Chapter One: Welcome to the Field

It started with a flicker.

The sky over Manhattan glitched—just once, a hiccup in reality. Barely noticeable. A shimmer in the clouds, like a ripple across the surface of a screen.

Sam Wilson wouldn't have paid attention if not for the sudden weightlessness that followed.

One second, he was soaring between the high-rises, his EXO-7 Falcon suit humming smoothly with Stark-level tech, wind rushing past his ears, HUD glowing with a calm green glow. The next, everything—gravity, wind, noise—cut off.

The city beneath him twisted.

Not metaphorically.

The skyline folded like origami, the buildings pixelating and snapping into low-resolution blocks, some floating in the sky, others stretching into impossible spirals. The streets turned into endless loops of shifting tiles, glitching textures, and hovering symbols that pulsed like loading icons.

And then the sky turned purple.

Not the gentle lavender of a New York sunset. This was deep, digital violet—lined with glowing blue grid lines like a 3D modeling software left open by a bored god.

Sam fell.

His wings didn't respond. His HUD blinked out with a whimpering error tone, and the EXO-7's boosters sputtered and folded without command. He crashed—not into concrete—but onto a floating square platform made of what looked like obsidian and… checkerboard tiles?

It gave under his impact like a trampoline made of light.

"Ugh..." He groaned, rolling to his feet, scanning the bizarre landscape around him.

It was like being trapped inside an unfinished video game level: pixelated terrain, levitating dice the size of trucks, card suits floating through the air like butterflies, and far in the distance—what looked like a glowing door suspended in midair.

A voice echoed from everywhere and nowhere.

"Player One: Falcon. Welcome… to the Field."

Sam's hand went to his earpiece out of instinct. "Stark? Anyone? Can anyone read me?"

Nothing but static. Not even J.A.R.V.I.S. Or FRIDAY. This place was off the grid in a way that made the Quantum Realm feel like Times Square.

Then the voice again—closer this time, silkier, smug.

"I appreciate punctuality. You fell right into the tutorial zone. Very obedient."

A figure descended from the glitching sky like a slow-falling chess piece. He didn't walk—he hovered, surrounded by floating cubes, code-ribbons, and swirling holograms. His coat shimmered in black and white squares like a chessboard, fringed with flickering gold trim. His belt was a string of spinning dice, each face glowing with a different symbol. And beside him floated a massive, leather-bound book that kept flipping pages on its own, displaying icons from hundreds of games—some real, some alien, some ancient.

But his eyes were the most unsettling. Swirling dice, rolling endlessly. One eye a D20. The other, six-sided. They never stopped.

"Allow me to introduce myself," he said, bowing slightly. "I am the Fieldmaster. And congratulations! You, Captain Wilson, have been selected for today's game."

Sam took a defensive stance. "I'm not playing your game, pal."

"Oh, but you already are," the Fieldmaster smiled. "You landed on the board. That makes you a piece. And pieces move according to the rules."

He gestured.

Behind Sam, a massive construct shimmered into place—an obstacle course made of tiles, blocks, traps, and floating platforms that shifted as he looked at them. The end point glowed bright gold: a hovering doorway, pulsing with game energy.

"Today's challenge: Don't Fall."

"Real original," Sam muttered.

The Fieldmaster grinned. "Simple rules, sharp consequences."

He snapped his fingers.

Sam's wings snapped shut and vanished—replaced by a red holographic X across his back.

"Rule One: No Flying."

"You just—!?"

"I dislike cheaters. Very much. And no offense, but flying across my handcrafted stage would be... insulting. You wouldn't skip a boss fight, would you?"

"You're nuts."

"I'm bored." The Fieldmaster corrected. "And you're entertaining. So! Make it across the board. Step wrong, fall, or break a rule, and I get to pick a punishment. Win... and I'll grant you a wish."

Sam narrowed his eyes. "What kind of wish?"

"A small one," the Fieldmaster said coyly. "But valuable. Potential, not power. Fair trade, yes?"

Before Sam could argue, the ground behind him fell away—forcing him forward toward the first platform.

The game had begun.

Stage One: Tilting Platforms

The first few tiles were simple—wide enough for comfort. Then one shifted underfoot like a boat in a storm. Sam stumbled, knees bending as he fought to steady himself.

He dashed forward—only for the next tile to spin like a roulette wheel mid-step.

He adjusted. Landed hard. Slipped.

"Wanna guess what number you landed on?" the Fieldmaster teased.

"Gonna guess 'screw you' isn't on that wheel."

A trapdoor opened beneath one heel. Sam leapt, rolled, and landed awkwardly, shoulder-first.

He pushed himself up, groaning.

Stage Two: The Memory Maze

Six identical paths appeared—forked from one platform. Above them, a screen flickered.

"Memorize the safe route."

The safe path glowed for three seconds. Then darkness.

He sprinted forward, relying on memory—but the tiles shifted order mid-run.

The Fieldmaster's voice chimed, "Adaptation bonus activated!"

One wrong turn.

He stepped on the wrong tile and—

"Whoop!"

A trap door opened and Sam plummeted into digital void.

Caught in a soft, pixelated net. Suspended midair. Then—yoink!—flung back to the start.

"Violation: Misstep. Punishment: Physical Comedy."

A digital banana peel manifested under him mid-sprint. He slipped, spun, and slammed face-first into a platform wall.

Stage Three: The Clone Gambit

Two more Sam Wilsons appeared on adjacent platforms, matching his stance perfectly.

They moved as he moved.

"One is you. One is fake. Pick wrong and…" The Fieldmaster trailed off.

The real Sam stood still. Waited.

One of the clones scratched his head.

"You twitched."

He ran at the fake.

The clone screamed, dissolved into colored particles—and the platform detonated.

"Correct! You chose poorly and still survived. I admire the chaos."

Stage Four: The Reflex Gauntlet

Red and green tiles flashed. A rhythm game. He had to step only on green—at speed.

Sam sprinted.

Left—green.

Right—green.

Green again—Switch!

Red—he jumped.

Green—rolled.

Wall incoming—duck!

One missed cue.

"Penalty incoming!"

A boxing glove the size of a car smacked him from the side, launching him onto a low platform.

He coughed. "You enjoying this?"

"Immensely."

Stage Five: Truth Tiles

Each tile bore a phrase.

"You let Karli die."

"You'll never live up to Steve."

"You're only a symbol."

"You matter."

"You chose war."

Only one path forward.

Step on the truth.

Sam clenched his fists.

He stepped on: "You'll never live up to Steve."

The tile held.

Next: "You matter."

It sparked—but held.

"You chose war." He paused. Exhaled. Stepped.

The tile turned blue.

He kept going.

Finally—bruised, scraped, exhausted—he reached the golden door.

The Fieldmaster clapped slowly.

"Bravo, Player One. Delightful. Would watch again."

Sam touched the door.

A surge of warmth. Light engulfed him.

He stood on a rooftop again.

New York was… normal.

The coin in his hand shimmered. A tiny star etched on its surface.

Behind him, the Fieldmaster's voice echoed:

"You get one wish. Not power. Not perfection. Just potential. Use it wisely… or don't. I'm not your dad."

Far away, behind unreality's veil, the Fieldmaster leaned back in a throne made of glass chess pieces and UNO cards.

He spun his dice, screens flickering with names.

Loki. Peter. Wanda. Bucky. Banner.

"Let's see who's next…"

End of Chapter One