Chapter 6 : WELCOME TO THE BUS
The Bus hummed beneath my feet as the engines spooled up.
I'd been assigned a bunk—small, efficient, military-sparse—and given exactly fifteen minutes to "settle in" before the team meeting. There wasn't much settling to do. My worldly possessions fit in one pocket. The room itself contained a bed, a locker, a fold-down desk, and nothing else.
It was perfect.
I sat on the edge of the mattress and let myself feel the moment. Forty-eight hours ago, I'd been a dead man walking in a crappy apartment, struggling to understand powers that didn't come with a manual. Now I was sitting in a SHIELD aircraft, surrounded by people I'd watched on a screen for years, about to become part of something that mattered.
The weight of it settled on my shoulders like a physical thing.
I could change everything. I could save people who died in the original timeline. I could stop Ward before he ever got the chance to betray anyone. I could warn Coulson about HYDRA, protect Skye from the traumas that shaped her, prevent Trip from—
No.
I pressed my palms against my eyes until spots danced in the darkness.
One step at a time. Build trust first. Rushing would get me killed or kicked out, and then I couldn't help anyone.
A knock at the door.
"Yeah?"
Simmons poked her head in, tablet already in hand. "Sorry to interrupt. Agent Coulson asked me to conduct an initial baseline assessment of your abilities. Nothing invasive—just some measurements, questions, that sort of thing. Would you mind?"
"Now?"
"If you're not too busy." She glanced around the empty room with poorly concealed amusement. "Though I can see you're quite occupied."
I laughed. "Lead the way, Dr. Simmons."
"Oh, I'm not a doctor yet. Well, technically I am—two PhDs, actually—but I prefer—" She caught herself. "You're humoring me."
"Absolutely. Please continue."
She smiled, warm and genuine. "I think I'm going to like you, Mr. Mordered."
"Jake. If we're going to be teammates, you might as well use my name."
"Jake, then. Follow me?"
---
The lab was Simmons' domain, and she moved through it like a composer through an orchestra. Every instrument had its place, every screen displayed exactly what she needed, and Fitz orbited her movements with the unconscious synchronization of a longtime partner.
"Sit here, please." She gestured to an examination chair that looked like something between a dentist's nightmare and a science fiction prop. "This won't hurt, I promise."
"That's what they always say before it hurts."
"Fair point." She attached sensors to my temples, wrists, and chest with practiced efficiency. "These will measure neural activity, heart rate variability, and galvanic skin response. I want to establish baselines before we test your abilities."
Fitz rolled over on a wheeled stool, scanner in hand. "Mind if I get cellular readings? The regeneration you mentioned—I'd like to see what's happening at the microscopic level."
"Knock yourself out."
They worked in tandem, trading data and observations in a shorthand I couldn't follow. I sat still and let them work, watching the screens fill with numbers and graphs that meant nothing to me.
"Fascinating," Simmons breathed. "Your cells are rebuilding at approximately three times normal human rate. Not enough to be instantly visible, but over hours or days..."
"Injuries heal faster. Yeah. I noticed."
"But it's not uniform." Fitz pointed at a display. "Look here. The regeneration prioritizes certain systems. It's like your body is allocating resources based on... threat assessment?"
"Like a computer prioritizing RAM," Simmons agreed.
I blinked. That was exactly how I'd thought of it, back in the coffee shop when I was trying to understand the copying mechanism. Were they picking up on something inherent to my powers, or was it just a coincidence?
"Can you demonstrate the reflexes?" Simmons asked. "Controlled environment, for measurement purposes."
"Sure. What do you want me to catch?"
Fitz handed me a tennis ball. "I'll throw, you catch. Simple reaction time test."
He threw the ball.
I caught it before his fingers fully released.
They both stared.
"That's not possible," Fitz said. "Physiologically, the neural signal shouldn't have reached your hand yet. You caught it before the throw was complete."
"It happens like that sometimes. Like I know what's coming before it actually happens."
Simmons was typing furiously. "Micro-precognition? Or enhanced pattern recognition so refined it seems like prediction? Either way, the implications—"
"Simmons." Coulson's voice came from the doorway. "Team meeting in five. You can study him more later."
"But the data—"
"Will still be there after the briefing." He turned to me. "Feeling poked and prodded enough?"
"Ask me again after Fitz finishes that scan he's pretending not to take."
Fitz had the decency to look embarrassed.
---
The command center filled with people.
May stood at the holographic display, pulling up mission files with quick, precise gestures. Ward leaned against the conference table, arms crossed, projecting casual competence. Skye had commandeered the best seat—close enough to see everything, angled to watch everyone's reactions.
I settled into an empty chair and tried not to stare at her.
The detection ability pulsed steadily now, a constant reminder of what she was. Dormant Inhuman, one of the most powerful on the planet, currently slouching in a chair and scrolling through her phone like she didn't have earthquake powers waiting to be born.
"First mission as a full team," Coulson announced. "We've got a situation in Peru. Local authorities are requesting assistance with an unidentified object discovered at an archaeological dig site."
May pulled up images. Ancient temple ruins, excavation equipment, and something metallic gleaming in the dirt.
"They think it's alien," May said flatly. "They're probably right."
"Is it?" Ward asked.
"Unknown origin, unidentified materials, energy signatures that don't match anything in our database." Coulson zoomed in on the object. "Could be alien. Could be Asgardian. Could be something else entirely. Our job is to secure it and determine what we're dealing with."
"Babysitting rocks," Skye muttered. "Glamorous."
"You wanted to be a SHIELD consultant. This is what consulting looks like." Coulson turned to me. "Jake, you'll be observing on this mission. Stay close to the team, follow orders, and don't touch anything that glows."
"Glowing things bad. Got it."
"If your detection ability picks up anything unusual, report it immediately. Otherwise, watch and learn."
I nodded. First mission, probationary status, zero combat clearance. I was basically a passenger with special senses.
Better than being left behind.
The briefing continued—logistics, local contacts, security protocols—but my attention kept drifting to Skye. She was taking notes on her tablet, brow furrowed in concentration, occasionally muttering questions under her breath.
She glanced up and caught me looking.
I didn't look away.
Neither did she.
After a moment, she raised an eyebrow. What?
I shrugged slightly. Nothing.
Her lips quirked. Not quite a smile, but close.
"Wheels up in twenty," Coulson announced. "Get your gear and strap in."
The team scattered.
---
The Bus leveled out at cruising altitude somewhere over the Pacific.
I found Skye in the lounge, laptop open, fingers flying across the keyboard. She didn't look up as I approached, but her typing rhythm shifted—aware of my presence without acknowledging it.
"Mind if I sit?"
"Free country. Allegedly."
I dropped into the chair across from her. The pull was stronger this close—a constant hum in my chest, my copying ability straining toward her dormant genes. I kept my hands folded in my lap, maintaining distance.
"What are you working on?"
"Background on the dig site. The official story is archaeological research funded by the Peruvian government. But the money traces back to a shell company with ties to a defense contractor that doesn't technically exist."
"That's... thorough."
"I used to dig up stuff like this for fun." She finally looked up. "Before SHIELD recruited me. Well, 'recruited' is generous. They caught me hacking their systems and decided I was more useful inside than outside."
"The ultimate job interview."
"Something like that." She studied me with an intensity that felt almost physical. "So what's your deal? Enhanced reflexes, super senses, the whole mysterious orphan thing—you're like a conspiracy theory come to life."
"Coming from you, that's probably a compliment."
"It might be. Haven't decided yet."
I leaned back in my chair, letting myself relax. Skye responded to openness—the original timeline had shown that. She was drawn to people who didn't play games, who met her directness with their own.
"Ask me something," I said.
"Anything?"
"Within reason. I'm an open book. Mostly."
She considered. "Why SHIELD? You could've disappeared. Lots of people with powers go off-grid, stay hidden. Why volunteer for this?"
"Because hiding wouldn't change anything." The words came out more honest than I'd intended. "I spent twenty-eight years being ordinary. Working dead-end jobs, going nowhere, mattering to no one. Then these abilities showed up, and suddenly I had a choice. I could hide from what I was becoming. Or I could use it."
"Very hero-origin-story of you."
"I'm not trying to be a hero. I just—" I stopped, searching for words that were true without being too true. "There are people out there like me. I can sense them. Dozens, maybe hundreds, walking around with no idea what they are. Some of them are going to get hurt. Some of them are going to hurt others, not because they're bad, but because they don't understand. If I can help prevent that, even a little, then sitting on the sidelines isn't an option."
Skye was quiet for a long moment.
"That's either the most sincere thing anyone's ever said to me," she finally said, "or you're really, really good at lying."
"Can't it be both?"
She laughed—genuine, surprised, the sound cutting through the engine hum. "Okay, Jake Mordered. You might be interesting after all."
"High praise from a woman who hacks government agencies for fun."
"The highest." She turned back to her laptop, but she was still smiling. "Now let me work. Some of us have actual jobs."
I stood, started to leave, then paused.
"Hey, Skye?"
"Yeah?"
"For what it's worth? I'm glad you're on this team."
She looked up, expression unreadable.
"Don't get sentimental," she said. "We just met."
"Just stating facts."
I walked away before she could respond, but I heard her quiet laugh follow me down the corridor.
The pull hummed in my chest. The copying hadn't started—I'd kept careful distance, avoided the extended contact the process required. But the foundation was laid. Trust building. Relationship forming.
Everything according to plan.
The Bus carried us toward Peru, toward the first mission, toward a future I was determined to rewrite. And somewhere in the back of my mind, a clock started ticking.
Eighteen months until HYDRA revealed itself. Eighteen months until Ward turned. Eighteen months to prepare for a war no one else knew was coming.
I'd better make them count.
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