination. Weapons visible. No obvious hostile intent, but prepared for combat.
"Could be local authorities responding to the crash," Ward suggested.
"In the middle of nowhere Canada?" Simmons said. "What authorities?"
"The kind that investigate unexplained aircraft crashes on their soil," Coulson said. "Everyone stay calm. Let me do the talking."
The six figures approached slowly, weapons lowered but ready. As they got closer, Antonio recognized military bearing, tactical gear, and the careful way they were assessing the threat level.
Canadian Special Forces, probably. Or something similar.
Their leader—a woman in her forties with steel-gray eyes—stopped twenty meters out. "We received reports of an aircraft crash. Are there casualties?"
"Minor injuries," Coulson called back. "We're S.H.I.E.L.D. This is a secure operation. We appreciate your concern, but we have extraction en route."
"S.H.I.E.L.D.," the woman repeated. She didn't sound impressed. "Operating in Canadian airspace without notification. Crashing in our territory. Carrying what our sensors say is an alien artifact radiating enough energy to light up every detection grid in a hundred-kilometer radius."
"It's contained now," Coulson said. "And we do apologize for the lack of notification. Events moved quickly."
"I'm sure." The woman's eyes swept over the team, cataloguing each person, each weapon, each threat. When her gaze landed on Antonio, something shifted in her expression.
Recognition?
"You're carrying a potentially dangerous artifact through sovereign territory," she continued. "Under international agreement, we have authority to secure such items until proper verification can be established."
"With respect," Coulson said, his tone diplomatic but firm, "this artifact falls under S.H.I.E.L.D. jurisdiction. We're not authorized to transfer custody."
"Then we have a problem."
The tension ratcheted up. Antonio could see the calculations happening—six trained operatives versus a S.H.I.E.L.D. team with injured members and no aircraft. The odds weren't good for either side.
"There's no problem," Antonio said, stepping forward slightly. "We're all on the same side here. We're trying to keep dangerous technology out of the wrong hands. That's your mission too."
The woman's attention focused on him. "Agent...?"
"Velaz. And you are?"
"Captain Sarah Chen. Canadian Security Intelligence Service." She paused. "I know you."
Antonio's pulse didn't change, his expression didn't shift, but internally, alarms blared. "I don't think we've met."
"No. But I know your work. Prague. Cairo. Manila." Chen's eyes narrowed. "You have a reputation in certain circles. They call you the Phantom. The agent who ghosts through impossible situations and leaves no trace."
Damn it.
"That's flattering," Antonio said carefully, "but slightly exaggerated."
"Is it?" Chen moved closer, her team following in formation. "Because the way I heard it, you're one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s most effective operators. Some say enhanced. Is that true?"
Ward's hand drifted toward his sidearm. May's finger touched her trigger. The situation was seconds from going very bad.
"Captain Chen," Coulson interjected smoothly. "I think we can all agree that standing in a crash site pointing weapons at each other isn't productive. What if we worked together? You help us secure transport back to S.H.I.E.L.D. facilities, we share our data on the artifact. Everyone wins."
Chen considered this. "You'll share the data?"
"Redacted appropriately for security, but yes. You have my word."
"And the artifact remains in S.H.I.E.L.D. custody?"
"Non-negotiable."
Chen looked at her team, some unspoken communication passing between them. Then she nodded. "All right. We'll escort you to the nearest secure facility. But Agent Velaz stays with me. I have questions about Prague."
"That's not—" Ward started.
"Acceptable," Chen finished. "Those are my terms. Take them or we secure this site by force and you explain to your superiors how you lost an alien artifact to Canadian authorities."
Coulson looked at Antonio. "Your call."
Antonio assessed the situation. Chen wanted answers about missions he'd rather not discuss. But refusing would escalate the situation, potentially putting the team in danger.
And he'd already been exposed once today. What was once more?
"Fine," Antonio said. "I'll answer your questions. But the team gets safe transport first."
"Agreed." Chen gestured to her people. "Get them medical attention and transportation. Agent Velaz, with me."
As the team was led away—Ward looking murderous, Coulson concerned, May calculating—Antonio followed Chen to a clearing away from the crash site.
"So," Chen said once they were alone. "Let's talk about Prague."
"What about it?"
"You extracted a scientist from a hostile facility. Twenty-three hostiles neutralized. Zero casualties. Perfect execution." Chen crossed her arms. "The facility had cameras. We pulled the footage through intelligence sharing agreements. You moved through that building like you knew exactly where everyone was. Like you could see through walls."
"Good intelligence. Good preparation."
"Bullshit." Chen's tone hardened. "I've been doing this for twenty years. I know enhanced when I see it. What are you?"
Antonio was so tired of this question.
"A field agent trying to do his job," he said.
"With abilities beyond normal human parameters."
"Extensive training."
"And a past that doesn't add up." Chen pulled out a tablet, showing him data. "I ran your background after Prague. Antonio Velaz. Born in London. Parents died in a car accident. Joined the SAS. Recruited by S.H.I.E.L.D. in 2001."
She looked up. "Except there's a gap. Between your parents' death and the SAS recruitment. Three years where you don't exist in any database. No school records. No medical records. No paper trail at all."
Antonio's blood ran cold. No one had ever dug that deep before.
"I was moving around. Foster care. It's complicated."
"I checked foster care records. You're not in them."
"Then they're incomplete."
"Or you're not who you say you are." Chen stepped closer. "Who are you really, Agent Velaz? Where did you come from? And what the hell were you before S.H.I.E.L.D.?"
Antonio met her eyes, his mind racing through options. She was too close to the truth. Too persistent. Too dangerous.
But she was also right.
And Antonio was tired of lying.
"You want the truth?" he said quietly.
"That would be refreshing."
"The truth is, I'm someone who's been hiding for a very long time. Someone who did things he's not proud of. Someone who's trying to be better than he was."
"That's vague."
"That's all you're getting."
Chen studied him. "The enhanced abilities. How long have you had them?"
"Since I was sixteen."
"How did you get them?"
"That's classified."
"S.H.I.E.L.D. experiment?"
Antonio almost laughed. If only. "No."
"Then what?"
He held her gaze. "Captain, I've answered your questions about Prague. I've cooperated with your investigation. But my personal history is not up for discussion. Not with you. Not with anyone."
"Even if that history is a threat to international security?"
"I'm not a threat."
"Prove it."
"How?"
Chen considered. "Tell me one true thing. One thing about yourself that's not in your file. Not enhanced abilities, not missions. Something real."
Antonio didn't know why he answered. Maybe because she'd asked. Maybe because he was tired. Maybe because, for just a moment, he wanted someone to know one true thing about him.
"I don't remember my real name," he said. "They took it from me when I was six. Everything I was before that is gone. Antonio Velaz is as real as anything else I've been. Maybe more real, because I chose it. But it's still a lie."
Chen's expression softened fractionally. "Who took your name?"
"People who aren't a problem anymore."
"But the damage they did is."
"Yes."
They stood in silence. Around them, the Canadian wilderness stretched out—trees, sky, silence.
"I can't let this go," Chen finally said. "There are protocols. Investigations that need to happen."
"I know."
"But I'll give you a head start. Professional courtesy, one operative to another." She held out her hand. "Good luck, Phantom. I hope you find what you're looking for."
Antonio shook it. "Thank you."
As he walked back toward the team, Antonio felt the walls closing in. Ward suspected. Chen knew pieces. Skye had seen footage.
The secret was breaking open. And he had no idea how to stop it.
Or if he even wanted to anymore.
END CHAPTER 3
NEXT: Chapter 4 - "Eye Spy"
In which Antonio must face Coulson's questions, the team's distrust, and a mission that forces him to confront exactly what kind of agent—and person—he wants to be.