A/N: Hey guys! Per the usual, got delayed.
In chronological order: I was asked to suddenly DM for my D&D group and creatively burned myself out for a week in a half after drawing up a whole two or three sessions worth of content. Then my computer refused to process anything, so I spent another week fixing it myself once I could actually boot it up again. Then my taxes bit me in the butt (I'm pretty sure that's most everyone this last tax year though). And then parts of my car wore out, so I've been head down grinding out trying to find a new job (I know, still haven't gotten one yet, although, I did get one job interview). All in all, not a lot of time to mentally dedicate to writing. But, it's slowly been turning around, and I'm happy to say, I made it through it without a single panic or anxiety attack; just massive anxiety. Still waiting on parts for my car, but I know a guy who's willing to teach me how to fix it.
Other than that? It's been a wonderful couple months.
Shameless Plug: I am managing a Ko-Fi page (info on my Profile page). I'm not gonna ask for monthly subscriptions. Given how long it's taken me to come out with additional chapters, it's purely on a donation basis.
Chapter 16's Draft will be available for viewing for anyone that donates, for up to a month after donation. I'd settle for 5 cents, but Ko-Fi's minimum for donation is $5, which sucks, but I couldn't make it go lower. The chapter will still get edited, revised, and posted on here for free as soon as I start and finish Chapter 17. All good either way.
Don't forget to check out the Forum at Fanfiction: "/forum/Resonance-a-SteinMon-Forum/240008/". I love reading your guys questions and suggestions, even if it takes me a while to check my inbox and respond.
That being read, I welcome your Reviews. If you have criticisms, I welcome those too. Please keep them constructive. If something is wrong, or weird, inform me with appropriate information, provided I can fix it. I want to grow as an author, and I can't do that if people aren't willing to critique, or only want to tear me down. I'm not here to please everybody, but I am here to learn. There is a method to my madness, even if I don't always fully understand it. 90% of what I write, I don't write baselessly. If there is something not canon or changed from canon, there is generally a reason. If something doesn't make sense, feel free to let me know (constructively), and as long as it doesn't creep into SPOILER! territory, I'll do my best to explain it.
Also, please realize that I enjoy responding to the Reviews I receive. Unfortunately, it does inflate the word count quite a bit, but I don't have a lot of options otherwise. This is part of my process, and I enjoy connecting with readers, even if it's only briefly. Each chapter (save for earlier ones) should be around 10,000 words minimum; if that helps at all.
If you don't like the story, DON'T CONTINUE READING IT!
Review Responses:
1rogiervanderburg- And back again.
WHOstEist- Heh, probably.
Walkmanapprenticewordsmith- I do my best to write accents in the same way they are spoken. This is it's own challenge, as much like spoken words, it is difficult to understand and translate sometimes. Giving that extra layer is another layer of realism for me, even if it makes it difficult to write and read. And the System has had it's moments all throughout, but I'm sorry it's not as enjoyable for you.
"Guest"- Thank you.
"Vertias123"- That is the plan. I enjoy the grittier elements personally... at least in most capacities.
Danafal- You're welcome!
REDwolf28- I'd say his anxieties and social interactions are two separate issues, but I think I got what you mean. The plan isn't to leave him there forever.
M2R- Noice!
NumeralFuture11- Yeah. Life's a butt. Appreciate it though.
Recently found out that I wrote all their characters with several of the "potentially the traitor" archetypes, and had myself a good pat on the back at that.
SpiceyBoy- Here's the next one.
ColeslawJoe- Got ya that next chapter.
Hufflepuffkeeper- Whelp, here's "next".
"Guest" 2- Yeah, all the extra names might have been a bit much there, but it gave them all a little more depth to work in. Loved that idea too.
Ydhra- Hope it wasn't boring going through it all again.
avatarjedi- 'Preciate it.
Stick Figure man- A large part of it is that they gave the impression of respecting his boundaries, only to cross that line anyway. Even if it seems in harmless fun, not everyone has "fun" when stuff like that happens. Marcus is one of those people.
Travis99- Me too. But, all good things come to an end.
alertpoet91- "Old" to Marcus isn't about his age, but the time period for him. The 2007 (current MCU year) was well over a decade ago for him (he was transmigrated from his 2023), even if it's "current" in this Universe. Most of the stuff being brought up is reliving nostalgia for him. Hence the "feeling old".
SvenTheDecoy- His starting Traits were "Gamers Mind" and "Gamers Body".
He was out-leveled by everyone, which does invoke a damage cut, and yet he still managed to one-shot several of them. I'd be surprised too.
HYDRA aside, SHIELD does have the setup to several future events that Marcus needs to circumvent, not to mention the issue of "legal documentation". Stark hasn't gone through his crucible yet, so I don't think he'd be inclined to actually listen to anything Marcus had to say, much less help him through it, keeping in mind that all of Marcus's knowledge is off the top of his head. That's just a matter of opinion though.
Jaegerbomb1527- That was part of the point (not the teeth pulling part): That the readers are experiencing the near-same loops Marcus is having to go through to translate "Shoeshine"'s accent. Having an accented English always be easy to comprehend felt inauthentic. So your frustration is easily what Marcus was feeling.
Humidcow- I honestly debated it, but thought the less violent approach was more in line with his character.
Carnuub- Thank you. Here's the next one.
NaraSadow- Yeah. Had it happen to me a few times. Never took a shine to it.
Now Account- Glad to read it.
Fluffiest- Don't worry. He'll bounce back.
Thalavrus- Did you find it okay?
Macerator- I'm glad you're enjoying it.
flys36- Sys largely has control over Gamers Mind, and was essentially allowing Marcus room to emotionally vent. Having his emotions remain muted 24/7 in favor of always being gear-in and focused, wouldn't have been good for his health.
The "Spinning Back Fist" is present in several forms of fighting, but yes, it is present in both boxing and MMA.
Walker 19049- Lot to go over there, but I'm glad you've enjoyed it so far.
For the latest chapter: The Jamaican accent was purposefully done that way. It puts the reader through the same mental gymnastics that Marcus has to go through just to translate it for himself. It might not be the best way to write it, but for now, it's the one I enjoy.
Solti- Better? Not really. Becoming more resilient? Hopefully.
Fair enough I suppose. There's usually one or two comments, but I usually bring it to the whole communities attention just in case. And no worries. I haven't forgotten about Tony.
AwesomeMan327- Sorry for the confusion. The timeline wasn't meant to be established in the Prologue (technically 1st chapter). All his sisters are younger than him. The eldest died. The second was recently married. The third hasn't entered high school yet. As far as his appearance, it wasn't a typo. His hair is an amalgamation of appearance, appearing both in some areas and dirtied blonde in others (and the sunlight hitting his facial hair makes it appear coppery). He's a funny genetic calico like that.
Mostly, not giving him I.D. was to avoid how easily it's circumvented in every other transmigration story, by making it an actual detriment.
That's mostly entering into SPOILER territory (it's meant to be explained later). But I love that you have that question! It's just gonna have to marinate for a while.
LeToine- Not done with it as far as I know.
Deal With Itt- Thanks. And fair enough. I'm not a boxer myself, so I was mostly using what I could look up.
Heavyhero19- Honestly depends. Right now it's solely going to be from the MCU. But some portions might bleed into the comics.
lh81823- Let's hope it's more than just 3 chapters a year.
"A"- Thank you.
*End of Responses (breathes a sigh of relief)
Disclaimer:I don't own the Gamer, or the Avengers, or any of their subsidiaries. Those rights belong exclusively to whoever owns them, and anyone else who had a hand in their creation. I just get to have fun with it all. I do however own the OC's. Those are mine.
I would also like to point out that I don't own any other media or content that may be mentioned as further enrichment to the story.
If the story isn't to your liking, I can respect that. But I'm not concerned with writing a surface level story with a surface level character and surface level plot that makes things easy to explain or understand. I want to read a story with depth, about a character with depth, so I'm going to write depth. I'm gonna write stories I would want to read. And if other people like what I share, then I've already done more than I set out to do.
Without further ado. *Que the dimming of the lights*
ARC 2: Trainee of S.H.I.E.L.D.
Chapter (2.3) 15: School of Hard Knocks
{…S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy of Operations… Philadelphia, Pennsylvania… July 2nd, 2007…}
"UP AND AT 'EM!"
'Adrenaline Rush' injected, even as the iffy sleep Marcus had been able to snag in an unfamiliar place was suddenly gone. He got up so fast, his head smacked into the top bunk, knocking himself back down on the bed with a stunned, 'Stunned', and pained groan. "Uggggh!"
[You took 9 points of 'Subtle' damage.]
Hissing at how his forehead smarted, the briefest flicker of errant thought brought up a window.
[4:30! 0430! You heard him sleepy head! Up and at 'em!]
.
Marcus groaned rebelliously as he took in his surroundings, the lack of lighting conflicting with his need to sleep. It seemed sunrise was still a couple hours out.
He rolled his head over, only to notice that everyone else was already up and on their feet, and pulling on their uniforms.
"Wakey-wakey, Fresh Cut!" David said, slapping Marcus's foot. "We got a big day ahead of us. And Agent Calhoun doesn't like us tardy."
"And we'll all get punished if you are, so either get up, you we'll get you up," Hat's stated as she threw on a S.H.I.E.L.D. brand hoodie over her tank top.
"Joy," Marcus muttered back, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and sitting up. With a grumble, he reached for his boots.
…
…
0430-0600 hours, Early Morning Physical Training
"MARCH!" Their Agent CO jogged alongside them, shouting at them to move faster as they jogged along the compound wall.
Marcus had already 'Sprint'ed as long as he could without tapping into his other, more reserving 'Skills'. And it was becoming increasingly evident that he was being outpaced by the others. All the Squads and Platoons and whoever else were marching, and he was struggling to maintain some semblance of pacing.
'And I thought I was in good shape,' he huffed. This wasn't at all humbling. Not at all.
[These are scouted and military recruits. Of course they're outpacing you.
Now you heard the man! March soldier!]
.
'I thought you were on my side!'
"KENDRICK! MOVE IT! I WANNA SEE SOME HUSTLE!" Calhoun shouted.
And like he usually did in the face of the hustle, Marcus doubled down, 'Pushing Limits' flaring to life as he attempted to push further and harder.
…
…
0600-0630 hours, Breakfast
"Hey, you're late," Hats stated with a smirk.
Considering Marcus had been kept later to run longer by Calhoun to "catch up" to the others? No shit Sherlock.
The clack of his breakfast tray hitting the table almost echoed in the cafeteria, even over the clamor of everyone keeping to their own business and chatting among themselves. Marcus was almost certain his Squad was making fun of him to some degree or other, but he couldn't hear them over the sound of his own desperate attempt to gulp down sweet, sweet bitterness.
[Insufficient caffeine consumed within the last 24 hours.
Penalties ensued.]
.
[Status Infliction – Caffeine Deficiency III: ongoing
+ Caffeine Deficiency III: -15% DEX, INT, and WIS. -15% to MP regen.]
.
[DEX: 35 = 29
INT: 27 = 22
WIS: 32 = 27
MP regen: 82.82/min = 57.97/min.]
.
'Shit,' he thought. His finger was subtly, or maybe less-than subtly, hovering over his stats. It didn't seem like much, but he could feel the difference as the 'Infliction' took effect. While he couldn't do anything about his 'Regen' being in the tank… 'I'm probably gonna regret this later,' he winced. 'Sys, take however many 'Skill Points' you need to get me feeling normal,' he asked.
[Is that with, or without, the 'Caffeine Deficiency' active?]
.
'Well it's active now, so 'with' please,' he asked, trying to keep from focusing on the foggy need for his source of regularly consumed caffeine.
[Base DEX: 35 = 42
Base INT: 27= 32
Base WIS: 32 = 38
SP Spent: 18
Stat Points: 111 = 93]
.
[I thought you were going to hold onto those forever.
Or at least… until something big happened.
Not sure what 'big' counts as to you though.]
.
The foggy feeling hadn't reduced any less, but his thoughts and body felt… much better actually. He felt normal in that regard, even if his body was still letting him know how displeased it was at missing out on more caffeine. 'Yeah, me too,' Marcus grumbled. It ultimately didn't fix anything, but at least now he wouldn't suffer more than he already was. 'But today is already kicking my ass, and I can't fall behind any more than I already am. There's a difference between being frugal and saving for a stormy day, and being a stubborn turd.'
He hoped there was a difference anyway.
And, in the event he kicked his crippling (literally in his case now) caffeine addiction, or got ahold of enough sweet bitter nectar to reset the timer, he'd have a nice permanent little boost to his stats now too. Fat chance of him kicking it though, so… there was that. Coffee just tasted too good.
Black. No cream, no sugar. It was the small things in life.
"Yu be a luk like dodo Mon," Charles commented.
"I feel like it," Marcus stated after a moment a groggy self-translation, polishing off the rest of his coffee. It was time like this he thanked God that at the very least, he didn't sweat or build up lactic acid, and healed at an accelerated rate. 'Gamer Body' for the win.
And there was still a whole day ahead of him.
…
…
0630-0800 hours, Diplomatic Protocol
First class had been 'Diplomatic Protocol', a core super spy class first thing after breakfast when he was still longing for a quick fix of caffeine. Who was even functional that early in the morning? Much less to discuss 'International Affairs'. Marcus only understood about every other 'other' word, and dear Lord Almighty, he was hoping it didn't come back to bite him in the ass.
He wasn't even sure how much of it was actually applied for Operatives, but he wasn't going to complain about learning something new along the way. Overall, the class had that same feeling as those handful of persons who read the Bible looking for a loophole to see what they could morally "get away with"; just with other countries, and not Big G Himself.
On top of that, there were no paper packets with the little staples in the corner for him to peruse to see where he was on the teacher's itinerary.
He didn't think there even was an itinerary, seeing as they had quarterly reviews for potential agents. It seemed and felt like he was stepping into the middle of the school year with no outline as to what he was supposed to be learning, what he should have learned, or what he would be learning. So yeah. That.
Not to mention, he was in the middle of a bunch of kids at least six years (biologically) younger than him. So there was that too.
…
…
0800 to 0930 hours, Hand-to-Hand Combat
Now this… this was something Marcus could get behind. Another core class, but one Marcus understood the base premise of. For the next hour-and-a-half, learning how to fight properly. Staple agent fair. He was definitely awake for this class.
"Every Fighting Style known to man can be broken down into a few key points," the Agent instructor stated firmly as he walked down the line up of students, all of them dressed in fitter clothes. "Just to review for Fresh Cut, what are they?"
"STRIKES, GRAPPLING, AND FOOTWORK, SIR!" the lineup exclaimed in fervent tandem. Marcus winced at the sudden influx of noise from his fellow students.
"And what are you forgetting?!" the Agent demands in an almost rehearsed way.
"LEVERAGE AND DISCIPLINE!"
"That's right!" the Agent stated. "You are not here to learn any single Martial Arts, which will include or exclude any one or more of those to varying degrees. You're not here to earn a fancy belt as a pat on the back because you know how to do Form Number 12 of the Summa Cum Laude! You're here to learn fighting! Fighting is rough! Fighting is dirty! Fresh Cut!"
Marcus blinked, but responded accordingly. "Yessir?"
"Your file states you know a thing or two about boxing," the Agent informed him.
"Yessir," he confirmed. He hoped he'd picked up a thing or two about it, seeing as he'd done it semi-professionally as a rookie. He would have added more, but he felt it might have seemed more like he was tooting his own horn. Only offer information if asked. Keep it simple.
{Gregory "Greg" Krueger, lvl '?'
"Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D." – CLEARANCE '?'…
Notes: Teaches 'Hand-to-Hand Combat' and 'Close-Quarters Combat' at S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy of Operations, Martial Arts Specialist, Knife Fighting Specialist. Can kick your ass faster than Calhoun did.}
.
'Thank you for that, Sys,' Marcus deadpanned internally, having not asked for a summary.
"Do you know why we diversify styles instead of focusing on one or two styles?" Agent Krueger demanded.
Marcus mentally stumbled, trying to prepare an answer. He didn't answer immediately, and it seemed Agent Krueger wasn't going to rush him, thank goodness. He hated working under pressure.
A moment or two later, Marcus replied with, "If– If no available martial art covers all the necessary points for fighting to their utmost degree, then… I'd say a single pure martial arts style by itself is – by its very nature – imperfect. Most styles were developed to overcome or counter each other in some way shape or form." Something he'd found out when his sister, Addison had taken Karate.
It was the only thing he could come up with. If no one martial art truly encapsulated every aspect of hand-to-hand combat, then… didn't that make them incomplete to some degree or other?
He respected the Hell out of people who put in the time and dedication to master one or more forms of martial arts.
But there was always going to be a hole or weakness in the technique that could be exploited, something that rigorous training and discipline in a single art might cover for if one became a Master. But this was an academy for potential field operatives; they didn't have that kind of time, and the most efficient method to cover for one martial art's weakness was to stitch-punk multiple forms and styles into a martial "Frankenstein's monster" that rounded every other fighting point to its utmost degree.
"Boxing focuses largely on footwork, hand strikes, and discipline; so it doesn't cover every aspect of hand-to-hand," Marcus states, thinking over the points that were regurgitated by the class for his benefit.
Agent Krueger nodded, coming to a stand-still in front of Marcus. "Very good. And do you know why boxing is a poor base for hand-to-hand?"
That part was easy. Marcus didn't need to be James Bond to understand. "Ideally? You'd never want to get into hand-on-hand situation in the first place," Marcus states, "but in the event you do, I'd say because the aim of actual hand-to-hand is to take down opponents as quickly and efficiently as possible, by any means necessary. There are no rules in an actual fight. Western Boxing is limiting in that regard." Marcus couldn't help but remember the impromptu knife fight he'd had in the alley way. "I'd say the emphasis on pacing and footwork is what gives it the edge in fight, should it be prolonged. But it's usually meant as a sport of endurance."
Kruegar nodded firmly. "Excellent. While you are here 'Fresh Cut', you will be throwing together as many effective martials together as possible. You prepared to get your ass kicked."
"No, but bring it on, sir," Marcus replied enthusiastically. Potential multiple 'Skills'? He'd have to be.
"Good. Now all of you, square up!" the agent ordered.
Marcus was paired with Mister Model (David). And suffice to say, he got his ass kicked. Royally.
…
…
0930-1100 hours, Linguistics & Cultural Studies
"…Now, when adapting to another language, you need to be aware of not just who you are speaking to, but where they are from," the Agent in charge of one of the language studies courses stated. Evidently it was a full all-for-one course. The instructor was a woman of Eastern Asian descent, which stood out compared to his other instructors; though Marcus couldn't pinpoint from which country that entailed. "Nuances within a language can tell you a lot about a person, and can even be used to lead assumptions. In the same way as hearing another accent in English can allow help you learn about where someone is from, it can also cause someone to form assumptions about that person. Accents, dialects, and even articulation can all be used to alter a target's perception of you, within a single language."
{Alsynsum Sarangerel "Sara", lvl '?'
"Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D." – CLEARANCE '?'…
Notes: Teaches 'Linguistics & Cultural Studies' at S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy of Operations, Polyglot, Mongolian descent.}
.
Well that answered that.
Marcus followed along well enough. He didn't have a notebook or paper to take notes on, but that's where Sys came in handy. Honestly it was a lot like college; just… it actually made sense. Maybe it was because he was older, or maybe because concision was necessary when teaching a bunch of agents for field work. Or maybe because Marcus required time and engagement to learn, and God forbid he actually be able to ask his teachers a question now and then.
Or maybe it was because his teachers were required to be competent in their fields of study, and not just trying to wait out the year for tenure. Marcus wasn't bitter. Not. At. All.
That being said, S.H.I.E.L.D. clearly needed a solid teaching base to make sure that their agents didn't end up with cement shoes. Or a third nostril. Or turned into a popsicle.
But God was it reminding him how much he hated college. In a good way, since he was actually being taught now.
"Mister Kendrick. Vy uchite russkiy yazyk, da?"
Marcus started at his name, and frowned a little as he tried to piece together what was spoken. It didn't help that the few others present were staring straight at him. "Ya… malo chto… znayu?" he replied back, hoping he didn't butcher it.
The instructor hummed in interest. "Kak tebya uchili?" she asked back flawlessly.
Marcus tried to piece it together, sounding it all out carefully in his head. He gently tapped his chest. "Sebe."
She smiled, which wasn't something Marcus was expecting. "Self-taught. I take it there wasn't a lot of dialogue then?"
He shook his head gently, not liking being the center of attention. He was pretty sure someone snickered, but maybe that was just his anxiety speaking up. So this is what it felt like being the eldest in a group of younger, smarter people. Yay.
"Then I hope we can help you polish that up. Among the other languages you're set on taking," she stated kindly, if patiently. Which was a nice change of pace from what Marcus had seen of the Academy so far.
There wasn't much else to do but for him to nod in understanding. While he didn't like it, the back-and-forth of communication was the best way to improve his fluency with the language. Especially with a lack of 'Skills' in regards to learning languages. 'Here's to hoping that 'INT' improves how fast I learn it,' Marcus grumbles to himself.
…
…
1100-1130 hours, Lunch
Coffee wasn't served with lunch. Which was the absolute travesty, if Marcus had ever heard one before. So he had to resign himself to a juice box that was way too small for his appetite, and several bottles of water. Huh… he kinda wanted a Capri-Sun now. Happier days; or at least, less stressful ones.
He wasn't going to complain about the sandwich though, seeing as it had thick slices of peppered beef along with provolone and cheddar cheese. Was it special? Probably not, for S.H.I.E.L.D. But Marcus was thanking God for the extra protein, even if the distinction didn't really affect his 'Food' bar.
Or maybe it did? Huh… … He'd have to see if proteins versus fats versus carbs had an effect on his 'Food' bar. Wonder now, experiment later.
Suffice to say, retention from his classes wasn't his strong suit. Give him something to tear apart with his hands any day. But it was 'Day One' of classes, so he'd have to excuse himself if he didn't immediately get everything presented to him. Apply a little grace for himself. And the day wasn't even half over. Realistically, he had about seven to eight more hours before he needed to get some sleep, and it would probably be packed to the brim; never mind the lack of downtime to rest and recharge.
And then there was the list of tomorrows classes.
As he ate, he did his best to sit and breath without accidently inhaling crumbs down the wrong tube, letting his 'Meditations' seep into his body. The hum of 'Harmonic Meditation' washed over him as his breathing technique drew in 'Mana' and refined it into 'Qi'.
Because – thankfully – his life wasn't a stereotypical high school movie, where someone was out to bully him at lunch. That would just be ridiculous. And since it was a rare moment to relax, he didn't hesitate to take a few moments to mediate, hoping he wouldn't have to watch his back all the time. He took breaths between bites, and let as much of his lunch break pass before he headed to his next class.
"You know you can join us?" David/Homeplate offered along with the rest of Squad E. "No need to be a stranger."
"Maybe next time," Marcus stated noncommittedly, breathing deeply to himself as he immediately dived back into his 'Breathing Technique'. He tried to focus an image in his mind's eye as he did so, gently cycling his 'Qi' as he did so, while simultaneously drawing 'Mana' to his hands. It wasn't much, and it took a lot of focus to manipulate even the smallest amounts on one of them, but he was hoping he might be able to do something simple with it eventually.
Like static shock people on command. For funsies of course.
But he could feel it now… that little slither of energy that branched out from the center of his chest, almost rooting outward through his chest. And it took everything in him not to mentally encourage it to grow and expand, which would only cause him to lose focus.
'C'mon… just a little more and… oh damnit!' Yep. Like clockwork.
…
…
1130-1300 hours, First-Aid Education
'Is the day over yet?' Marcus begged.
"Make sure you pack it tight," the instructor informed. "Otherwise, you risk letting them bleed out before they can get more professional help."
Marcus was thrust into the world of emergency first-aid. Day one. And he had to keep the patient he was currently kneeling over (Neal the training dummy) from bleeding out a… mildly thick, dyed pink liquid. Which in his case was from a simulated gunshot wound to the abdomen.
Currently, he was apply a hefty amount of pressure, attempting to stop the bleeding. Because he didn't know a damned thing otherwise.
{Emergency First-Aid Dummy, Nickname: "Neal"
Simulation: Gunshot wound to the Right Lumbar Region. Vessels hit. Moderate bleeding.
Chances of Living Long Enough to Receive "Proper" Medical Help: Formerly 83%. Currently 23%, and dropping.}
.
'Really?!' he demanded through grinding teeth.
[Really.]
.
So take him, Marcus Kendrick: a young, formally blue collar worker, and throw him into a simulated emergency situation with no information whatsoever. He was pretty sure they were doing the "we're going to show you how powerless you are in a situation you can't control" kind of approach with him first in this class, which was a nice thought if you wanted to build someone from the ground up. Unfortunately, Marcus didn't even have ground to stand on as 'Neal the Dummy' bled pink fluid through the fabric Marcus was using to stave the wound, and all over his hands.
Yeah, Neal was screwed. As in, "screwed" with a capitol 'Dead'.
{Chances of Survival: 16% and dropping}
.
[And to think, you started out at a whopping 83%.]
.
Marcus shakes his head at Sys's comment and continues working, doing his best to keep the dummy "alive". But he didn't even know how to properly apply a tourniquet to an extremity wound, much less know how to deal with abdominal wounds, so… he knew it was hopeless, but that didn't stop him from trying. He'd kept pressure on the wound, but no matter how much he did, it seemed the dummy was intent on meeting his maker.
Eventually…
{Chances of Survival: 0%.}
[He dead dude.
Like... dead dead.]
.
Marcus pulled away, sighing frustratedly, wiping away at his brow with the back of his pink stained hands to get the stress sweat off his brow. And now that he'd accepted the outcome, he could finally feel the itch on his back from his expanded pores, and he rolled his shoulders, hoping to relieve it a little bit.
"KENDRICK! Why'd you stop?!" the instructor demanded.
How do you tell someone that your built in System gave you the go ahead to give up on the dummy? "He dead," Marcus parroted simply, huffing in frustration. "Bled out. Time of Death: 12:37pm."
"Is this a joke to you?" the instructor demanded.
"No, but seeing as I've had no emergency training, this was the most likely outcome," he stated matter-of-factly, sighing at the pink everywhere. "'Neal' here needed a miracle for me to treat him, and last I checked, I'm hardly qualified to take care of myself, much less another human being in the middle of a simulated emergency."
Marcus looked over 'Neal' again, nodding so-so. "Or a dummy, in this case."
His instructor started muttering under her breath about 'noobies' and such, like she wasn't informed that he was the 'Fresh Cut' in her class. Unless she didn't know that he was a civ; seeing as most recruits were probably poached from the military or other agencies. Who was to say whether or not she's actually read his file. Marcus only knew what he knew; which didn't include how to stop poor 'Neal' from bleeding out, assuming the shock from blood loss wouldn't have killed him first.
Huh… so he did know something after all.
Still, as far as first-aid went, applying pressure to the wound was all he knew.
Give him chest compressions any day. Breaking someone's ribs to Staying Alive by the… who were they again?
[The 'Bee Gees'.]
.
Yeah, them. Evidently doing chest compressions to the beat of Staying Alive by the 'Bee Gees' was a thing, if not also a little ironic. The things one could learn in the span of a single First-Aid class because it was a course he got paid to take.
"So how do I properly stop an abdominal… wound? Rupture? …via bullet wound?" he asked, deciding to get to the meat of the matter. "Step-by-step, please and thank you." Considering he'd been basing his observations off of what his peers were doing, any little bit could save any future 'Neals' from bleeding out. Because none of them were given a lot to work with, and it appeared he wasn't the only one to lose a good dummy to the throes of the simulated emergency.
Again, some of them actually had training/experience with this stuff.
His heart went out to all the families of the dummies that died today.
[Save the eulogy for the future ones that die under your care.]
.
'Let's just hope it's only dummies,' Marcus snorted back to Sys. Even as a joke, the words felt weighed at the back of his throat. He… he didn't fancy seeing that much blood again. He could already… it was… his hands were shaking. Fuck.
His instructor looked at him sternly. "Alright, everyone! Since some of you are less versed in first-aid than others, listen up!" Oh yeah. He felt that jab. "First step to preventing your patient from bleeding out is to assess where the bullet has entered, if it has exited, and base your treatments off of those factors," she announces. "If we imagine a grid along the abdomen, the location of the bullet's entry is in the right lumbar, which is generally light bleeding, but requires delicate care in case any part of the upper hipbone, gallbladder, right colon, or – worse yet – the liver has been struck.
"Contrary to what any popular media might state, it doesn't matter if the bullet is lodged or a through-and-through," she stated with some annoyance. "You treat it as an emergency regardless. If you or one of your partners is struck by a bullet mid-mission, it's grounds for immediate extraction or forced continuation." Marcus didn't know what "forced continuation" was, but judging by the look on the instructors face, it wasn't a pleasant one.
"You want to start by creating a forced clot in the wound, usually in the form of a sturdy, but absorbent material like fabric: a towel, shirt, or gauze; any of those will do in a pinch. Apply heavy pressure. And for fuck's sake, don't elevate the person's legs!"
Yes. This is the kind of stuff Marcus didn't want to know, but knew he needed to know.
[A new skill has been learned through instruction and failed application.
'First-Aid Application' skill obtained.]
.
['First-Aid Application' skill has been forcefully evolved.
'Emergency First-Aid Application' skill obtained.]
.
'First new 'Skill' as a S.H.I.E.L.D. Trainee,' he mused. Not what he'd expected, but far be it from him to complain. Whether it be for him to beat someone down… or to patch them up; a new 'Skill' was a new 'Skill'.
Now what to do about the pink dye all over his hands. Because his hands wouldn't stop shaking.
…
…
1300-1430 hours, Urban Espionage and Surveillance
No. Seriously! What did he do about the pink dye all over his hands?!
And how the Hell did the other students get their hands clean between classes?! He recognized not just his squad, but several others he'd seen in his previous class. Spotless! 'What the shit?! Was I just that bad at saving 'Neal'?'
And he'd scrubbed his hands and arms in the bathroom with soap and water before this. It was harder getting dye off than it was washing off motor oil. It was moments like that, that made him wish he could ask his mom; she'd know how to get this crap off.
At least his hands had stopped shaking.
Aaand there went his good mood. Marcus just sighed as he took a deep breath to refocus on the task at hand. Attic, box, shelf. Repression was his best friend right now.
Honestly, he didn't understand much. It basically amounted to urban camouflage, blending in with people, while also maintaining observation and gathering useable/actionable intelligence, without being caught themselves. Kind of a hard course to do in a classroom, so it was a class Marcus hoped would have some more actionable or hands-on teaching, 'cause… yeah.
At the very least, it sounded like he might be getting some miles out of his 'Inconspicuous' skill.
…
…
1430-1600 hours, Afternoon Training
"Pick up the pace," Calhoun ordered firmly, jogging alongside them as they marched.
Unlike that morning, it was just Squad E out for a run – this time jogging back and forth along the sandy riverside near the cabins – Marcus still doing his best to keep up. With the sun still up and the radiant heat still ambient, it was hot, but the summer heat wasn't as bad as Marcus expected. Sure, he could still feel the heat prickling at his skin, and it was uncomfortable, but it wasn't 120-degrees in the middle of a hard labor job, sweating bullets and carrying around two gallon-jugs of water to stay hydrated, just to sweat it out all over again.
And the risk of the tips of his ears turning blue from sunburn was minimal. That had been a shitty summer, and one that would probably repeat if this universe was anything like his.
Though, he was keeping an absent eye on his 'Thirst' just in case he needed to start carrying that gallon jug o' water in his 'Inventory'. Plus his 'SP' was draining too fast, and recovering too little to let him match their pace. But the pain and ache was a nice reminder that he was leveling his 'Stats', however slowly.
His shirt was noticeably dry compared to the rest of the squad's, even if he was exerting himself near twice as much to match their speed. And of course, Agent Calhoun noticed.
He fell in line beside Marcus, matching him pace for pace. "You holding back, Kendrick?" Calhoun demanded gruffly.
"No sir," Marcus huffed back, breathing and gasping heavily, even as he tried to focus and control his breathing through achy lungs. "Just not as in shape as I thought I was." And he was in tremendous shape compared to his old world. But Operatives needed to be a step (or eight) up from Boxing. Getting humbled by a bunch of kids six years younger than him was just the icing on top.
He didn't know if that said more about their 'Stats' than he was willing to ponder, if they had some 'Skills' built up on the side, or if starting from 'Level 1' kinda screwed him over in regard to leveling, since only his 'Skills' transferred over from his previous world, and not his equivocal level. Oh well. If it was a question between initial power versus potential gains, he'd have picked potential gains anyway. It's just that... embarrassment was his least favorite emotion.
'Besides,' he reminded himself… again… for the twentieth time, 'it's only Day One.'
"C'mon! No lollygagging!" Calhoun ordered, easily jogging ahead of Marcus, once more leaving him to fall slowly behind.
'Sys,' he moaned tiredly, 'a little boost please.' He'd regret it when he crashed, but he just wanted the day to end.
['Adrenaline Rush' activated.]
.
'Thank you,' he groaned, pushing himself to move a little faster.
His apparent second wind only got Agent Calhoun more fired up. "That's it! Keep pushing! Faster!"
'Gaaaaaaaah!'
…
…
1600-1730 hours, Weight Training
He was almost certain now that Nick Fury was trying to kill him with this schedule. If it wasn't obvious before, it most certainly was now. Which was an interesting take, considering he usually wouldn't have noticed until two weeks later, most likely in the middle of taking a shower; and not the very first day. Maybe he was being too harsh on the cyclops.
.
[You are affected by 'Weakness' 2 hours and 38 minutes.
STR is reduced by 15% for the duration.]
[You are affected by 'Restless' 2 hours and 38 minutes.
DEX is reduced by 15% for the duration.]
.
And there was that.
Marcus stared at the line of machines and weights and about had a conniption right then and there. It was just an over-glorified gym. He hadn't lifted weights since high school, and shit memories aside, he'd spent more time hauling bins of wet grass than he had lifting weights. And that was before he even considered he was 'Debuffed' right now.
Thankfully, this class appeared more free range than the other classes.
Besides the number of treadmills, dumbbells, barbells, and plates; he found a nice lineup of punchable bags he could operate in the event he earned his free-time. Right now… weights.
"Barber can spot ya," Homeplate (David) stated, wiping down a bench as he prepared for his own set, Weasley (Bubba) moving to spot him. "Normally we're a little less than evened keeled. On account we need two guys on Barber (Paul)."
Marcus just looked at how jacked John Henry (also Paul) was, and he could very well believe it took two guys to spot him. "Fair enough," he agreed.
"Minimum weight to aim for is your own body weight," Hats stated, already loading up a decent weight for the first set, before sliding under the barbell and laying back on the bench. "During some practical days, they make ya haul about half of that for a few miles, so you better toughen up fast."
"'Ow much weight yuh be pressin' at max?" Jamaca (Shoeshine) asked, as he began loading up David's bar. Fifty… one-hundred… one-fifty… one-seventy… one-eighty? Geez Louise.
A shrug was all Marcus had. "Haven't lifted weights in almost a decade. Last time I think I was at one-fifteen." One-twenty-five actually, but he wasn't going to try pushing it. He had been a scrawny beanpole back then, and he was only slightly filled out as was from the boxing; while he was almost 87.68% sure that 'Gamers Body' wouldn't let him snap in half, it wasn't a theory he considered worth risking that on. "Probably less now though."
"Start at seventy, and we'll get ya up and running as we go," David instructed, taking deep breaths as he laid back, spacing out his arms along the bar before lifting it up. With a couple more prepping breathes, he began to bench the weight.
Marcus could get behind that until his 'Inflictions' wore off. "Sounds good to me." For now, he just hoped he didn't have to spot Paul.
…
…
1730-1800 hours, Dinner
Marcus didn't hesitate to flop down on a cafeteria bench once more. 'What a day,' he groaned. And it wasn't over for him yet.
Shoveling veggie slop (mashed potatoes mixed with what he assumed was canned green beans, peas, and carrots, drenched in chicken gravy) into his mouth was an autonomous task, and thankfully didn't require much thought – or chewing – on his part. The cafeteria was serving some more solid foods like chicken-fried steak or burgers, but Marcus wasn't confident in his ability to keep it down.
Which wasn't going to stop him in the slightest! Because those chicken-fried steaks looked delicious and his eyes were just generally bigger than his stomach. Bring it on nausea!
Thankfully, he had the foresight to grab himself water for when he inevitably swallowed too much without chewing, and he got the hiccups.
"Hey 'Fresh Cut'," Weasley (Bubba) stated, resting on his crossed arms as he leaned over the table. "We're fixing to play some pool and darts with some of the other bunks after we hit the showers. Wanna join?"
'I'd… rather swallow my own vomit,' Marcus had to hold back from muttering aloud. Just because he had to work, eat, and sleep with these guys, didn't mean he was jumping to make friends. Especially after they dunked him. Call him petty, but it was a grudge he could gladly hold.
"Can't," he answered instead. "I have classes after dinner."
And for that, they all looked confused. "What do you mean? We're done for the day. Classes are over," Pinky stated, looking around at everyone else to make sure she wasn't the only one.
"Not according to my schedule," Marcus stated. "I have remedial classes to take." Presumedly to fill in the gaps on his otherwise lackluster S.H.I.E.L.D. resume.
"Probably because you pissed someone off," Hats stated. Whether she or anyone else was waiting for him to divulge more information was anyone's guess.
"Probably," Marcus agreed, continuing to eat. And there wasn't much more to say about that.
…
…
1800-2000 hours, Remedial Class: Linguistics
Marcus once more made his way back to the classroom for linguistics. Sure enough, Agent Alsynsum… Sarangerel? was there at her desk, going over some paperwork.
Bit of a mouthful that.
"Sorry if I kept you waiting," he stated, much more self-conscious now that the classroom was empty, and it was only him in it.
"Not at all," she answered as she looked up briefly, offering a smile that was gentle, if not kind. She quietly brushed her work aside for a moment, giving Marcus her undivided attention. "Now, from what I've been briefed on, it's my understanding that you're being volunteered to learn several languages, yes?"
"Yes ma'am," Marcus stated, defaulting back to polite.
"Can you walk me through which ones?" she queried, pulling out a notepad a gently flipping to a blank page before clicking a pen. "So far, you've shown some proficiency in Russian."
Marcus nodded. "Russian and Hungarian were the primary ones." He looked away, almost embarrassed. "After that… I was looking at German, Icelandic, and Mandarin."
Sarangerel looked up at Marcus from her notepad. "And how long do you intend to be at the Academy?"
He winced at that. "Honestly, I'm going to be playing catch up with just about everything. I'd say as soon as possible, but judging by what Director Whedon said, I could be here a while."
"That's not what I asked," she affirmed politely. "The question was, how long do you intend to be here?"
If it was a solid answer she was looking for, Marcus didn't have one of those, but he did have a timeframe. If 2008 was when things were going down (he still wasn't sure if that was when, and honestly, wouldn't be sure until it was slapping him in the face), then he needed to get guud pronto.
"End of the year if possible, first quarter of next year at the latest," he stated. That gave him an odd…
[…26 weeks, 1 day…]
[Minimum.]
.
…until the end of the year. Basic training for regular military was what? Ten weeks or so? A little over twice the time to get him not only up to snuff, but par for the course. That wasn't to mention that his classes so far had been focused on the more tame side of what he assumed S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives usually dealt with.
More overseas tradecraft and urban espionage, and less aliens and superhumans.
Assuming that was the advanced coursework, it kept any potential dropouts from gleaning any particularly classified information. Fair enough.
"Not a lot of time then," 'Sara' commented, frowning and tapping her finger on her desk like she had a particularly intriguing challenge. "Self-study or not, the amount of dedicated hours it would normally take is insufficient. Especially on a time crunch."
"My, uh… my retention is above average… I think," he commented back. With most things involving Sys, he would normally be more confident, but languages were the odd-ball of the group. Especially since – again – they didn't have an associated 'Skill' as far as he could tell, and there wasn't a translation feature. He'd already checked with Sys. "I'm aiming more towards fluency, rather than a specific dialect if, uh… if that helps?"
The Agent looked at him, visibly weighing her options. "Let's hope you know what you're getting into," she stated, unmoved by his lackluster assurance. "I want to make it clear that I will do what I can, but I expect you to double-time it. If you're not going to take this seriously, I'm not going to bother investing the time into you. Am I clear?"
'Sounds about right.' He nodded. "Yes ma'am."
She sighed in finality. "Then let's get you started."
…
…
1930-2000 hours, Free Moment
Marcus had thirty minutes to himself before he needed to catch some zzz's. If 4:30 in the morning was going to be the usual for him, than he'd need every ounce of sleep he could get. As was, he was tired, sore, and his muscles and head ached with a longing only coffee could fix.
Give him a couple days and he might start to see some improvements, but right then, he'd have fought his whole squad for a full pot of coffee.
He sat on the sandy beach, staring out at river and the highway clear across it, the traffic of the day having slowed down for ol' Philly, but still prime time for people to be travelling. With the sun setting behind him, the fading warmth felt good on his back. Another half an hour or so and it would be officially night.
Still, that gave him a small window to get himself in order. For all the stressors and bustle of the day, he needed a moment to breathe, and taking a half an hour out of his sleep schedule to do so was a worthy expense.
Sitting crisscross in the sand, he closed his eyes, controlling his breathing as he attempted to relax his body. He felt out of balance. Not just because of the additional and sudden strain of training both his mind and body, or the overload of new information he needed to process and apply, but the caffeine deficiency wasn't helping. Even having balanced out as much of his 'Stats' as he could, his body and mind felt sluggish. God help him if he hadn't spent a few points to ease the strain.
'Got an appropriate song for the day?' he asked mentally, letting his 'Meditations' take hold, even as he waited for an appropriate tune to begin humming to.
[Song? Yes. Appropriate? Meh.]
[Playing "Keep My Head Above Water" by Avril Lavigne.]
.
Not exactly his preferred tunes, but Marcus didn't argue. Sys would play whatever it wanted, so he just began humming along, turning the simple lyrics that filled the audio receptors of his brain into just as simple a prayer, blocking everything else out as he was once more enveloped by sound and goosebumps.
Just him, the sun at his back, and a view of the river.
{…July 3rd, 2007…}
DAY 2
"UP AND AT'EM!"
Marcus made a repeat of the previous day, smacking his head into the top bunk. With a groan, he slid his legs off his bed, blindly feeling around for his boots as he clutched his head.
While according to his schedule, a lot of today would be a repeat of yesterday, most of his classes alternated days Monday through Thursday, with Friday and Saturday being all-day practical applications. So today, he had a new set of classes to attend.
Even with tomorrow being Independence Day, he didn't foresee a change in schedule except Philadelphia probably lighting up with fireworks. And given the extent of free time most of the other recruits had in the evening, possibly a barbeque. So nothing new on his end save for fighting for every scrap of sleep while people were letting off fireworks at all ungodly hours of the evening.
0430-0600 hours, Early Morning Physical Training
…
…
0600-0630 hours, Breakfast
…
…
0630-0800 hours, Computer Lab
The first change to his listed schedule. He was almost certain now that Fury had set up his schedule to screw with him. Or test him. Nevermind that he had so little time to keep his head on straight. Using his brain directly after physical exercise? Computers? First thing in the morning? While he was still sucking eggs to keep his lungs supplied with air?
Worst schedule ever.
Normally, Marcus loved him a good dousing of blue light. But he'd forgotten how old computers seemed in 2007. They weren't the 'colored translucent boxes' old, but it was odd to look on the screen and see Microsoft Office 2007. The latest and greatest of today, but… Marcus was a tad too far ahead, and the number of things he'd had to backtrack since transmigrating was already staggering. What was one more thing though?
Thankfully, the formatting was mostly the same, so it was coming back to him. The class seemed to serve mainly as a refresher course for him, but….
"Yes Mister Kendrick?" the Agent in charge asked in the most uninterested tone he'd heard to date. Like Squidward met a tired old 1950's British Professor… but young. "What is it?"
Marcus had waited until after the class. Far be it from him to criticize, but… he didn't get it. "Just… wondering about the purpose of the… well, Microsoft Office… stuff."
"Stuff?" the Agent asked with an unimpressed look.
"Stuff," Marcus agreed.
"Simple, Mister Kendrick. You'd be surprised how many Operatives don't know how to properly write reports," he stated. "Most assume they're going to get right into computer coding and hacking… when most of you dunderheads don't even know how to properly assess a keyboard."
'You know what? Fair enough,' Marcus conceded with a so-so nod of agreement.
"As with all things, you start with the basics," the Agent finished. "Was that all?"
"Crystal clear… sir," Marcus stated with a nod, backing away a few steps before turning on his heels.
[Yeesh.]
.
'I know. Tough crowd,' Marcus agreed. 'Looks like he needs a secluded area to fire off the biggest gun from his cabinet. Maybe try lumberjacking purely with grenades.'
[Really relight that passion for teaching.]
.
Marcus was glad they agreed.
…
…
0800 to 0930 hours, Explosives and Ordinance
Finally! Something more systematic!
"So… it's not the red wire?" one of his fellow students asked the Agent in charge.
Color Marcus impressed, if not a little disappointed. Movie logic wasn't completely sold in this version of the MCU; so the red wire wasn't the end all be all for explosives. Good to know, but now that meant it could be the green, the white, the black, or even the brown wire.
Huh. By that logic, other countries might have their own unique color coding when it came to wiring. That would theoretically apply to electronics and bombs as well. 'Oh! Oh joy!' Marcus internalized sarcastically.
The Agent in charge looked like they were having a doozy of a day. "No. It's not always the red wire, no matter what Hollywood says. In most cases, bomb-makers are more than liable to use the same spool of wire for all the wiring on their bombs. Not to mention that experienced bomb-makers might install a deadman's switch in the event the wire is cut.
"If we're operating solely off of the wire color, in both cases, you're screwed."
'Noted,' Marcus considered, looking over the simple would-be bomb setup in front of him; casing, wiring, trigger, and "explosive" included. At least… he hoped that was a fake explosive.
"Presuming there is not a specialized team nearby," the Agent continued, "in most cases, you are better off either detonating the explosive in a safe place free of civilians, or removing the explosive material itself so that it doesn't detonate. All of that assuming of course, that the bomb in question is a timed bomb or a remote detonation bomb. If it's a proximity bomb, you're screwed."
[Also noted… "You… are… screwed".
Truly Master-Class there.]
.
'Well, better to drive it home now than have it come as a surprise ceramic organ scrubbing later,' Marcus countered. But maybe Sys had a point. Lot of doom, gloom, and boom for a class that was supposed to teach them the necessary tools to diffuse a bomb should the occasion ever come up.
…
…
0930-1100 hours, Firearms Training
As other trainees were firing pistol rounds into targets on the indoor range, Marcus was required to show a basic proficiency in the art of fucking using a firearm.
So Marcus had to showcase (repeatedly) that he could load a magazine, chamber a round, drop the magazine, unchamber the round. Not so hard. That shit was natural. Was he an expert? No. Did he know how to do it? Yes. Most certainly, yes.
"Now, when do you flick off the safety?" the Agent quizzed, making him repetitiously magazine, chamber, drop, unchamber.
"Either right before use, or when the intent to use is consistently present," Marcus stated, going through the motions that were already becoming more and more familiar.
"When do you draw your weapon?" the Agent pressed loudly.
"Only if you fully intend to use it," Marcus replied, unchambering again. Hunter's Safety class covered that shit. It applied to every weapon. There could be no half-assing it when it came to drawing or holding a weapon. Weapons weren't intimidation tools, they were a statement that you would use it, necessary or otherwise. It was a promise. So if you drew a gun, best make sure you could back up that unspoken promise, because no one was going to treat you like you were fucking around or "just kidding" if you had it in hand.
"When do you pull the trigger?" his Agent teacher continued.
"When I'm sure I want – or need – to shoot my target," Marcus stated firmly, going through the process all over again.
The Agent watched him carefully for several more repetitions as Marcus continued to load, chamber, unload, unchamber unprompted by his orders. "Who taught you 'Fresh Cut'?"
Marcus paused for a moment, the slide half pulled back. While memory itself was hard to remember, what was instilled… was not. "My dad," he stated simply, continuing his practice. "Didn't have the patience to teach me how to clean a gun, but he sure made sure I knew how to use one."
"Sir," he tacked on absently.
[You have created a new skill through repetitive action.
'Reload' skill obtained.]
.
'The harvest comes quick,' Marcus hummed as the blue screen popped up. That was two new skills in as many days.
"So you know how to reload a gun. But do you know how to shoot one?" the Agent asked.
Marcus looked up at him, the same intent as always.
{James Nelson, lvl '?'
"Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D." – CLEARANCE '?'…
Notes: Teaches 'Firearms Training' at S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy of Operations, Possesses 'Firearm Mastery', from Montana. No relation to Foggy Nelson.}
.
"Is that permission, sir?" he asked.
Agent James Nelson nodded, arms crossed over his chest patiently. "Show me."
…
…
1100-1130 hours, Lunch
…
…
1130-1300 hours, Interrogation Tech and Resistance
Marcus was left spitting and sputtering on the ground, hardly able to take a full breath before coughing it back up again. Of course there was bound to be some "Initiation Class". Where most teachers just integrated him in, it served to reason that his one was intended to set him apart as the 'Fresh Cut'.
He was crying, he was drooling, his lungs burned, his eyes burned, his nose burned, his skin crawled. He wasn't quite wishing for Death… but he wasn't wishing for life right now either. Ignoring the claps and cheers of his peers as he lay there on the ground, trying not to piss himself was just fine and dandy.
"Alright, enough dawdling," the Agent in charge stated in a much too chipper voice. "You need to get up and moving. Flap your arms and air out your clothes," he ordered.
A sputtering cough was all Marcus could manage in response as he carefully pushed himself to his feet, his hand landing directly in the pile of sick he'd thrown up. His entire lunch… and some of his breakfast by the looks of it too. He hardly had the facial control to manage a disgusted face as he flicked his hand, still coughing and sputtering.
"Not so bad," David stated, slapping Marcus on the back gently, helping him cough it out. "We all got a taste of the gas chamber our first week in. Some of the military transfers got it a second time."
Marcus could only answer with more tears and more coughs, his throat going hoarse.
But, he now knew what tear gas tasted like. Fucking Hell.
[You have created a new skill through rapid and continuous exposure.
'Chemical Filtration' skill obtained.]
.
Yaaaay. More skills.
Marcus's response to that was to hawk up the buildup in the back of his throat, and spit it into the pile of vomit already present.
If he wanted to level that 'Skill', it looked like he was going to have to visit a couple more times.
…
…
1300-1430 hours, Environmental Operations and Survival
His mouth still tasted gross, and his eyes felt like he was still cutting onions, but at least here was something interesting to be said about his next class.
The Boy Scouts Marcus never had the chance to join himself. Given what he'd heard about the Scouts though, it was probably a good thing he hadn't. Again, like some of his other classes, it seemed more like a practical applications class that was regulated to a classroom. But, considering he'd had at least three survival books back in… his old world… that he perused for fun on an annual basis, he was eager for the chance to expand, but most importantly, utilize, that knowledge.
Of course, that wasn't all of it. But now he was getting to the application aspects, which was everything to a guy like him. Say what you would about his learning styles, but being primarily a kinesthetic learner was a huge pain in the butt when it came down to application; if he didn't use it, he wouldn't remember it, but once it became applicable, he was hard-pressed to forget it.
And Marcus was so ready to cement all of it with his System ordained capabilities. Give him outdoor work over urban work any day. Fewer people, fresh air, and of course, the strange desire to build shit.
Oh, and fire. He loved building fires for some reason. Lots of fire. Fire. Ooo-hoo.
Of course, he was thinking mostly of temperate forests, and not any of the extreme environments or biomes, but still.
He got the gist of it though: bushcraft, the main survival needs (fire, shelter, water, food), camouflage, navigation, improvised tools, and staking out in the middle of wild or hostile environments. You know… the good stuff, like the standardized way to use the restroom in the middle of a stakeout in the middle of the woods.
Now he just needed to hope that there was application classes, otherwise… Sys would have an increasing workload reminding him of all this stuff.
…
…
1430-1600 hours, Afternoon Training
…
…
1600-1730 hours, Gear Handling and Maintenance
"Alright, quick tip for our latest 'Fresh Cut' and a reminder for everyone else…" the Agent stated as he stepped into the room, starting without even pausing as he made his way to the front of the class. Reminded Marcus of Professor Snape's introduction from the Harry Potter movies; minus the casual acts of magic of course. "…Because our equipment is always being innovated and worked on, the operating and maintenance of gear often changes. Except for the classics. So don't be a dumbass, and keep some gear you're familiar with on you.
"Now, first," he continued, "make sure, if you're using the latest and greatest for the first time, you let your distributor know that it's your first time utilizing said equipment. The R&D nerds in the lab like to ramble on about the stuff they make, so they should give you a breakdown."
'That's a bit rude,' Marcus kept to himself, just trying to make it through the rest of the day. 'Anyway… he-llo beautiful.'
Marcus began looking over the small collection of interesting gadgets and gizmos in front of him, some child-like wonder reawakening in him. Like he'd just had a handful of the "cool" toys placed in front of him for him to play with.
Like a kid being allowed to use the power drill for the first time. Un. Limited! Fucking! Power!
Oh-ho-ho! Thank goodness there were no red buttons.
[Mark, sweetie, they're just tools. Granted, super agent tools that… don't look very super. But still tools none-the-less.]
.
'Can't a guy dream?' Marcus retorted. '[Observe]–'
[…And 'Inspect'. Yeah yeah. I know.]
.
[Mechanical Timepiece, Cisco M-3406SF
'Tactician' Brand (American-made)
A "watch" that has been built cheap, durable, and reliable.
It tells the time. Must be manually set to local time.
Water-resilient.]
.
[Swiss Army Multi-tool
A multi-tool that includes a large and small pocket blade, a Phillips and flathead screwdriver head, corkscrew, can-opener, bottle-opener, wood saw… and more.
Multi-use.]
.
[Roller Gel Pen
A gel pen and… not much else. From a time before you thought they were neat.
Thankfully, black ink, and not some glittery monstrosity.]
.
[3x5 Ruled Index Cards
Like the ones you used to have to study with.]
.
[Pocket Calender
…That's it.]
.
[Passport
Oh? Something actually interesting? A small booklet that you don't want to lose if caught overseas. Contains your international identification as well as your small travel papers.]
.
Marcus had to hold back a small sigh at Sys's sarcastic descriptions. Sure, not as fun as a spider-wire grappling hooks, or helicopter watches, or mini-missile launcher pens. If things played out even remotely similar to the movies, chances are he wouldn't have any of the cool shit most of the time anyway.
On top of that, he knew it was about the agent and how they used their noggin, and not the tools they had access to; he'd watched Spy Kids enough times to know…
…
Oh God…
…
…He really was old!
"In front of you are some of the tools you will want to have on you at all times," the instructor stated, gently spacing out each of said items on the his own front desk. "We'll get into the types of go-bags you'll want to pack pending assignments at a later date.
"Most of you already know this, but this small assortment is bare… minimum, you should be packing with you at all times, on the field and off the field," he continued pointedly towards Marcus. "If any of you graduate here, most of you won't be going into the thick of things. Your jobs will be subtle, and frankly? Boring. The important thing is that you know what to have if the action does start kicking up while your ass in on the toilet."
Marcus did his best to take note, even if he was gearing more towards the more active bits of the job. He didn't have time to be manning the till of a gas station in the Philippines. Still, it couldn't hurt to learn a thing or two.
…
…
1730-1800 hours, Dinner
…
…
1800-2000 hours, Remedial Class: Linguistics
…
…
1930-2000 hours, Free Moment
With another day out of the way, Marcus couldn't help but groan at the schedule Fury had bequeathed to him, despite the fact that it followed his Squad's schedules too, save for his own Remedial classes.
Four days of on and off rotating classroom classes, Monday through Thursday, every week. Two days of full-day application classes, Friday and Saturday, each one appearing to be derived from the classes he was already taking.
Sunday was a designated day off… except for the fact that Marcus didn't have days off. His "day off" was a collection of extra classes to take up his day. His schedule was completely… full. It was full. Marcus had told Fury to set his workload as necessary, and the Director had certainly delivered. Punishment? An act of faith? Desperation? A test? It could be any of those.
He tiredly opened up his 'Status' page, the small collection of his new 'Skills', and even the brief improvement in some of his older ones. Progress was progress though. And in the coming months, it was bound to grow.
"Hey Sys? How much more of this?" Marcus asked, eyelids drooping as he sat on the beach, trying to order his thoughts and take the moment to calm down; hopefully before he conked out right there. 'Anxiety' had a way of creeping in. And while Marcus would love to blame it on his 'Aimless' Trait, he'd been dealing with it long before he had a System to quantify it.
.
[At your current pace?
I'd say as much as you need. Which is 'a lot'.
But that also begs the question of what your current,
short-term goals are.]
.
[Saving the Universe is great, even for altruism's sake.
But without any plans in the short-term, you're left wandering.]
.
"Fair," he groaned, flopping back on the sand. "Doesn't help that I don't know when everything happens. How long can I go before I burn out though?"
.
[I'm both happy and ill-at-ease to inform you,
you will burnout emotionally long before you burnout mentally.
And you will burnout mentally, long before you burn out physically.]
.
"So what? Focus on leveling 'Skills'?" he queried.
.
[My recommendation: Find time to slip away and call Matt and Foggy.]
.
[Seeing as you are hard-pressed to find any decent allies in S.H.I.E.L.D.,
maintaining the allies you do have is the best you can do.]
.
The pause that came was enough to let Marcus ponder for a moment, before another screen popped up, almost a softer shade of blue than the others.
.
[I know you have a hard time with staying in contact with people, Mark.
But getting out of your own head is a necessity.
And 'Meditation' isn't going to cut it.]
.
[Even if it's just for ten to fifteen minutes now and then.]
.
My Marcus sighed once again, letting his body go slack against the sand. He stared up at the sky, letting his thoughts drift for a moment as he admired the shift in color and the shapes of clouds as the sun continued to set.
"Sounds good," he finally admitted, even as the effort of actively reaching out to anyone clashed with an inherent desire to hear their voices.
Work-life balance, meet long-distance work-life balance.
.
[!Congradulations!]
[!You endured your first couple days as a S.H.I.E.L.D. Trainee!]
[+1050 EXP x2 days.]
[!You Gained a Level!]
.
'Oh thank God!'
[Emergency First-Aid (Active) lvl 1 (53.8%)
Utilizing tools at hand, the user's ability to field patch others is improved. Evolved to include 'Emergency Scenarios'. The affects are applied on those receiving Aid.
Active {Applied, Situational}:
+0.5% to Infliction degradation timer.
+0.5% to Infliction Mitigation.
+1% to Medicinal Effectiveness.
NOTE: First-Aid is not to be taken as actual healing, and is merely a stopgap until proper help can be found. Running out of gear or equipment while active automatically ends the effect. This skill can be restarted once proper gear has been obtained again.
Cost: Requires proper First-Aid equipment or Makeshift replacements, rather than MP or SP.]
.
[Reload (Passive) lvl 2 (53.6%)
The user's familiarity with firearms allows to them to reload swiftly.
Passive:
+2% Reload Speed.]
.
[Chemical Filtration (Passive) lvl 3 (98.6%)
The user has developed a resistance to 'Chemical damage', both in aerosol and liquid form. If it wasn't onions, it was bound to be tear gas.
Passive:
-3% to 'Reactant' -based Inflictions.
1% Chemical Resistance.]
.
Name: Marcus Ezekiel Kendrick, a.k.a. "Fresh Cut"
Race: Human (standard)
Occupation: Trainee of S.H.I.E.L.D.
Level: 16 (336/13600)
Title: Masochistic Gamer (+5 STR, VIT, DEX; +25% Cash and EXP)
HP: 1100
– HP regen: 8% (88 HP/hour) (1.47 HP/minute)
MP: 1070 (180)
– MP regen: 8.4% (89.88 MP/minute) (1.5 MP/second)
– Magic/Mental resist: 6.4%
SP: 1160 (170)
– SP regen: 10% (116 SP/minute) (1.93 SP/second)
STR: 31 (+5) = 36
VIT: 25 (+5) = 30
DEX: 42 (+5)(-7) = 40
INT: 32 (-5) = 27
WIS: 38 (-6) = 32
LUC: 20 (+0) = 20
SKL: 98 | EVO: 68
Currency: $51014.48
– Trainee of S.H.I.E.L.D. (pending currency…)
– Trainee of S.H.I.E.L.D. (+60 EXP/hour) (+25%)
Hunger: 8/300
– Standing Drain: 4/hour (96/day)
Thirst: 19/300
– Standing Drain: 6/hour (144/day)
.
.
Passive Skills:
[Vehicle Mastery, novice lvl 8]
[Mechanics, basic lvl 5]
[Firearm Mastery, novice lvl 4]
[Fishing Mastery, novice lvl 11]
[Information Processing lvl 13]
[Cartography lvl 21]
[Empathic Reception lvl 17]
[Inconspicuous lvl 11]
[Danger Sense lvl 9]
[Critical Hit lvl 4]
[Unarmed Mastery lvl 11]
[Pugilism Style lvl 17]
[Knife Wielding lvl 3]
*[Reload lvl 2]*
[Blade Guard lvl 8]
[Fire Retardant lvl 5]
[Pain Mitigation lvl 9]
[Impact Diffusion lvl 13]
*[Chemical Filtration lvl 3]*
[Qi Rooting lvl 2]
[Mana Sensitivity lvl 2]
[Eye of the Storm/Tranquility of Water lvl 1]
.
Active Skills:
[Blade Sharpening lvl 12]
[The Zone lvl 4]
[Adrenaline Rush lvl 3]
[Power Strike lvl 10]
[Charge Attack lvl 6]
[Block Guard lvl 6]
[Counter Strike lvl 4]
*[Emergency First-Aid lvl 1]*
[Oxygen Circulation Breathing Technique lvl 1]
.
Passive & Active Skills:
[Pushing Limits lvl Max]
[Climbing lvl 6]
[Sprint lvl 18]
[Inspect lvl 22]
[Observe lvl 23]
[Harmonic Meditation lvl 12]
Author's Note: Don't forget to READ and REVIEW!
Let me know what you guys think. Keep it constructive. And any help balancing or reinventing certain skills would be most help.
Might start putting Review Responses down at the bottom here, but I'm not sure yet. Had a few folks complain about all of it being at the top, but I'll leave that up to the regulars to decide.
Again, the next chapter will be available on my Ko-Fi page (see Profile for link) for donators. Ko-Fi's minimum is $5, so sorry about that. I thought I could do it for a few cents, but apparently that is not the case. I'm not asking for subscriptions, because, like I mentioned, I haven't been super consistent, and I'm not gonna ask anyone to pay regularly for something they're not getting consistently.
A little more filler the next chapter, but it'll start cruxing on the meat of the matter.
Until next time.