Infinite Evolution: Daniel Park in Marvel

The hum of the transport vehicle's engine was the only sound that filled the air as the facility disappeared into the distance, swallowed by the night. Daniel's body was still tense, his grip on the seat white-knuckled as the adrenaline from the fight slowly ebbed away. Hill's hands were steady on the wheel, her eyes scanning the road ahead with laser focus, but Daniel could feel the weight of silence between them, a quiet that felt too heavy, too full.

The dark road stretched out before them, a tunnel of endless black, and for the first time since the mission had started, Daniel allowed himself to breathe. It wasn't a breath of relief; it was more of an exhale—like the air had been trapped in his lungs and he hadn't realized it until now.

"You good?" Hill's voice cut through the stillness, as direct as always, but there was a slight edge to it this time, a hint of something softer.

Daniel nodded, but the truth felt heavier than his words. He wasn't good. He wasn't sure he'd ever be good again.

His eyes flicked to her, studying the set of her jaw, the unblinking calm that she wore like armor. He wondered, not for the first time, what kind of person she was underneath that stoic exterior. Did she feel the same weight after a kill? Did she wonder if it was worth it? Or had she long ago stopped asking those questions?

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, unsure of what to say. What was there to say? He had just killed a man without hesitation. Cold. Efficient. The fact that it hadn't fazed him in the moment was worse than anything. He wasn't sure who he was anymore.

But Hill was waiting for an answer, her eyes briefly flicking to him before returning to the road.

"I'm fine," Daniel said, his voice thick. "Just… thinking."

She didn't push further, which was both a relief and a disappointment. Hill wasn't one for probing emotions, and Daniel wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. But the silence between them grew heavier, and the weight of the data they had stolen, of the implications it held, hung over them both.

The road twisted through the dark, the headlights cutting through the night like knives. In the backseat, the encrypted data drive they'd risked everything for sat heavy in the bag. If the Vanguard realized what they had taken, if they were smart enough to track it back to them... Daniel shook his head, trying to push the thought away. They couldn't afford to think that far ahead. Not yet.

He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to shake off the fatigue that was starting to creep in. 

"What now?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. The question had been in his mind since they'd escaped, but now that they were out, it felt like it had more weight than he'd anticipated.

Hill's gaze flicked over to him for a brief moment, her expression unreadable. Then she gave a short, clipped answer. 

"Get to a safe house. We lay low. Let the heat die down."

"And after that?" Daniel pressed, leaning forward slightly.

Hill's lips pressed together in that familiar way, and for a moment, Daniel thought she might not answer. But then she spoke, her voice steady as ever.

"After that, we see what the data tells us. If it's what we think, it changes everything. But we can't do anything until we're out of sight." She glanced at him again, just for a second, before focusing back on the road. "No one can know we're still alive."

The tension between them was thick. Daniel felt it like a weight pressing down on his chest.

The world they had just entered—one of shadow, of secrecy, of constant survival—was nothing like the world he had known. It was a world where loyalty meant nothing, and trust was a commodity as fleeting as the night. It was a world where even survival had its price.

And that price, Daniel was beginning to realize, wasn't just physical.

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Later That Night

The safe house was tucked away on a quiet stretch of road, hidden behind thick trees and wrapped in darkness. It was the kind of place that existed to remain unnoticed, a forgotten patch of land where the outside world could do its best to forget about you. It was just what they needed.

Hill parked the vehicle in the shadow of the house, cutting the engine. She looked at Daniel, her gaze sharp, unreadable.

"Stay here," she said, her tone even. "I'll scout the place."

Daniel opened his mouth to protest but closed it again. Hill had already jumped out of the vehicle before he could say anything. 

He sighed, slumping in the seat, his eyes locked on the darkened house in front of them. Every part of him wanted to get out, to do something, but Hill was right. Right now, the best thing they could do was stay low. That's what he kept telling himself.

But his mind wouldn't stop racing. The image of the soldier's face still haunted him, and with every passing minute, it felt more and more like a part of him—something he couldn't outrun. 

The weight of what they had stolen—the knowledge, the power—felt suffocating. The implications were too vast to fully understand, but he knew one thing for certain: this wasn't over. 

Not by a long shot.

The creak of the car door interrupted his thoughts. Hill was back, moving swiftly toward him. Her face was unreadable as she slid into the seat beside him.

"Safe," she said shortly. "We rest here for a few hours, then we'll figure out what to do with the data. Get some sleep."

Daniel nodded, though sleep felt like a distant luxury. But Hill was already pulling away from the safe house and into the shadows again, like the ghosts they were meant to become.

And in the back of his mind, the question lingered—one that had been gnawing at him since that first gunshot. 

Who had he become?