Agent of Change

John sat in a cold, steel-walled briefing room with Nick Fury across the table. The Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn't known for his patience, and his piercing gaze made John feel like he was under a microscope.

"Alright, Agent Miller," Fury said, his tone sharp. "You're briefing this mission, so stop wasting time and get to it."

John's grip tightened on the tablet in his hands. On the screen were details about a suspicious energy signature detected near a decommissioned missile silo in New Mexico. It wasn't Hydra—thankfully, they didn't know about that yet—but the details screamed "weird," and weird was part of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s jurisdiction.

"Yes, sir," John began, doing his best to sound confident. "Satellite scans picked up an energy surge coming from a site that's been inactive for years. Local law enforcement reported unusual activity—lights, sounds, and equipment being moved in the area. They think it might be smugglers or an illegal operation, but we need to confirm."

He glanced at Fury, who raised an eyebrow, signaling him to continue.

"Agent Barton is leading the team. His expertise in reconnaissance makes him the best fit. He'll have a small support team to secure the area if necessary, but the priority is gathering intel and avoiding detection."

Fury leaned back in his chair, his eye narrowing. "And if it's not smugglers? If this turns out to be something bigger?"

John hesitated for a moment but quickly found his footing. "Then Barton has orders to call for backup. We have a second team on standby if things escalate."

Fury studied him for a long moment, then gave a curt nod. "Fine. You're clear. But let me be perfectly clear, Miller—don't let Barton down. He's good at what he does, and I don't want your rookie mistakes messing up his mission."

"Yes, sir," John said, standing quickly. He saluted—probably a little too stiffly—and hurried out of the room. Once he was in the hallway, he let out a shaky breath.

"I can't believe that worked," he muttered to himself.

But briefing Fury was only the beginning. If he was going to survive this world, he needed to be more than a passable agent. He needed to excel.

Later That Day

The Triskelion's training gym buzzed with activity. Agents sparred, ran drills, and worked on their marksmanship. John stood near the punching bags, watching with a mix of curiosity and determination.

This wasn't a place where you could fake it. He had to prove himself, not just to others, but to himself.

"Alright," he said under his breath, wrapping his hands with the precision his body seemed to remember. "Let's do this."

He started with the basics, throwing light punches at the bag. At first, his movements felt awkward, but as he continued, muscle memory kicked in. Jab, cross, hook. The rhythm came naturally, and soon, he was moving with surprising fluidity.

Next, he added kicks. His first few attempts were clumsy, but he adjusted his stance, letting the instincts take over. By the time he was done, the bag swung violently with every strike.

But it wasn't just hand-to-hand combat he needed to master. He moved to the climbing course, scaling walls and navigating obstacles that tested his agility and endurance. Then came the shooting range.

As he picked up a handgun, his hands felt steady, like they'd done this a thousand times. He aimed at the target, squeezed the trigger, and watched as the bullet struck near the bullseye.

"Not bad," he muttered, reloading and firing again. His accuracy improved with each shot, and by the end of the session, he was hitting center mass consistently.

Hours passed, and exhaustion began to set in. His muscles ached, and sweat drenched his shirt, but he didn't stop. He couldn't afford to.

He wasn't just trying to keep up with the other agents. He was preparing for what he knew was coming—the threats that would change the world.

By the time he left the gym, his body was spent, but his mind was sharper than ever.

Looking at his reflection in the glass of a nearby window, John saw something different—a man who was ready to fight for his second chance.

He wasn't just going to survive in this world. He was going to master it.