Chapter 11 A bold escape!

Let me just restate this for the record, so we're all on the same page here.

Unbreakable skin is fucking awesome!!

I decided to recreate the trick that Luke used to show Jessica he was superhuman as well, and seeing the blade of a saw literally blunt itself as it just sends sparks flying from your skin is the most badass feeling in the world.

I had to fight to urge to step outside, cackle to the sky and shout: "I AM INVICIBLE!"

Fortunately, the Overlord List had taught me better than that.

Still, I was quickly brought down from my short-lived power trip by the two scientists ushering me from the shed and into the pouring rain, both apparently scolding me for just standing there in the toxic fumes that remained after I vaporised the acid bath (probably the reason for my manic bout of laughing and why it took Extremis so damn long to kick in).

After testing whether I was stronger than I was durable by repeatedly stabbing myself with the sharpest knife I could find in Burstein's kitchen (turns out that not even I can pierce my own skin, though I definitely felt the impacts) I took a well-deserved shower, washing the grime off my newly changed skin.

It even felt weird now, with a really rough texture almost like I had been rolling in gravel while covered in glue or something.

If the trade-off for becoming unbreakable was a little rougher skin, then I would gladly pay the price.

It was when I stepped out of the shower, still towelling myself off when shit began to go wrong.

The doorbell rang.

Thankfully the bathroom had a view of the street in front of Burstein´s house, so wrapping the towel around my waist (though due to my size it ended up more like a loin-cloth) I went over to the window and looked outside.

And nearly had a heart-attack when I saw a column of black SUV's parked on the road in front of the house (could I even get heart-attacks anymore? Food for thought).

My hearing picked up panicked shuffling from downstairs as Sterns and Burstein were figuring out what they should do.

Obviously, neither me nor Sterns could really answer the door, so it would have to be Burstein, who (judging by his frantic whispers) really didn't want to try and turn away what was likely to be a government spook at the door.

Making a snap-decision, I hurried downstairs, keeping the towel roughly in place with one desperate hand, bursting into the kitchen where both scientists were running around, stuffing notes and equipment in chests and bags.

Both looked up in shock at my sudden entrance, their eyes widening and mouths falling open at my current (lack of) clothing, but we didn't have time for any of that now.

"Noah, open the door, stall for as long as you can. If you can't make them leave, then the moment they get inside, run towards the garage and get in the car. Sam will be waiting for you there. Sam, throw all of our notes into the car, leave everything that's too big for you to carry. Most of it would be useless without the research anyway. Put the car in drive, but wait with leaving until Burstein and me are inside as well. Then we'll get to the truck and try to shake them off."

"What will you be doing?" Burstein asked hesitantly, even as Sterns just upped his pace, snatching his fellow scientist's keys off the kitchen counter.

The ringing of the doorbell cut off what I was about to say, so I just grabbed Burstein by the shoulder with my fee hand and pushed him towards the door.

"Come on, go!"

And with that Burstein rushes to open the door, while Sterns leaves through the back to his colleague's garage, where an old, banged up Toyota Corolla stood waiting.

While my accomplices were off to tend to their respective tasks, I ran upstairs again, wondering who could be at the door.

S.H.I.E.L.D.? Had they finally caught up to me after chasing me around the world? Or were it the local authorities, called in by neighbours because of the loud bang of the bathtub shattering? Then why the black vans? Did I set off some watch list I wasn't aware of when I entered the States again, and had the NSA or CIA cottoned on to my existence?

However, my worst fear was confirmed when I heard Burstein open the door, and the stranger introduce himself.

"Good morning. I am Agent Coulson, with the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistic Division. May I come in?"

I heard Burstein give a nervous chuckle as he answered, and I could easily imagine the sweat that was probably pouring down the nervous scientist's face in rivers as he was confronted with what I had made out to be the bogeyman.

"T-That's quite a mouthful."

"We're still working on the name. May I come in?"

Looking around in a hurry, I spotted the twin-size bed that Burstein usually slept in, and more specifically the thick covers spread over it, and in a weirdly lucid moment, I was suddenly reminded of a fairy tale.

Honestly, I didn't have a lot of options or time, so I just had to improvise and hope for the best.

"Oh, ah, well, why do you need to come in?"

"There have been some complaints about the noise sir. Construction, explosions, that sort of thing. People tend to have trouble sleeping with such noises you see."

"Ah yes, yes of course."

Pulling back the sheets, I jumped into bed, pulling the covers back all the way to my chin.

"So, may I come in?"

"Aha, well, you see uh… No? I mean, uh, I'd rather not?"

I snatched the biggest book lying on Burstein's bedside table, opening it close to my face as I heard Coulson give a soft chuckle from downstairs.

"It wasn't really a question, Doctor Burstein."

"But you asked if you could come in…"

"Well, there's no reason to be rude about it."

And with that, I could hear Coulson enter the house… as well as the sound of combat boots thundering through the hall behind him, most likely having shoved their way right past Burstein.

'Come on Burstein, get to the car! This needs to be timed perfectly if we are to get it right!'

As I heard Coulson and his team hurry up the stairs, I was actively trying to control my breathing and heartbeat, hoping that I could keep the Extremis-fuelled heat to a minimum.

If this is to work, then I need to buy my colleagues as much time as possible, and Coulson is less likely to be willing to talk to me if I'm glowing like the sun because I'm a bundle of nerves.

There's also the danger of me setting the blankets on fire if my heart keeps hammering like it is.

And then I nearly throw the book out of my hands with a jolt of surprise when the door to the bedroom is suddenly busted down in a shower of woodsplinters, three S.H.I.E.L.D. (Hydra?) Agents bursting into the room and fanning out.

With Coulson leisurely walking in on their heels, looking for all the world as if breaking into people's bedrooms is just a regular thing for him.

Who knows, it just might be.

Despite the sudden jumpscare, I managed to firmly keep my grip on the book in my hands (maybe a little too firm, as the pages are tearing with the strength I'm exerting on them), and I kept it raised in front of my face.

Time to put my acting skills to the test it seems.

"What the hell is this? Can't you people see that I'm sick? I'm trying to read here goddammit!"

That tremor in my voice, that had to be in my imagination, right?

Right. Positive thoughts, Michael, positive thoughts.

"My apologies for the sudden interruption. It's just that getting a hold of you had been remarkably… difficult. I didn't want to risk missing you before you left again. My boss is very interested in having a… discussion with you."

Ah, shit.

"Oh. Well, maybe I don't want to talk with him."

"I'm afraid he insists."

Ah, SHIT.

"This is an outrage! Honest, hard-working American citizens, just trying to get over a cold, reading peacefully in their beds-"

"So you're American?"

Briefly the question takes me by surprise, almost lowering the book in my confusion, before I remember that I really don't want these people to have a good look at my face and I almost press the pages to my face.

Did they really not know? Or was this just a tactic for getting me to talk and let something slip?

Gah, spies and their stupid little psychological games!

"Of course I am an American! And proud of it! I will not just stand here-"

"You're lying in bed."

"… I will not just lie here and be insulted like that! I have my rights!"

I could hear Coulson chuckle and approach the foot-end of the bed, his guard fanning out more evenly through the room, allowing for enough space for another two guards to enter the bedroom, taking up positions behind Coulson from the sounds of it.

"Beg your pardon. It's just, from what we've heard about you, you don't really look all that… American."

"Well what else could I possibly be!"

'Five guards in the room, with Coulson at the end of the bed, and two of them behind him. One on my left side, but two by the window, probably in case I was thinking about making my escape through there. Which I was, so that's a problem. Unknown number in the rest of the hall, but judging by the amount of cars, their total numbers can range from a dozen agents to roughly twice that.'

Again Coulson chuckled, but the sound fell flat, and there was a hidden tension in his voice when he replied.

"Well, from the stories we've heard, you're a demon, terrorizing and punishing the wicked in Africa. My bosses think you're something that Wakanda let loose, but I personally don't think that's the case; the timetable is wrong for that, since they only revealed themselves to the world after whatever you did to Klaue. No, I think you're something else, though that's mostly because I'm admittedly somewhat biased due to past experience."

I almost drop the book again when Coulson unintentionally lets loose some important information.

'They haven't linked my actions in Africa with my theft of Stark and Hammer-tech here, or my ambush of Killian!'

It was an easy mistake to make, as people usually didn't go through such drastic changes like I had in such short a time-span (there was Blonsky of course, but he lasted all of a single night before he was taken in, while I had been operational for about a year now).

Still, this worked out in my favour.

"Really? Then what do you think I am, if not a proud, honest American?" I ask in my most imperious voice, but Coulson's answer completely floors me.

"I think you're an alien. Maybe you crash-landed here, or you were sent here with some sort of purpose?"

I'm silent for a few moments, mulling over both the spy's question as well as what my answer should be, coming down from the instinctive jolt of fear that accompanied thinking about S.H.I.E.L.D. since dicovery by the organization had been plagueing my thoughts ever since I woke up in this universe. But during that time, I had been a squishy normie with more knowledge than he should have, now they had literally nothing that could so much as scrath me even if they tried their hardest.

Still, Burstein and Sterns were a lot more allergic to bullets than I was.

My meta-knowledge allowed me to read between the lines of Coulson's question: S.H.I.E.L.D. was absolutely terrified of an alien invasion happening, either since Thor crashed to Earth, or simply becoming more worried than they already had been.

As Fury will say on the helicarrier in a couple of months, Earth is not only not alone in the universe, it is hopelessly outgunned.

That was why Coulson was being so careful with me, why his guards had yet to do more than point their weapons at me, why he asked whether or not I was sent here.

He was fearing an alien invasion, and was wondering if I would be the vanguard.

"Aliens aren't real sir." I stubbornly said, hoping that it would placate the spy somewhat.

While the alien-angle might be useful as a smokescreen that would have S.H.I.E.L.D. chasing down wrong leads, it could also backfire if they decided to take of the gloves because they thought I was (the prelude to) a planetary threat.

Coulson chuckled again, but I could tell I hadn't convinced him yet.

"You'd be surprised. Actually got to meet a few a while ago."

"Well, I don't care what you think you saw, sir. I certainly ain't one." I say with an annoyed huff.

"Then why not show me your face?"

Shit!

"I, uh, I can't. I'm busy reading."

"No you're not."

"Yes I am."

"You're not"

"How would you know?!"

"Besides the fact you have yet to turn a single page? You're holding it upside down."

SHIT!

"Lower the book. Sir."

It was clear from the spy's tone he was done being polite. He hadn't yet switched to an aggressive approach, but it was clear to all of us that unless I would start to cooperate, he'd be ready to turn to it within a moment's notice.

Seeing no way out of this without antagonizing the senior S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent, I slowly lowered the book, showing Coulson my face.

And nearly bit my tongue in order to keep myself from laughing when I saw what almost seemed like disappointment on his face when he looked at my bald, human looking head.

What had he been expecting? That I was green with antennae?

Still, he rallied himself masterfully, simply crossing his arms in front of his chest as his face reset itself in its smiling mask.

"Please get out of the bed sir."

And with those words he gave a significant look at where my chest was completely covered from view by the blanket I had pulled up to my chin.

'Shit! If he has heard about me through rumours out of Africa, he's probably also heard that my ribcage is raised!'

"Ah, I can't do that."

I can see the guards tightening their grips on their weapons, and while I've only been bulletproof for a day I already completely dismiss them as threats (and I notice that I was correct in thinking they still had forces in reserve standing ready in the hallway) as Coulson allows a hand to drop to his waistband.

Where his gun is holstered (which didn't really serve as an intimidating gesture, since I knew that his bullets would simply flatten themselves on my unbreakable skin).

"And why is that? Sir?" he asks, almost sounding smug this time if it weren't for his peaceful expression.

"Well, because… because I'm naked." I admit, and it's the first honest response I've given ever since S.H.I.E.L.D. busted into the room.

There were a few uncomfortable shuffles and looks around the room at my answer, but Coulson didn't do more than just blink.

'Damn, the guy has a good poker face.'

"I wasn't aware that Doctor Burstein was romantically involved in such a manner-"

"NO! No, it isn't like that, I just sleep here. He stays in the guest room. This bed is… better for my back."

Again, all Coulson did was blink, smile still on his face, even as he rested his hand on the handle of his gun (which immediately snaps the other Agents to high-alert).

"I see. In that case, please lower the blanket to below your chest sir."

"Uh, isn't that, you know, impolite to ask?"

"It would be. If I was asking, that is. Lower the blankets, sir."

Thoughts and plans were thundering through my brain at light-speed as I slowly grasped the edge of the sheets in my large hands, thinking about how I'm going to get myself out of this mess. Sure, physically I had nothing to fear from these people, but that didn't mean that S.H.I.E.L.D. couldn't make life extremely difficult for me if I completely curb-stomped one of their senior agents.

Which is when my colleagues finally came through for me.

The radio on Coulson's waist crackles to life, an urgent sounding voice blaring from the little speaker.

+Sir! Sir, we got movement in the garage! I repeat, movement in the garage! Please advise!+

I'm so high on adrenaline (and various serums and mystical plants) at that point, it's almost as if the world is suddenly put on slow-motion. I can see Coulson's eyes slowly drift from me to the radio at his belt, see how the guards instinctively turn their heads a little towards the sudden sound.

For a split second, the attention of my adversaries had been broken, though their top-notch training would undoubtedly kick in almost immediately and then my window of opportunity would've been gone.

Unfortunately for them, a split second was all I needed.

The exact moment Coulson's eyes are off of me, I grip the blanket and in a twisting move throw the cloth towards him and the two Agents standing behind him, temporarily obscuring their vision of me.

In the same movement that I use to throw the sheet at the spies, I twist off the bed to the right, where two guards raise their assault rifles towards me, even as my bare feet slap against the floor.

I hear the bark of gunfire behind me (the sole guard that had been standing on the other side of the room) but other than a few taps against my back I don't even notice the bullets flattening themselves on my skin, my form not even stumbling as I burst towards the window.

The two guard that had been standing next to it had now finally trained their weapons on me, but the close quarters combined with the proximity of their colleagues made them hesitant to fire.

And before they could find their resolve, I had run straight through the wall of the house, hanging weightless in the air for one precious moment, before gravity stopped gaping at my majestically displayed airborne nudity and reasserted itself on my form, making me crash down to earth.

Or I would have, if it weren't for the black SUV that had been parked in Burstein's driveway underneath the former bathroom window, and instead I crashed onto the car instead, its roof buckling underneath my impact, its chassis pressing into the tarmac underneath.

As the occupants of the totalled vehicle (who were thankfully all standing outside with their weapons in hand, since I didn't want to imagine the shitstorm that would occur if I killed a S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent) were openly gaping at my sudden landing, a banged up Toyota crashed through Burstein's garage door, Sterns grinning behind the steering wheel, a chalk-white Burstein gripping the dash with an iron grip.

S.H.I.E.L.D. flunkies dove out of the way as Sterns made a handbrake turn around the totalled van, positioning the rear door of the Corolla right next to me.

"Get in!" my friend shouted, before his eyes landed on me, and his eyes bugged nearly out of his head.

Briefly, there was no sound or move made on the impromptu battlefield, everyone gaping at my hunched over form in the crumpled remains of a black SUV.

The absurd moment was shattered by a dry voice coming from the hole in the wall I had just made.

"Huh. He was telling the truth."

"GO GO GO!" I roar at Sterns as I jump out of the wrecked remains of the vehicle that had briefly (and probably involuntarily) served as a landing platform, ripping the door of the Toyota nearly off its hinges as I dove inside, the egghead already burning rubber the moment I was mostly inside.

We tore through the streets of Savannah, Sterns driving like a madman, tossing me around on the backseat with every power slide he made around corners, leaving the S.H.I.E.L.D. Agents scrambling behind us in the dust, while Burstein just kept clamping himself to the dash, whimpering slightly whenever his car touched the ground with less than all four wheels.

The thing was, the sheer amount of processing ability and speed that Sterns unique brain was capable of gave him the potential to be the best racing driver on Earth, as he was able to look at the entirety of the road, feel the G-Forces acting on us and parse the information the car was feeding him in the blink of an eye.

It all amounted to the fact that Sterns was driving the Corolla to its absolute theoretical maximum, while the drivers behind us were slowed down significantly by their inability to immediately swerve around obstacles, or keep the gas flat down when approaching corners due to that instinctive apprehension all humans feel when speeding towards a turn (with the exception of racing drivers, who instead just feel the need to go even faster).

It took fifteen minutes (and ten years off of Burstein's life expectancy he would later claim) of speeding in random patterns towards our destination, but the combination of S.H.I.E.L.D. being caught off guard and Sterns manic driving style was enough that when we arrived at the dingy motel where we had parked Oliver, we had a window of about five minutes.

All three of us jumped out of the battered Toyota (Burstein a little wobbly) and started throwing everything Sterns had stuffed in the car into Oliver's trailer. We just threw the last bag filled with notes in when my hearing picked up the sounds of squealing tires.

"MOVE MOVE MOVE!"

We quickly climbed into the cabin and were tearing out of the small town right as the S.H.I.E.L.D. vans swerved around the corner on the far side of the road. Despite the fact that Sterns was pushing the gas pedal almost into the floor, pushing Oliver to above 100 miles per hour (or 160 kilometres an hour in units that make sense), S.H.I.E.L.D. was still slowly but surely gaining on us.

Truthfully, they didn't even need to overtake us: they just needed to remain on our tail until we eventually had to stop, or just wait until we led them to our base (not that we even had a base, but all the same I'd rather not have S.H.I.E.L.D. know where we were going).

"Come on Sterns, you've been messing around with Oliver for months now, please tell me you got something that'll let us shake these guys?!" I yelled from my side of the cabin as I struggle into a set of sweatpants (showing Burstein far more than either one of use would ever be comfortable with).

Briefly Sterns worried his lip, clearly considering something, but he seemed reluctant to go through with whatever he was thinking off.

"Whatever it is, DO IT!"

My friend let out a morose sigh at my panicked shout, gazing wistfully at the dashboard.

"I really wanted to keep this one a surprise for a little while longer, but oh, well…"

And with that, his face transformed from somewhat disappointed to absolutely manically gleeful, a grin nearly splitting his face in half. He pressed some hidden mechanism on the dash, making a part of it slide away, revealing a big, ominous red button.

I got a sinking feeling in my stomach which had nothing to do with the black SUV's that were still creeping towards us, especially when Sterns turned to look at me, a gleam in his eye that made the hair on my neck stand on end (if I had any, that is).

"Hold on to your socks!"

Then he quickly glanced at my bare feet, and gave a shrug.

"Where applicable of course."

And then with a laugh he pressed the big, red button and the world… blurred.

A whine loud enough that it felt as if it was rattling the teeth out of my skull rose to fill the cabin, while outside the world turned into long streaks of colours as we tore across the highway.

That's when I realized that the whine was familiar, but before I could really comprehend where I had heard it before, there ran a deep shudder through Oliver's frame, and then I was pressed even deeper into my seat as the sensation of speed only increased.

And Sterns just kept on laughing.

I was pretty sure that Burstein was either praying or unconscious at this point.

The blurring sensation kept on going for a full ten minutes, during which I couldn't make out any SUV's hounding us anymore (though that wasn't really saying something as I had trouble fully keeping up with the outside world in general).

I was getting really suspicious of just what exactly Sterns had done to his brain behind my back; given that he seemed to take in everything just fine, the speed at which his brain was capable of processing data was even higher than I had previously assumed and definitely higher than what he had been capable of when I picked him up when he had mutated.

Still, eventually I got the sense that Sterns had gone off-road at some point and was now blasting off to somewhere in the middle of nowhere. After another five minutes, we fell out of the state that I had dubbed 'hyperspeed' inside my mind, and we kept on tearing along little side-roads through the American country-side, easily clocking in at over 100 mph/160kmh.

Twenty minutes later, we were standing on an empty plain of grass, miles away from civilization. Me and Burstein quickly got out of the cabin (well, I got out, Burstein just sort of… flopped to the ground), but Sterns instead swaggered out, giving a loving pat on Oliver's grill.

Looking over the truck, I was only somewhat surprised to see that the tires were smoking, and a few cracks had shown up in the windshield. Still, it was something on the trailer that caught my attention, and I suddenly realized why the whine I had heard sounded so familiar.

Not taking my eyes off the turbines that stuck out to the side of the trailer's chassis I called out.

"Sterns!"

"What?"

"Did you make our truck jet-powered?"

"… Maybe?"

"For fuck's sakes, Sam…"

"Noah helped!"

"Hey!"

This was going to be a long day.

//

Fun Fact: Most superhero identities have been held by different people at different times. Considering Cap is one of the oldest superheroes in comicbook history, he has been replaced a surprisingly low amount of times. The most prominent of his successors are Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson (the Falcon), with the most infamous being a run during the '50s where William Burnside took the mantle, but became paranoid and turned to become the leader of a Neo-Nazi group. A weirder example still is the Punisher theming himself after Captain America after the events of Civil War.