Samantha couldn't sleep. That wasn't unusual for her. She usually didn't, not well at least. If it wasn't for shapeshifting, she'd likely have consistent panda eyes. The escape from Westchester had been another layer of stress on top of another, and she was certain that she'd come apart in violent fashion soon enough. Start to grow to size and then... KABOOM. Samantha's guts would undoubtedly go everywhere, cover the Institute in liquid Shapeshifter.

Samantha blinked up at the ceiling above and sighed to herself. She needed to get out of here, do something else. Maybe some food would make a difference. She had some bread that was about to go stale, she'd start with that.

Disentangling herself from her Cyrborg girlfriend Nomad, Samantha slipped out of the sheets they shared. Nomad's workshop was starting to come together, at least in an early form, and Samantha knew she was going to have to insist on bed or sofa there, something to relax on and sleep. She was grateful for the space she possessed beneath the Institute, a flat with all the amenities she needed. It was starting to feel stifling though, like a cage around a beast. She needed something new, something where she could truly do the work she wanted to.

Departing her bedroom and into the ever messy main room, Samantha felt pulled to the 'information station' as she called it. A mass of files and paperwork on targets of interest, many of which were going up on a pinboard. Hank Pym, Janet Van Dyne, General Ross's loyal soldiers... There was a tangled web to unwind there, and she gathered that they must have Hank somewhere. Or at the least, be looking for him.

They had Giant-Men, scores of them. So why did they only have two who were capable of shrinking down? Samantha could navigate it without equipment, a natural gift. Was she connected to Pym Particles too? That would make some sense, though she'd never heard of one who could shapeshift. Running a hand through the thick mass of purple hair, the spy groaned at the mess. She'd have to find someone, anyone, who knew something. Maybe Area 51 still had secrets to uncover? Though she didn't imagine it to be very safe after events that unfurled there with the Sentry.

An early morning run. Maybe a few swings of the hammer. Seemed a good way to spend the morning. Gain some exercise, fresh air, give the wings Nomad built for her a good go. Samantha made her way into the kitchen, shifting clothes into existence about her. Lycra? Maybe in blue?

Honey We Shrunk Ourselves had come out in March, before the escape. She should watch it again. Maybe there was a secr- "Jesus fuck I sound like a conspiracy theorist."

Samantha groaned out loud and tore oipen the fridge in the kitchen, pulling out a slice of toffee cake and immediately plunging the fork she'd left on the plate into it. Who needed sandwhiches, she had cake. Delightfully, delicious toffee cake.

Staring off into space, Samantha considered where to start. She needed a base of operations, really, something that would allow her to excel- and there was eight of her at this time. Well, when she elected to split herself. Eight Samanthas, working in tandem to uncover the deepest secrets and navigate any field operatives. It was a match made in heaven, really. They'd be unstoppable.

Samantha made her way above world. And began her long run about a section of the island. She'd cut through the forest, make her way towards the waterfall as a halfway point. With her luck- probability adjustment?- she would navigate that pathway safely. Though it was different sober, and not being less than a foot tall riding on a red panda.

The thick foliage bid her welcome, wet after a night's rain. Emerald leaves dripped, and the birds were still silent, waiting for the dawn. They'd brought a strange eclectic selection of wildlife here, and she couldn't help but wonder how they coped with their new environment. They were alike the Mutants really, making sense of a new world.

Pigeons, Squirrels, Boars were but a few of the poor unsuspecting creatures brought here, who had been hiding when the Institute came under siege. She'd seen some Blue-Footed Boooby's down at the beach, and turtles. This was shaping up to be such a strange place.

Samantha's path brought her through the forestry, down along the slowly forming beachside desire path, past the clearing where the Burn had been, and then back up into the trees once more. Tracing that path towards the little slice of paradise. It was still dark out, but she was hopeful there'd be some fireflies. Or at least, plenty of moonlight.

She'd been fortunate to make it all the way here. To paradise, to a place of acceptance. She'd been lucky. Too lucky. And everyday she had to live with survivor's guilt. It took a toll, and even now the mere thought dragged her stomach down through her asshole and onto the back of her legs. Over 200 souls lost, euthanised and unceremoniously dumped into a pit laden with traps.

Why then, did God decide she should be the lucky one? What had she ever done that left her so deserving? Surely finding out Forge had been their spy was great, and had been important. But it happened right before the MRD came down on them with the sentry. Had it made any difference?

She'd lost her sisters and brothers, people far more capable than she ever was. Agent-209 wasn't a badge of honour, it was a badge of pain and suffering, of guilt. Self-torture, really. Why else did she keep the barcode and attached string of numbers when she was in a resting state. She'd toyed with the name Agent Atlas, but she wasn't sure she deserved it.

Hell, was Samantha even her real name? Had she just made it up? Her memory was so... Fucked.

Samantha came to a rolling stop beside the waterfall. There were a few fireflies, but really if it wasn't for the lack of light pollution out here it wouldn't be as impressively beautiful. A new favourite spot, tranquil and gentle. Samantha sat there for an hour, maybe a little longer, stranded in her own thoughts.

Then she made her way back, finishing the circuit with another route. Following the river down back towards the Institute.