Chapter Five: Data, Drills, and the Calm Before the Storm

It had been twelve days since Sam Wilson exited the Field.

Twelve days since he was offered a wish.

Twelve days since he accepted.

The coin was gone now—melted into his skin like a digital brand. He didn't wish for strength or fame or a new vibranium upgrade. His wish was one thing:

"I want to be ready next time."

The Fieldmaster had smiled—genuinely, almost warmly.

"Then you will be. Eventually."

The Facility

The GRC had been repurposing decommissioned S.H.I.E.L.D. bases since the Blip, and Sam had claimed one for himself. Remote. Underground. Sealed off from satellite feeds.

To the world, he was Captain America now.

To the mirror, he was a soldier who got outplayed by a man dressed like a casino fever dream.

He was not going to let it happen again.

"Again!"

He slammed into the wall pads, dodging a burst of paint-rounds from a floating drone rig. He leapt back, flipped over the obstacle course's twisting metal tiles, and slammed his shield into the hardlight dummy that wore the Fieldmaster's smug grin.

The dummy exploded into confetti.

AI Shuri's voice rang through the speakers. "Eight percent faster this time. But still caught on Rule Six."

Sam groaned, peeling off his helmet. "The invisible rule is cheating."

"It's the Field," she said through the intercom. "There's always a rule you don't see. I'm adapting this sim based on your memory. The more you run it, the better the extrapolation."

Sam nodded and caught his breath. "And the coin?"

There was a pause. Then:

"It's rewriting your neural pathways. Enhancing deductive logic, reaction time, and short-term pattern memory. Subtle. It's not giving you knowledge—it's training your brain to learn faster."

Sam frowned. "Like unlocking a skill tree."

"Exactly."

He turned back to the course. Every piece of it—tile traps, illusion puzzles, proximity-trigger platforms—was modeled after what he'd faced in the Field. Shuri had helped build the data model. Wong had layered in mystic protections in case it triggered something unwanted.

The Field was unpredictable. And dangerous.

And it wasn't just heroes being dragged into the game.

Hero or Villain

Wong had confirmed it during one of their sessions in Kamar-Taj.

"The Field isn't moral," he said, leafing through a floating, rune-bound scroll. "It doesn't measure virtue. It measures potential."

"Potential for what?" Sam asked.

Wong met his gaze. "For play."

That one word chilled him more than any cosmic threat.

The Field didn't care if you wore a cape or carried a shield. It didn't care if you saved the world or tried to burn it. If you were compelling—if you fit the story—you could become a player.

The Wish

Sam's wish wasn't about strength. It was about readiness. About not being outmaneuvered.

And it was working.

His reflexes were sharper. His instincts keener. He could sense pattern changes in traffic, react faster to tactical shifts, and even anticipate Wong's next sarcastic jab in conversation.

But it came at a cost.

Dreams.

Every night, he saw flickers of other Fields—some from other players, some not even human. A game of riddles played underwater. A battlefield of glowing chess pieces where the loser dissolved into sand.

He'd wake up drenched in sweat, clutching his coin-marked hand like it might vanish.

Meanwhile – Midtown High

Peter Parker sat in the Midtown High library, fidgeting with a pencil.

Chessboard. Old. Dusty. But something about it was wrong.

The black queen had eight sides. The white knight had no eyes. And the red king...

Peter blinked.

It was gone.

MJ sat across from him, sipping coffee. "Earth to Peter?"

He jolted upright. "Huh? Yeah—sorry. Just… weird dreams."

"Spider-weird or normal-weird?"

"Spider-weird," he muttered. "I think."

He didn't tell her about the vending machine glitch. Or how his Spider-Sense now twitched during loading screens. Or how, for a moment yesterday, he thought he saw a dice roll on his math teacher's forehead.

Peter Parker was next.

He just didn't know it yet.

Back in the bunker, Sam reviewed the logs.

Everything was timestamped. Tracked. Watched.

The timeline wasn't broken—not like with the TVA or Strange's multiversal madness.

But it was… folding.

Reality was being shuffled, like cards in a deck.

And somewhere at the center of it all was a gamer in a checkerboard coat, watching from beyond the code.

Sam tapped his shield. His eyes narrowed.

He wasn't the only player.

He was just the first one to lose.

End of Chapter Five