The safehouse was deep beneath an abandoned military installation on the outskirts of Albany.
Concrete walls lined with outdated monitors flickered to life as you stepped inside, escorted by the man who'd approached you in the diner—Agent Cole Hartman. He was older than you first assumed, though his posture remained military stiff. His expression stayed unreadable, even as the steel doors slammed shut behind you.
You scanned the space. The facility wasn't exactly high-tech, but it hummed with purpose—secure, hidden, and far removed from anything public.
"We call ourselves Echo Division," Hartman explained as he led you through dim corridors. "Offshoot remnants of S.H.I.E.L.D. and STRIKE that survived the HYDRA fallout. We're not official. We're not public. But we exist to protect people like you—before someone else gets to you first."
You stepped into a room filled with digital displays and active data feeds. Surveillance footage, energy readouts, and bioscans flickered across walls. At the center stood a long table surrounded by tactical screens.
"You're not the only one who escaped a lab," Hartman said. "But you are the only one who didn't need rescue. You broke out on your own. That's... rare."
You folded your arms. "What do you want from me?"
"We want to help you understand what you are."
You hesitated, but curiosity outweighed your suspicion. "Then start explaining."
Hartman tapped a screen. "Project Repeater was a closed-door experiment funded by a black budget faction of the U.S. Department of Energy—working in tandem with rogue ex-HYDRA engineers. They were trying to create a living template: someone who could absorb, mimic, and evolve past anything thrown at them. You were their most successful trial. Subject 09."
Your stomach turned. "So I'm a lab rat."
"You were," Hartman said. "But you're not now."
Another voice entered the room. Female. Confident.
"Not unless you go back."
You turned as a tall woman in combat gear entered. Sharp eyes. Short hair. She walked like a soldier but spoke like someone used to giving orders.
"Name's Commander Rayna Voss. I run the field ops here," she said, offering a curt nod. "If you stay, we train you. Teach you control. But understand this—we don't make weapons here. We make survivors."
You looked between them. "And if I say no?"
Voss shrugged. "Then you leave. We wipe your trail and hope you make it another week before the real bastards find you."
You could tell it wasn't a bluff. But it wasn't a threat either. They weren't pressuring you. They were offering a rope.
You exhaled slowly.
"Fine. I'll stay. For now."
Hartman nodded. "Then let's begin."