As soon as we stepped outside, the midday heat of Afghanistan hit me.

  It was a dry, oppressive heat that sat heavily on your shoulders, making sweat bead instantly under your collar. The sun was high and unforgiving, with no clouds in sight.

  We walked in silence at first, our boots crunching over gravel as we crossed the compound road.

  I considered asking him what came next for me, what they were going to do with me. Instead, a quieter question slipped out.

  "Sergeant," I said, "what happened... to the convoy?"

  He slowed slightly.

  "They were recovered," he said after a moment, his voice softening. "The bodies were brought back..."

  I nodded.

  Ramirez didn't speak again.

  I thought about asking about Stark or Yinsen, but looking at the man, I decided against it.

  The compound Ramirez led me to was located just off the main hospital area, separated from the rest of the base by a chain-link fence topped with concertina wire. It was right next to an airstrip. It didn't seem heavily manned, just enough to convey that this area is controlled.

  Inside the fence, the space opened up to about the size of a high-school gym. Packed dirt and gravel covered the ground, with a few uneven concrete pads scattered about. Two B-huts lined one side, their wooden exteriors sun-bleached and scarred. Across from them were three CONEX containers converted into rooms, with doors cut into the steel and small windows bolted on.

  A larger tent marked MWR sat near the back, its canvas flaps tied open. I could hear a TV inside, with muffled voices and laughter spilling out.

  A small covered smoking area stood off to the side, with picnic tables bolted to the ground and an overflowing sand bucket beneath a metal ashtray.

  An MP stood near the entrance checkpoint, rifle slung, posture relaxed but eyes sharp. He straightened as we approached.

  Ramirez stopped and turned to face me.

  "Listen up, Calderon," he said, his voice firm and professional again. "This is temporary quarters while we finish your reintegration and medical hold. You're not in trouble-this is standard for any soldier recovered from isolation."

  He gestured toward the nearest B-hut.

  "You've got the room to yourself for now. There's a cot, a locker, and everything else inside. The head's down the hall." He ticked off points on his fingers. "Chow times are zero-six, twelve, and eighteen. A private will escort you."

  He nodded toward the MWR tent. "If you want TV or books, same deal-escort goes with."

  Then he looked me dead in the eye.

  "No leaving the billeting compound without permission. Phone calls home start tomorrow after you've cleared. Visitors only if approved."

  "Yes, Sir," I replied.

  He studied me for a moment longer, then clapped a hand on my shoulder-quick and firm.

  "Get some rest."

  I nodded. He returned it and turned away.

  The MP stepped aside and waved me through.

  The inside of the B-hut was simple and clean.

  Two rows of doors ran down a narrow hallway, with plywood walls painted a dull off-white. A fluorescent light buzzed overhead, and the air smelled faintly of cleaning solution and dust.

  The MP stopped at the third door on the left and unlocked it.

  "Your room," he said. "If you need anything, you can find me outside."

  "Roger that," I replied, nodding.

  He left me there.

  I stepped inside and closed the door behind me.

  The room was small but functional-a single cot against the far wall, with tight, clean sheets. A metal locker was bolted to the floor beside it, along with a folding chair and a narrow desk next to the cot.

  A small window let in a stripe of harsh daylight.

  I sat down on the cot, the mattress dipping under my weight.

  For a long moment, I just sat there with my elbows on my knees, hands hanging loosely between them.

  I exhaled slowly.

  The adrenaline was gone now. The urgency. The constant drive to survive in enemy territory.

  What remained was exhaustion, deep in my bones after the last few days.

  My body ached everywhere. I could feel the Codex quietly present within me, like a cat sleeping contentedly.

  I leaned forward, rubbed my face with both hands, and let out a tired sigh.

  I can't stay here...

  For the first time since the ambush, I was in a safe place with some time to think.

  And the thought that kept coming back was unavoidable and simple.

  I need to get out of the military.

  Not after my contract was done, but now. As soon as possible.

  Eli's memories surfaced effortlessly. I was five years into my contract, an E-4 Specialist. One enlistment down, halfway into the second. If he stuck it out, he'd reach staff sergeant eventually. It would be a stable career for him, but that plan belonged to a different world.

  I could not remain in the military like this, when there were dangers hidden in every corner of the world, with aliens and gods lurking just around the corner.

  And it was all going to start soon...

  No.

  If I stayed in the military, I'd eventually get caught, dissected by intelligence, thrown into black projects, or end up dead in some future battle that escalated far beyond "conventional warfare." The military didn't handle unknown variables well. And I was the biggest unknown variable here. If I wasn't careful, I could end up locked in a black site before I could say "Sith," not to mention

  Hydra...

  I exhaled slowly.

  So... how do I get released?

  The thought came with a flicker of guilt. Eli had signed up. Eli had believed in the cause. But that Eli didn't know this was a universe where a purple titan could snap half of existence out of reality, nor did he have a Sith artifact in his soul.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  Medical discharge, my mind supplied. That was the cleanest path.

  PTSD was the obvious route. I'd earned it honestly-ambush, isolation, killing at close range, days behind enemy lines. Nobody would question me. I could say nightmares, dissociation. This was possible.

  The idea felt cold, though, as if I was doing something wrong.

  No, I shook my head. This is what I need to do. this is Necessary.

  I leaned back against the cot and stared at the ceiling.

  My mouth felt dry.

  I glanced at the small table against the wall. A neat stack of bottled water sat there, condensation beading on the plastic. Next to it were a half-dozen warm Rip-Its and a couple of Gatorades, orange and electric blue flavours.

  I grabbed a water bottle, twisted the cap, and drank it down in long pulls. The cool liquid felt good in the heat.

  I followed it with a Gatorade, grimacing at the sweetness, then set the empty bottle aside.

  Only then did I lie back on the cot.

  The mattress was thin, but it might as well have been luxury after sleeping on rock and dirt for days. My boots came off with a dull thud as I closed my eyes.

  For a few seconds, nothing happened-just the distant hum of generators and the AC unit, muffled voices outside, and the occasional thump of a helicopter landing somewhere beyond the compound.

  I focused inward as the Codex responded, unfolding like a structure I already knew without knowing it. Layers of knowledge, not organized like a book but like a living archive-some I could read, but others not. Techniques branching into variations, their costs annotated not in numbers but in sensations.

  I knew now, without guessing, that what I'd done so far barely scratched the surface.

  Healing? Tissue binding? Bone reinforcement?

  Those were fundamentals, the basic building blocks.

  They wouldn't be enough. I needed more.

  I knew what was coming-The Chitauri, Loki and Thanos,

  The thought came unbidden:

  Can I do more than what is inscribed in the Codex?

  For a moment, nothing answered.

  Then the Codex shifted.

  It wasn't words I heard but a sort of understanding that flowed through me.

  Yes.

  Not freely. Not easily. But yes, I could do it.

  The Codex was based on Sith alchemy practices in origin, but it wasn't limited to one culture or era. It was a framework, a way of translating intent, biology, and metaphysics into change. It was the application of equivalent exchange.

  Other systems. Other doctrines. Other universes.

  All of them could be... interpreted.

  At a cost.

  The realization hit me like a truck.

  I could adapt ideas from my memories.

  No, I couldn't just copy and paste them. I could approximate, translate ideas into the Codex to enhance my power.

  My mind jumped immediately to familiar territory.

  Halo.

  The Spartan programs. They were incredible soldiers, with augmentations-bone density reinforcement, muscle enhancement, neural compatibility increases.

  Then-

  Warhammer 40K.

  Space Marines-demigods-that were gene-forged monsters. that regularly win against demons

  The Idea was insane, nearly impossible.

  And yet... I knew I could do it. With time, resources , and pain.

  My breath quickened slightly.

  Not now. Not here. I needed a safe and private place to even attempt the smallest of changes.

  But the potential was there.

  And that terrified me almost as much as it excited me-the idea of evolving into something more. If I did this, if I could push myself far enough, the line between survival and thriving would blur.

  I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling again, grounding myself.

  "One step at a time," I murmured.

  First: get out of the military cleanly.

  Second: disappear into civilian life.

  Third: learn more of the Codex.

  I turned onto my side, pulling the thin blanket up over my chest.

  I woke to the bed creaking beneath me as I shifted, my body protesting the sudden return to consciousness. For a moment, I thought I'd slept through the night.

  I blinked and looked at the clock bolted to the wall above the door.

  1700.

  Three hours.

  Before I could feel annoyed about it, I heard a deep, rolling thunder that didn't belong to helicopters or generators. This was heavier. It vibrated through the walls and into my ribs.

  A large aircraft.

  I swung my legs off the cot and stood, moving carefully. I crossed the room and cracked the door open, then crossed the hallway.

  The noise grew louder immediately.

  Outside, the air was thick with heat and dust, the late evening sun hanging low in the sky.

  Curiosity overrode fatigue. I stepped fully into the billeting area and headed toward the MWR tent, passing the MP at the gate.

  "Afternoon," I said, nodding in greeting.

  He returned it easily. "Afternoon, Specialist."

  I gestured upward, where the sound was building into a sustained roar. "That's not a normal bird. Everything okay?"

  He grinned, clearly enjoying being the one with information. "Yeah, all good. Base got word earlier, higher-ups are in town."

  "For?" I asked, though I already suspected the answer.

  He jerked his chin toward the airstrip. "Our resident VIP. Bigwigs don't usually come out this far unless it's personal."

  That checks...

  I nodded slowly. "Makes sense."

  The aircraft passed overhead then, low enough that I could feel it in my bones. I caught a glimpse through the glare-a large gray transport, far bigger than the usual traffic, a C- 17. It banked wide toward the runway, engines screaming as it descended.

  That's Stark's getaway then...