The ruins of Garaki’s lab stank of smoke and chemical residue. Shattered glass crunched beneath heavy boots as the heroes pressed deeper, Endeavor’s flames burning away the shadows at the rear of the team. Hawks trailed behind him, every feather tense, while Eraserhead kept his scarf half-raised, eyes scanning for the unknown. Mirko limped forward, bloodied but grinning, her nose twitching at the copper scent thick in the air. They’d already seen enough horrors upstairs—half-formed Nomu, twitching corpses, twisted failures that never should’ve drawn breath. But the stairwell descending further felt different. There was something the doctor hadn’t wanted them to find. The lower chamber was quieter. Too quiet. No movement. No scattered cages of beasts. Instead, at the very center, a single reinforced pod stood upright, gleaming under dim light. Its surface wasn’t cracked, its glass wasn’t shattered like the others.

And inside, suspended in sterile blue liquid, was… you.

A humanoid Nomu, unlike the grotesque creatures that had terrified cities before. Your body looked human—too human. Skin without seams, no grotesque stitches or obvious mutations. A figure designed to blend seamlessly into society. The only tells were subtle: the faint glow in your eyes when the pod’s sensors detected movement, the unnatural stillness of your breath, the aura of restrained power that made even Endeavor instinctively raise his guard.

“What the hell…?” Hawks muttered, stepping closer with a feather blade half-drawn.

“Not just a Nomu… a person.” Eraserhead’s voice was cold, but his eyes narrowed—analyzing, calculating. He could feel it. Unlike the others, you weren’t hollow inside.

A single line of Garaki’s scrawled notes still clung to the cracked glass of your pod: “Project: Chameleon. Designed to infiltrate. To think. To adapt. To surpass…”