### **Brooklyn, New York — Six Months Later**
Pain was the first thing he felt.
A dull, heavy throb in his skull. His bones ached — not from injury, but from **memory**. Like his body remembered being crushed even though it was perfectly whole.
Robin opened his eyes slowly. A white ceiling. The hum of fluorescent lights. Monitors beeping softly beside him.
*Hospital.*
His chest rose and fell evenly. No oxygen mask. No IVs. Just the scratch of cotton against skin and the heavy weight of a patient gown.
He sat up, wincing—not from pain, but from **phantom sensation**. Somewhere deep inside, he felt it: a part of himself rebuilding. Healing faster than nature allowed. Adapting.
*It's real,* he thought. *This isn't a dream.*
The window to his right showed traffic outside. Brick buildings. Steam rising from street grates. A yellow cab honking.
**New York.**
And on the wall across from him, a mounted TV showed a grainy news segment.
> "—Captain America and the rogue Avengers are now fugitives following the airport incident in Germany—"
Robin's breath hitched.
*Civil War.* That meant the Sokovia Accords were fresh. Tony and Steve were split. Wanda was likely under lock and key. Vision was still a robot with baby logic. And Thanos? Still a shadow on the horizon.
He had *time*.
But he needed a life first.
---
### **The Name Game**
The nurse entered twenty minutes later. She looked tired — end of a long shift — but kind.
"Well hey, sleeping beauty," she said, checking the monitors. "You gave us quite the scare. You were found passed out in an alley on 37th and 10th. No ID. You've been unconscious for two days."
Robin's mouth felt dry. He nodded. "Yeah… I don't remember much. Foggy."
"Drugs?" she asked gently. "Overdose?"
He shook his head, carefully. "No. I just… don't know who I am."
Her eyebrows knit together, sympathetic. "Amnesia?"
He shrugged, adding just the right touch of confusion. "Maybe. It's… all static."
The nurse nodded. "We'll run some more scans. For now, you're a John Doe. But you're lucky—no broken bones, no burns, not even a bruise. Honestly, your bloodwork's perfect. Like, *textbook perfect*. Weird, huh?"
Robin smiled faintly. "Yeah. I guess I'm just built different."
---
### **Birth of a Ghost**
By the end of the week, Robin had disappeared from the hospital registry.
Not because he ran.
Because he *erased* himself.
His adaptation wasn't just physical—it was instinctual. His mind had begun evolving too. Subtly. Not superhuman intelligence, but *precision*. Focus. Understanding systems, patterns, people.
He watched. He learned. He listened.
A week later, he had a name.
**Robin Vance.**
A digital ghost. No birth record. No passport. Just carefully fabricated breadcrumbs he could hide behind.
He moved into a small, beat-up studio above a secondhand bookstore in Brooklyn. Paid cash. No questions asked. Ate modestly. Read everything.
And when he could, he tested himself.
Carefully.
Quietly.
---
### **Adaptation, Observed**
He started with small things.
A hot stovetop — hand pressed to it. The skin blistered.
He gritted his teeth. Waited.
Thirty seconds. The blister vanished.
He tried again.
The second time, nothing happened. His skin stayed pink, but no pain. No mark. *Fireproof, now.* Or *more fireproof than before.*
Next test: drowning.
He filled his tub, held his breath, let his lungs burn.
The third attempt? He noticed his heartbeat slowing voluntarily. Like his body was adjusting. Oxygen deprivation faded. *Adaptation.*
Then there was the electricity test.
One shock from a stripped wire knocked him across the room.
The next day, he didn't even flinch when he touched it.
Robin began logging everything in a leather-bound journal.
> **Adaptation Log**
> – Burns: Rapid healing. Tolerance develops within 24 hours.
> – Oxygen Deprivation: Breathing slows. No panic response.
> – Electrical Resistance: Grows after repeated exposure.
> – Reflexes: Improving. Anticipate faster.
> – Hearing: Enhanced at night. Low frequency range.
> – Aging: ??? (Will take time.)
His handwriting was careful. Measured. The way a scientist might observe a volatile experiment.
Because that's what he was.
A *living experiment.*
---
### **The Stranger in the Coat**
It was a rainy Thursday when Robin first felt it: **eyes on him.**
Not from someone nearby. But something else.
Like a spiderweb in the back of his mind had been plucked.
He looked over his shoulder — nothing.
But the feeling didn't leave.
That night, on his way home, he passed a man standing perfectly still in the alley across the street.
Wearing an old-timey coat.
Face shadowed.
Robin turned, heart steady, posture relaxed. His instincts — once those of a firefighter — now *feral*. Silent alarm bells.
The man didn't move.
But Robin saw something on his chest — a faint flicker of silver.
A badge.
**TVA.**
The stranger disappeared before Robin could cross the street.
Vanished, like smoke in the rain.
Robin stood there for a long time, breathing slow and deep.
He'd stayed hidden.
But *something* had still seen him.
---
### **Closing Thoughts — Nightfall**
Back in his studio, Robin sat by the window, city lights flickering below. His reflection in the glass looked back at him — older, harder.
Not broken.
Just *reshaped*.
> "Don't chase power," God had said.
> "Live."
He was trying.
But living, for someone like him, meant learning to carry a secret the size of a multiverse.
Still… this time, he *wasn't running into fire*.
This time, he had time to think.
To *choose*.
The world didn't know him yet.
But it would.
Soon