Chapter Four: Ripples in the Grid

The Field didn't leave footprints.

It didn't burn cities or twist timelines. It didn't cause magical imbalances like the Darkhold, or scientific panic like Ultron. But it changed the air. It buzzed beneath the skin. It lingered in the minds of those who'd touched it.

And it spread.

The Quinjet

"Rewind that."

Maria Hill leaned over the shoulder of a technician as grainy footage replayed: Sam Wilson plummeting mid-flight, blinking out of view—then reappearing an hour later like he'd been reinserted into reality.

Agent Torres tapped a key. "Third incident. There's a pattern. Heroes only. No civilians."

Hill crossed her arms. "You sure about that?"

He hesitated. "Okay. No surviving civilians."

The screen jumped to Loki's incident. A camera in a tourist's phone caught it—barely. A ripple in the air. Then nothing.

"Every target's high-profile. Highly capable," Torres added. "And they all come back… changed."

Hill frowned. "We're being scouted."

"For what?"

She didn't answer.

Wakanda

"The glitching is consistent," Shuri confirmed, projecting layered diagnostic charts in a tower of holograms. "Quantum tremors. Spatial de-saturation. Code-like bleed in the light spectrum. All within a zone shaped like a game board."

Okoye raised an eyebrow. "What kind of game?"

"The kind that rewrites rules mid-play." Shuri's tone sharpened. "Sam survived. Loki survived. But this… Fieldmaster? He's not testing powers. He's testing personalities. Morality. Intelligence."

"Like a god?"

"Worse. Like a game developer with a messiah complex."

Kamar-Taj

Wong stood in the vault beneath the Sanctum, surrounded by wards humming with tension. A shimmering field map floated midair—an energy signature Sam Wilson had given him firsthand.

The Field.

Unlike Shuri or Hill, Wong wasn't analyzing its science. He was watching for spiritual strain. Multiversal fingerprints. Broken contracts of fate.

And he found them.

"This being," he muttered, "bypasses karma itself."

He remembered Sam's face—tired, serious, but alive with purpose. The coin was gone. The wish already spent. Sam's choice had bent destiny slightly. But even that was enough to cause ripples.

Wong wasn't scared for Sam.

He was scared of the Fieldmaster's idea of fairness.

Midtown High – Queens

Peter Parker sat in the back of his chemistry class, tapping his pen nervously against the edge of his notebook. MJ passed him a note without looking.

You're vibrating again. Spider-Sense?

He scribbled back.

I think it's more like Game-Sense now.

Peter hadn't told her, not all of it.

He'd seen the glitch—just once. A shimmer during a swing. The sky bent like a paused video game. Then Sam had shown up at their rooftop meeting with that look. The haunted kind. The kind Steve had after Sokovia. The kind Peter had after Tony.

"Whatever this game is," Sam had said, "it doesn't care if you're ready. Just if you're interesting."

And now… Peter felt it coming.

A tingle at the base of his skull. The streets felt like a level. The people felt like NPCs. And the sky?

The sky was too quiet.

The Fieldmaster

He sat at the edge of a shifting arena made of retro arcade tiles, petting a Rubik's cube that meowed when scratched.

The book floated beside him, pages flipping lazily.

"Wong suspects. Shuri studies. Hill sharpens her knives."

He tossed a D6 into the void. It bounced, spun midair, and landed on a floating tile.

Name: Peter Benjamin Parker

Title: Spider-Man

Difficulty: Adaptive

Modifier: 'High Emotional Stakes'

"Player Four," the Fieldmaster said, grinning.

He plucked a glowing card from the book's edge. It burned with red and blue light, inscribed with webs, equations, and the outline of a falling star.

"Let's see what you do when you can't save everyone, Webhead."

He closed his hand—and the game began to shift.

End of Chapter Four