Jennifer spent the next two hours drafting a counter-proposal that looked like she was preparing to go to war with SHIELD.
I sat across from her, watching her type with the focused intensity of someone who'd done this before and enjoyed it.
"Okay," she said finally, turning her laptop toward me. "Here's what we're demanding."
I scanned the document. Most of it was legal jargon that made my brain hurt, but certain phrases jumped out:
"Employee retains right of refusal for assignments deemed excessively dangerous"
"Mandatory mental health support including therapy"
"Limited duty hours not to exceed 40 hours per week"
"Salary: $120,000 base"
"Death bonuses: $1,000 per confirmed death during duty hours"
I stopped at that last one.
"Death bonuses?"
"You're literally dying for them. That deserves hazard pay." She scrolled down. "We're also demanding a probationary period where either party can terminate without penalty, full medical coverage, and a clause preventing them from sharing your information with other agencies without consent."
"Will they agree to any of this?"
"Some of it. That's why we start high and negotiate down." She cracked her knuckles. "I've dealt with SHIELD before. They'll push back on the refusal rights and probably the death bonuses. But the mental health support and probation period are non-negotiable."
"Have you... done this a lot? Negotiated with SHIELD?"
"Often enough." She smiled slightly. "I specialize in enhanced individual rights. Most of my clients have powers they didn't ask for and are trying to avoid getting exploited by organizations with too much funding and too little oversight."
"That's weirdly specific."
"Welcome to superhuman law. It's a niche market." She started typing an email. "I'm sending this to Commander Hill now. We should hear back within a few hours."
"And if they say no to everything?"
"Then we negotiate. That's literally my job." She hit send. "In the meantime, go home. Eat something. Try not to die before we hear back."
"That's become harder than you'd think."
I made it home without dying.
Personal victory count: 1.
My apartment felt weirdly normal after everything. Coffee mug still in the sink. Laptop still on the couch. Like my life hadn't just been completely derailed by respawn powers and government spy agencies.
I made a sandwich and sat down to check my email.
Seventeen unread messages from work. Most of them from Dave asking if I was okay.
I felt a pang of guilt. Dave was a good guy. We'd worked together for three years. He didn't deserve to be ghosted while I dealt with my whole "can't stop dying" situation.
I typed out a response: "Hey man, dealing with some health stuff. Might need to take extended leave. I'll explain when I can."
It wasn't a lie. Repeatedly dying definitely counted as a health issue.
My phone rang.
Jennifer.
That was fast.
"They responded already?" I answered.
"Commander Hill called me directly. She wants to negotiate in person. Tomorrow, 10 AM. Are you available?"
"I mean, my calendar's pretty clear aside from 'try not to die.'"
"Great. Meet me at my office at 9:30. We'll go over strategy before the meeting." She paused. "And Carson? Don't agree to anything if she tries to corner you alone. These people are professional negotiators. You're an anxious IT guy."
"Wow. Rude but accurate."
"That's what you're paying me for. See you tomorrow."
She hung up.
I looked at my sandwich. At my laptop. At my completely normal apartment where I used to have a completely normal life.
"I'm negotiating with SHIELD tomorrow," I said to my sandwich. "This is my life now."
The sandwich, being an inanimate object, offered no judgment.
I spent the rest of Tuesday trying to distract myself.
Played video games. Watched Netflix. Avoided the news because every other story was about some enhanced individual incident that reminded me of how many ways I could die.
Around 8 PM, my phone buzzed.
Text from unknown number: "Mr. Lynn, this is Commander Hill. Looking forward to our conversation tomorrow. Please don't die between now and then. It would complicate the paperwork."
I stared at the message.
Was that... a joke? Was Commander Hill making jokes about my death count?
I typed back: "I'll try my best. No promises though. The universe seems to have it out for me."
Her response came immediately: "Yes. We've noticed. See you tomorrow."
I set my phone down and laughed.
This was insane. All of this was insane.
But at least people were being weirdly casual about it.
Wednesday morning I met Jennifer at her office at 9:30 sharp.
She was already prepared, folder full of documents and a briefcase that looked like it could survive a nuclear blast.
"Ready?" she asked.
"Absolutely not."
"Perfect. Let's go."
SHIELD headquarters was less intimidating the second time.
Probably because I had a lawyer who looked like she could bench press the building.
We were escorted to the same conference room as before. Commander Hill was already waiting, along with a man I didn't recognize—older guy, professional demeanor, definitely some kind of SHIELD administrator.
"Ms. Walters." Hill stood and shook Jennifer's hand. "Always interesting working with you."
"Commander. I see you brought backup."
"This is Agent Rodriguez. He handles enhanced asset contracts." Hill gestured to the table. "Shall we begin?"
We all sat down.
Jennifer pulled out her folder like she was about to litigate someone into the ground.
"Let's start with the basics," Hill said, opening her tablet. "We've reviewed your counter-proposal. Some terms are acceptable. Others need adjustment."
"I'm listening," Jennifer said.
"The salary is fine. $110,000 base, we'll meet you in the middle. The mental health support is reasonable—we have a staff psychologist, Dr. Andrew Garner, who specializes in enhanced individual trauma." Hill swiped to the next page. "The probationary period we can do, but three months instead of six."
Jennifer made notes. "Four months."
"Deal. Now, the right of refusal..."
"Non-negotiable," Jennifer said immediately.
Hill sighed. "Ms. Walters, we need reliable assets. If Mr. Lynn can refuse any assignment—"
"My client isn't refusing 'any assignment.' He's retaining the right to refuse assignments that are unreasonably dangerous or contrary to his ethics. You know, basic human rights."
"He can come back from death. The definition of 'unreasonably dangerous' is different for him."
"Dying still hurts," I interjected. Both women looked at me. "Just... just so we're clear. I feel every death. It's not fun. It's really, really not fun."
Hill's expression softened slightly. "We understand that. Which is why we're willing to compromise. Refusal rights stay, but refusals are reviewed by a panel including his therapist. If the refusal is deemed reasonable—mental health concerns, legitimate ethical issues, safety factors beyond his ability—it stands. If it's deemed he's just avoiding work, we discuss alternatives."
Jennifer looked at me. I nodded.
"Acceptable," she said.
They went back and forth for another hour. Death bonuses (rejected, but we got hazard pay increases instead). Information sharing (limited to need-to-know basis only). Training parameters (reasonable physical conditioning, no excessive testing).
Finally, Hill closed her tablet.
"I think we have a deal. Agent Rodriguez will draft the revised contract. You'll have it by end of day." She looked at me. "Mr. Lynn, assuming you sign, you start Monday. 6 AM. Bring comfortable workout clothes and be prepared for a long day."
"How long?"
"We need to assess your physical baseline, run ability tests, and start basic training. Figure eight to ten hours."
"Eight to ten hours of dying?"
"Some dying. Some not dying. We'll see how it goes." She stood. "Welcome to SHIELD, Mr. Lynn. Try not to make me regret this."
We left SHIELD headquarters around noon.
Jennifer walked me to the subway station.
"That went well," she said.
"Did it? It felt terrifying."
"You got good terms. Better than most enhanced individuals on their first contract. Hill respects you, which is rare." She handed me her card. "Call me if they push you too hard during training. Or if anything feels wrong. That's what I'm here for."
"Thanks. Really. I don't think I could have done this without you."
"You definitely couldn't have." She smiled. "Now go home. Relax. Enjoy your last few days of not being a SHIELD asset."
"When you put it like that it sounds way worse."
"Because it is. But at least you're getting paid."
I made it home without incident.
Personal victory count: 2.
I collapsed on my couch and pulled out my phone.
Text from Hill: "Contract will be sent to your lawyer by 5 PM. Sign and return by Friday. See you Monday."
I opened my email. Message from my manager: "Hey Carson, got your message. Sorry to hear about the health issues. Let me know what you need. We can work out extended leave if necessary."
I stared at the email for a long moment.
Then I started typing.
"Hi [Manager],
I need to resign effective immediately. I've been offered another position that starts next week. I know this is sudden and I apologize for the short notice. I've really enjoyed working here and I'm grateful for everything I've learned.
Thank you for being understanding.
Best, Carson"
I hit send before I could overthink it.
My old life: officially done.
My new life with SHIELD: starting Monday.
"This is fine," I said to my empty apartment. "Everything is fine. I'm going to work for a spy agency that wants me to die repeatedly for science. Totally normal career progression."
My phone buzzed.
Manager's response: "Wow, okay. That's unexpected but congratulations on the new opportunity! We'll process your exit paperwork. Good luck with everything!"
I set my phone down and laughed.
Because what else could I do?
Thursday and Friday passed in a blur of paperwork and anxiety.
I signed the SHIELD contract (after Jennifer reviewed it three times).
I meal prepped for the week because I had no idea what my schedule would be.
I googled "how to not die in SHIELD training" and got zero useful results.
I tried on five different workout outfits before settling on basic athletic gear.
Friday night, I got a text from Hill: "6 AM sharp. Building address attached. Report to security. And Lynn? Get some sleep. Tomorrow's going to be... educational."
I looked at the clock. 9 PM.
I should sleep.
I managed about three hours.
Monday morning, 5 AM, I was awake before my alarm.
I got dressed. Made coffee I couldn't drink. Checked my bag four times.
At 5:30, I left my apartment.
The subway was mostly empty. Just early morning commuters and night shift workers heading home.
Nobody paid attention to me.
Just another person going to work.
Except my work was figuring out how many times I could die before I mentally broke.
I arrived at the SHIELD building at 5:50.
Security checked my ID, gave me a badge, directed me to the elevators.
"Twenty-fifth floor. Someone will meet you there."
The elevator ride felt eternal.
When the doors opened, Commander Hill was waiting.
"Lynn. Punctual. Good." She gestured down the hallway. "Follow me. First stop: medical evaluation."
"How bad is this going to be?"
"On a scale of 'minor discomfort' to 'you're going to wish you stayed in IT'? Somewhere in the middle." She stopped at a door. "But look at it this way—you literally can't die from this."
"That's not as comforting as you think."
She opened the door.
Inside was a medical bay with equipment I didn't recognize and a doctor who looked way too cheerful for 6 AM.
"Mr. Lynn! Welcome! I'm Dr. Hayes. I'll be running your physical assessment today." He gestured to an examination table. "Hop up here and let's get started. This is going to be fascinating!"
I looked at Hill.
She smiled. "I'll be back in an hour. Try not to die more than necessary."
"WAIT WHAT—"
She closed the door.
Dr. Hayes pulled on gloves and grinned. "So! Let's talk about your respawn ability. I have so many questions."