The guest room was a cave, city light barely seeping past thick curtains. Steven stood by the window, palm flat against cold glass, the system screen flickering in his vision like a ghost.
"You up?" Vanessa's voice broke the silence, warm, tossed from down the hall.
He followed it to the kitchen. She leaned on the counter, wine glass glinting under soft light. Her gaze swept him—quick, sizing up the stray she'd let in.
"Hungry?" She didn't wait for a reply, sliding a plate over. Roast beef sandwich, bread crisp, meat shining. A faint mayo tang hit, the kind rich folks probably name-dropped. "Eat."
Don't mind if I do. He dropped onto a stool, biting in. Bread crunched, beef melted, flavors sparking. Each chew pushed back the day's mess. This is what normal feels like.
He swiped mayo off his thumb, glancing at Vanessa. She sipped her wine, lips twitching like she knew she'd won the night. She's solid, he thought, a pang hitting his chest. And I'm using her.
"Thanks," he said, grin loose. "You're my favorite person here."
"Don't bank on it." Her glass clinked down. "This isn't a hostel. Tomorrow, you're out."
He nodded, unfazed. "Got it. I'll manage."
Her brow lifted, but she let it go. With a last sip, she drifted to the living room, tossing, "Night." Steven watched her leave, gears turning. One night was a start, not a fix. He needed more than a sandwich and a couch to last here.
[Ding!]
The chime jolted him. The screen flashed, blue in the dark.
[Current Status: Temporary shelter secured (expires in 12 hours). No money. No powers. No weapons. No allies.]
[Survival odds, next 48 hours: 20%.]
[New Feature Unlocked: Timeline Analysis - Scan basic world details from what you see and know.]
His breath hitched. Timeline Analysis? He straightened, pulse kicking. "Now we're cooking," he muttered, pacing. The carpet ate his steps. Stark Tower glowed outside, its letters mocking him. When is this? Pre-Avengers? Post-Snap? The MCU was a maze—gods, aliens, purple tyrants. He needed a pin on the map.
"System," he said, jabbing the air. "Run it. What's the setup?"
[Ding!]
[Processing… Stark Tower's intact. Likely pre-2016, maybe before Loki's stunt.]
He stopped, rubbing his jaw. Pre-2016? That's… 2012 to 2016? He glanced out. The tower stood clean, no battle scars. New York buzzed, whole. No Battle of New York yet? Or it's fixed? A chill crawled up his neck. Loki's invasion—Chitauri flooding through a portal—could be close. Or done, with HYDRA already lurking.
He dropped onto the bed, soft as sin. Pre-2012, I've got breathing room. Post-2012? I'm toast without more. He was a nobody here—no suit, no hammer, just a guy who binged movies. A speck in a titan's world.
"System," he said, voice low. "How do I lock this down?"
[Ding!]
[Suggestion: Dig for data. News, papers, chatter. Pinpoint the year, flag threats. Stay low until you know.]
He scoffed. "Brilliant. News? With what? No phone, no cash." He paused, snapping his fingers. Vanessa. Her penthouse screamed wealth—TV, papers, maybe a tablet. He could play it cool, ask to "check something." She'd bought his lost-guy bit; a little nosiness wouldn't break it.
The screen blinked.
[Ding!]
[New Feature Unlocked: Task Log - Track goals, earn rewards. Tasks: 1) Confirm timeline (50 points). 2) Find stable resources (100 points). Points unlock system perks or gear.]
His jaw dropped. Points? He sat up, grinning. This is it. "What's in the shop?"
[Ding!]
[Shop Unlocked - Points: 0.]
[Items:]
[Basic Survival Kit (50 points)]
[Minor Ability Boost (200 points)]
[Random Knowledge Drop (150 points)]
[More at higher system levels.]
He whistled. Powers? A kit? His mind spun—strength, smarts, or just a blade and some bills. Anything to shift the odds. "How do I level up?"
[Ding!]
[System Level: 1. Upgrade: Complete 5 tasks OR 500 points. Levels expand features, shop stock.]
"Five tasks or 500," he muttered, leaning back. Confirm the timeline. That's 50. Step one. He shut his eyes, exhaustion tugging. Thanos. Ultron. Worse. This world was a trap, and he was behind.
Morning stung, sun cutting through curtains. Steven groaned, hauling out of bed, stomach growling. One sandwich wasn't enough. He fixed his hair in the mirror, flashing a test smile. Game on.
Vanessa was in the kitchen, coffee steaming, tablet glowing. She looked up, smirking. "Morning, champ. Sleep good?"
"Like royalty," he said, grabbing a stool. "Your guest room beats my old dive. Coffee smells killer."
She slid him a mug, heat curling off it. He gripped it, steadying himself as the TV droned—stocks, weather, noise. Then he caught it. The ticker.
April 8, 2012.
He choked, covering with a cough. Seriously? It was right there, and he'd been chasing shadows. He shot a look at Vanessa—still on her tablet, clueless.
What am I doing? Shame hit, hot on his face. He rubbed his eyes. The clock last night had said April 7. He'd been so hung up on the system—tasks, analysis—he'd missed the obvious. A date. A screen. He could've just asked.
"System," he whispered, barely a breath, "why not point me at the damn clock?"
[Ding!]
[Task Done: Confirm timeline. Reward: 50 points. Points: 50.]
[Timeline Set: April 8, 2012. Big Event: Battle of New York (May 2012, estimated).]
He froze, mug midair. May. Loki. Chitauri. A hole in the sky. His chest tightened. One month.
[Ding!]
[Buy: Basic Survival Kit (50 points)? Y/N]
He gripped the mug harder. A kit could mean cash, food, a weapon. But 50 points was all he had, and "Ability Boost" teased bigger wins. Don't be dumb, he thought. Survive first.
"Fine," he muttered. "Y."
[Ding!]
[Purchase Done. Basic Survival Kit in inventory.]
Inventory? A new tab glowed—a grid, one slot bright with a backpack icon. He tapped it, skeptical.
[Ding!]
[Basic Survival Kit: $100, pocketknife, water bottle, protein bar, burner phone. Retrieve? Y/N]
His pulse jumped, a grin breaking free. That's what I'm talking about. He glanced at Vanessa, still scrolling. Not now. But soon. Cash. A phone. A knife. Small, but real.
He sipped the coffee, sharp and bitter. One month, he thought, staring at the skyline. One month to get ready.