Two months had passed since I first set foot in New York, and in that time, nothing had changed. Not really. The city kept moving, kept spinning its wheels, and I kept surviving. But nothing was different. Nothing challenged me.
I spent my days in the shadows, hiding in plain sight. I kept a low profile, but I knew deep down, I couldn't just sit around and wait for Hydra to catch up with me. They'd never stop looking for me. They had eyes everywhere. They always did.
So, I fought.
I hunted down the gangs—the small-time players who thought they ran the streets. They weren't hard to find. You could spot them a mile away, their bravado and their arrogance spilling out of every corner. They had money, and I needed that money. I wasn't interested in their drugs or their petty turf wars; all I wanted was to make sure I had enough cash to keep moving, to keep a roof over my head, and to avoid being noticed.
I'd break into their little hideouts, overpower whoever was unlucky enough to be guarding the stash, and take what I needed. They were always too slow, too distracted. My body—this body—was built for speed and strength. And I'd make sure they knew that.
Every time, I left them breathing, but only barely. I couldn't afford to leave a trace, couldn't let anyone tie me to the city or to the bodies that might pile up in my wake. I had to stay untouchable, unseen. The last thing I needed was someone coming after me with a vendetta.
But even with all the fights, the cash, the adrenaline, I still felt... nothing.
It wasn't enough. I was going through the motions. I was a machine, a force of nature, but I wasn't feeling it.
That's why I started carrying weights under my clothing. It was a small, almost silly thing, but it made all the difference. Every time I worked out, every time I trained, I felt the strain of it, the weight digging into me. It was the only way I could feel challenged anymore. Otherwise, it was just routine. Push-ups, running, and gym sessions. I didn't even need to lift huge amounts of weight—I just needed to feel something more than the emptiness that had been growing inside of me since I woke up.
I wasn't built for comfort. I was built for battle.
And if battle didn't come to me, I had to make sure it found me.
I'd wake up early every morning, even before the sun was up. I'd go to the gym, but not without my extra load. I carried hidden weights in a pack under my clothes, strapped tightly to my body. They weren't heavy enough to weigh me down too much, but they were just enough to make me feel the difference. They were the only thing that made my body fight harder, made every movement feel like it mattered. Without them, the gym felt like a joke. The dumbbells were light. The machines felt like toys. And even running through the city's endless streets felt like a warm-up instead of a challenge.
So I trained. I trained as if my life depended on it, because, in some way, it did.
I'd do push-ups until my arms burned, do sprints until my legs felt like they were going to collapse, and then hit the weights again. Over and over. It was the only thing that kept me sharp. The only thing that made me feel alive.
And when I wasn't training? I was out on the streets again, tracking down more of the same. More gang members. More money. More fights.
I didn't care what it took. I didn't care who I had to beat up to get what I needed. I couldn't just let my skills rust. Not with Hydra still out there, still hunting for me. They'd come sooner or later. And when they did, I'd be ready.
I hadn't seen or heard from Steve. No sign of him, no leads. I couldn't afford to dwell on it, though. I had to keep moving forward. No time to wait for a hero. I was the one who had to save myself now.
There were days when I thought about giving up, letting the city swallow me whole. I could just fade into the background, disappear. Maybe that's what Hydra wanted me to do—to fall into the cracks and never look back.
But that's not who I was. And I wasn't going to let them win. Not like that.
So, I kept pushing. Kept training. Kept fighting. The world didn't care about me, and I didn't expect it to. I had to take care of myself. And maybe, just maybe, the day would come when I'd find Steve. When I'd find someone who could really protect me. But for now, I was on my own.
And that was fine. I could handle it.
I just needed to keep going, one day at a time.
One fight at a time.