I woke up with the same jolt one feels after a nightmare... only this time, I wasn't expecting the cold, damp ground of an alleyway to be my mattress. My back screamed, the cold seeped into every pore, and the air... smelled like slow death.
I blinked several times. Not for drama, but because my eyes burned. Where the hell am I? I sat up slowly, not out of laziness, but because my muscles felt like I'd been thrown from a fifth-floor window. The brick walls were covered in graffiti that looked like the scribbles of some junkie with artistic delusions, and the smell was a perfect mix of piss, hot garbage, and abandonment.
"What a lovely place to die of hypothermia," I muttered.
I tried to remember something. Anything. My last thought, a reason. Nothing. Just a massive mental blur, like someone had done a quick format on my brain's hard drive.
I stood up, trembling like Windows 98 after installing Chrome. I walked toward the end of the alley, guided more by a need to understand than by any sense of direction. And there it was: a busy, dirty, living street. Philadelphia. Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. The bus stop sign confirmed it.
Urban chaos was strangely comforting in a sick way. People yelling into their phones, honking horns, an old man screaming at a pigeon... everything so normal it made me feel even more out of place. Like the world had moved on and I was stuck in some beta version.
My feet were bare. Great. I'd officially become that crazy guy walking the city with a thousand-yard stare and the scent of neglect. Lacking answers, I moved forward. Step by step. Carefully. As if the ground might explode. Because, honestly, in this universe, it might.
The first clues were minimal. A pamphlet on the ground. A digital billboard. Nothing useful. Until I came across a newsstand. An old man was reading the newspaper. I approached, not out of courtesy, but because my vision is excellent and the guy was turning pages slowly.
Local events. Irrelevant. Economy in free fall. Duh. But then, in the tech section, one headline shone like a beacon:
"Stark Industries launches new line of autonomous military weapons."
My heart skipped a beat. Not because I'm a pacifist, but because those words hit my subconscious like a punch to the gut.
"Stark... Industries?"
And there it was. Like a wave of reality crashing through my nervous system. I was in the Marvel Cinematic Universe.
"HAHAAH LIKE IN THE NOVELS," I blurted out. The old man looked at me. I ignored his judgment.
What phase was this? Had Tony already been kidnapped? Did he still have the arc reactor in his chest? Was Hydra already infiltrated? Was Thanos eyeing Earth like an all-you-can-eat buffet?
I needed answers. And shoes. But first: shelter.
I saw a sign on a wall: "San Jude Community Shelter. Hot meals and clean beds. No questions, no fights allowed." Perfect.
"Long live capitalism," I thought, grateful someone had funneled state funds to keep more people from ending up dead in an alley like me.
I walked toward the shelter like a soul that had been kicked by God and then recycled into the multiverse's dumpster. The building was modest, like a low-budget parish. I entered. A kind-voiced older man greeted me with the face of someone who'd seen far too many people like me. I introduced myself.
"Hi. I have no idea how I got here and can't remember anything recent. All I know is my name is Edward. Can I stay?"
He looked at me, read my tone, and nodded. No questions. Professional. I was given a bed, a bowl of watery soup, and—for the first time since I woke up—a roof over my head.
I collapsed onto the mattress like it was a throne of regained dignity. I closed my eyes. I could smell cheap disinfectant and broken dreams floating in the air. But at least I was safe. At least for now.
I knew the worst was yet to come. Because if this was the MCU, I wasn't a hero. I had no powers. No armor. Not even shoes.
Just a sharp mind, a fragmented memory… and a damn pathological curiosity that, as always, was going to get me in trouble.
But that would be future Edward's problem.
"Good luck, idiot," I said to the darkness before closing my eyes and letting sleep take me.
************************
Autor: Hi everyone, English is not my first language, so please excuse any grammar mistakes
*******†****************
The echo of a metallic noise shook me awake. When I opened my eyes, the scene before me was a mess of loose cables and flickering red lights. I could barely move—I felt the cold metal against my skin and a tight, uncomfortable pressure in my chest. My torso was strapped to a table with thick restraints, and the heat radiating from the panel in front of my face reminded me I was in trouble.
"This is definitely not a homeless shelter in Philadelphia."
Around me, a flat, artificial voice urgently announced:
"Severe damage to the Aurora. Launching escape pod in 3... 2... 1..."
I felt a pull in my gut as the pod was catapulted from the ship, like a cannon blast launching me toward an uncertain fate. During the descent, I saw a torn sheet of metal break loose and begin floating wildly inside, threatening to tear the pod apart. My eyes followed it with deep, bracing fear.
"One..." I counted, bracing for impact.
The panel flew close and struck my forehead, knocking me to the edge of unconsciousness. When I opened my eyes again, smoke filled the tiny pod and I felt blood running down my face.
I struggled against the safety harness holding me down. The release button didn't respond at first; the screen was smeared with a thin streak of blood as I pressed it over and over. Finally, with a metallic click, the harness disengaged and I dropped to the floor, breathing in the smoke now thick in the air. I coughed violently, each heartbeat pounding like a drum inside my skull. Without thinking, I lunged for the fire extinguisher, gripped it tight, and activated the valve, dousing the flames rising from a corner of the pod.
As the smoke began to clear, I stayed still—gasping, sore, and painfully aware of the urgency of my situation. There was no time to waste. Not here.
I knew where I was.
I had played this game before, but watching it on a screen was one thing...
...waking up inside it, with systems failing around you, was something else entirely.
I pulled a PDA from my pocket and powered it on. The Alterra logo lit up on the screen, followed by a familiar jingle and a cold, synthetic voice:
"You have suffered a minor head trauma. This is considered an optimal outcome in a crash scenario. PDA has been rebooted in survival mode. Please refer to the databank for detailed survival advice. Good luck."
I smiled with a mix of frustration and sarcasm.
"Thanks for nothing," I muttered, thinking of the chaos ahead.
I knew I was in danger. And even more so, because I already knew the secrets of this world: lethal bacteria and no such thing as a truly safe place.
Focused, I opened the fabricator and checked the components needed to build a scanner and a repair tool: one titanium and a battery for the scanner, and sulfur with silicone rubber for the repair tool. It was the beginning of my survival checklist. I took a deep breath and approached the hatch, taking one last gulp of air before diving into the warm, glowing water around me.
The clarity of the ocean was overwhelming, and every bubble that rose around me reminded me of how strange and beautiful this world was. I swam toward a nearby reef, focused on collecting materials. First stop: acid mushrooms. I gathered six quickly—enough to make three batteries and avoid wasting time later. On the way to a cave, the PDA broke the silence with a mechanical voice:
"Aurora has sustained catastrophic hull failure in orbit. Zero human life signs detected."
I ignored the warning, already knowing I was the only survivor.
I entered a dark, damp cave, lit only by dim flashes bouncing off the rocky walls. Cracking open a limestone outcrop, I felt the rush of finding copper.
It wasn't as large as in the game, but it made sense—it was more real, more dense.
With the copper stored in my suit's compartments—a detail I appreciated more than I'd expected—the PDA, which I now decided to call "System," spoke again:
"Copper is an essential component in all electronic equipment. Your probability of survival has increased from improbable to possible."
I chuckled under my breath.
"Possible? We'll see about that."
My fingers worked fast, breaking open several more limestone rocks to gather copper and titanium. In a sandstone chunk, I found something even better: lead, silver, and gold. I stored them all in my suit, knowing how valuable every piece was.
Silver, as System explained, would be useful for making wiring kits—key to future constructions.
As my lungs cried out for air, I surfaced, breathing hard.
Two minutes at that depth... Riley Robinson must've been in incredible shape.
Inspired by his endurance, I took one last deep breath and dove again. Quartz, limestone, and more acid mushrooms completed my first run.
Only one thing left: sulfur, guarded by the infamous kamikaze fish all players feared.
I crept toward a cave flower and, as it opened, the fish shot toward me.
Without thinking, I kicked it away and lunged forward, gripping the rocks just as the explosion echoed behind me.
The shockwave hit me, but the damage was minimal.
"That's everything," I said as I checked my full inventory.
Grabbing a piece of floating scrap metal, I swam back to the pod, guided by a waypoint marker in my vision. Once inside, the extra titanium let me craft two additional oxygen tanks. Storing them would save me time and give me more range to explore.
I stashed my materials in the emergency locker and, with a lighter inventory, headed out to find seeds in the creepvine forest to make oil and rubber.
With the fabricator—a kind of precision laser 3D printer—I built the scanner. I pointed it at myself and pulled the trigger.
"Self-scan complete. Vital signs normal, but could be better. Continuing to monitor."
Exactly what I expected, though there was one issue: my health was at 45%.
I looked over at the medical fabricator on the other side of the pod. Inside, I found an adhesive patch and a syringe.
I took the syringe and inserted it into my arm. Pressing the button, I felt a light itch before a wave of drowsiness washed over me.
My knees buckled, and before I could react, I hit the floor.
"Shi...was all I could mutter before everything faded to black.
**P.S.: Don't inject weird stuff into your veins. xD**
I woke up... surprisingly well. In a bed much more comfortable than the titanium floor where I remember passing out in the escape pod.
It wasn't the best in the world, since it was a cheap bed bought for the people at a homeless shelter in Philadelphia.
"Omg, I'm back," I said, thinking about the amazingly realistic dream I had just had.
Still lying down, I felt something stabbing my rib. I sat up in the not-so-comfortable bed and saw something that left me euphoric.
"The damn scanner," I said, feeling my heart race. The whole day yesterday, since I realized that I was probably—and knowing all the fanfics I've read—inside the MCU, I had been mentally struggling to think of a way to gain power in this world.
Who would have thought it would be solved with one night of sleep?
"FUUUU," I breathed, calming myself. I quickly stuffed the scanner into the coat the shelter owners gave me, making sure no one saw that I had something resembling a weapon, because, yes, it had a vague shape of a pistol, with a guard running from the "barrel" to what would be the handle.
With this device, I could gather information on anything I scanned. From living beings to materials and their possible uses.
But first things first, I needed to learn how to use it.
I got up, made the bed, and headed for the exit, not bothering to wait for breakfast to be served.
As I opened the door, the faint rays of sunlight lit up my face, and the air polluted by civilization filled my lungs.
I walked to a residential area where there are usually discarded electronics from middle-class people who simply replace things when they see something better.
I started rummaging through a box, and without much effort, I found an old TV, which I aimed at and pressed the trigger.
A laser beam shot across the scanner, corner to corner, and when the scan finished, nothing... absolutely nothing.
"Shit," I said, thinking of the possible reasons for the utter failure.
Then, a light bulb went off in my head. The scanner was just a machine that, as its name suggests, scanned and transmitted data to a database. The one in the world of Subnautica, of course, would be a PDA.
"But what do I do?" I thought, as I headed out to explore the streets to see if I could find anything useful among the things families often discard in front of their houses for someone who might need them.
The TV was just a test, but if I found something technologically advanced—because in this world, there were all kinds of geniuses and aliens—I could essentially copy their inventions.
The most obvious thing was to get a PDA. Once I had one, accessing the database would be no problem, even if it were empty.
But how did I end up bringing this from that world? It obviously had something to do with my power. Normally, if someone is suddenly transported to any world, especially in a situation as disastrous as mine, they're given some kind of advantage. And in my case, this was mine. Sadly, it wasn't without its disadvantages and setbacks.
I kept walking, seeing nothing useful except old electronics. At least, if I found something very, very thin, I could slip it between the slots of the scanner's material and try to disassemble it, to see if there was any way to connect to it without wireless technology.
Because, of course, the wireless connection technology in this world was still in its early stages. I didn't think this device would work with anything remotely similar to Bluetooth, and Bluetooth probably wasn't even used yet, except by some people with the most advanced smartphones.
I'm probably exaggerating, because it wasn't that rare in this time. But I came from an era where basically everything smart could connect to Wi-Fi.
The most convenient thing right now would be to connect this to a computer and see what data I could extract from it.
Sadly, my identity as a homeless person, my current absolute lack of any form of cash, and my growling stomach prevented me from doing anything.
Shit, it's going to be a late start.
Why did I end up passing out? I had barely been in the world of Subnautica for a while. It didn't make sense unless it was because of the injection I had given myself.
If you think about it logically, it makes sense.
My body was pretty battered, and my naïveté in thinking the injection would heal me as quickly as in the game was too much.
Maybe the injection needs time to work, and it put me into an induced sleep.
"Anyway," I said, determined as I set out to make money.
I had several options, including:
Begging and continuing the path of the homeless.
Or stealing, which was obviously the fastest and probably the easiest. Though, morally questionable.
I headed downtown; it was probably around 5 a.m. It was starting to dawn, but it was still dark. I had several hours before I'd start seeing people in the stores.
If any poor devil in this world could be a thief or a hero, so could I.
Not that I hadn't stolen anything before. I'm not innocent, I was a soldier, of course.
"Didn't I tell you about my background?" I was a soldier in a small Central American country, and, of course, one of the first things you learn as a soldier is how to steal.
And I wasn't just any soldier. I was a soldier from the regiment with the toughest training. I won't say the name, but its initials were REP.
Continuing with my exploration, I found a good spot. A convenience store. I headed toward the back and, using the drainage channels, started to climb. **"Look, mom, like Spider-Man,"** I said with a grin.
Once I reached a high enough point—meaning the roof—I started walking along the edges, until I found the highest window.
Well, this was a risky move, but without sacrifice, there's no victory. Like Sam Witwicky's grandfather used to say.
It was about a 6-meter fall if I messed up. But if I entered through the back door, I'd probably run into a metal grate. So why waste time?
I hung from the roof, then, after taking a deep breath, I let go and immediately grabbed the base of the first window. I almost dislocated my wrist, but it was worth it.
"A pirate must have hooks for fingers, I said, remembering a certain pirate from *Assassin's Creed IV*.
I made an effort and lifted my hefty (fat) body. Yeah, I'm a little overweight (110 kg), but I'm in perfect physical health thanks to my military training.
I stood at the base of the window, took out the scanner, and well... it had to serve for something. I said as I hit the window with its base.
It immediately shattered into pieces, like all security glass, flowing like sand to the floor. I carefully entered the second floor of the convenience store, usually used as a storage area.
I quickly glanced around, then grabbed a snack (a can of peaches). I headed toward several doors and began searching every nook and cranny, looking for where the owner might keep their cash.
Because, obviously, they wouldn't leave it in the register. That's tempting fate.
20 minutes later, I found absolutely nothing.
"Damn it," I muttered as I grumbled and descended the stairs.
I reached the store floor and checked the merchandise, alert for any security systems that might be present—nothing. Absolutely nothing.
"People are so careless in this country," i said with a laugh. It was like a toy store for a thief.
"At least for this era, we're probably in 2009. Or a little before that..."
I walked to the register and burst out laughing.
"Are you serious?" I said
under my breath, irritated.
I should have a smile plastered on my face because of the amount of cash they left here.
But in reality, it bothers me because of all the time I wasted overthinking.
I took the stack of 100-dollar bills, about 5 of them. Then there were another 200 dollars in smaller bills.
I didn't bother with the coins, put the cash in my pocket, grabbed a shopping bag, and then took some things from the hardware section. A few small knives. The smallest screwdrivers I could find, a soldering iron. Solder wire, capacitors, resistors, wires, etc. Unfortunately, there wasn't more advanced electronics like computer or phone parts, but it was a start.
I grabbed another plastic bag and filled it with cereal bars and some canned fruit.
Then I climbed back up the stairs, and with the two bags in my hand, I hung from the window frame again, lowered my feet as much as I could, and then let go.
I landed on the ground, feeling a cramp in my feet. After all, a fall from that height, if I had weak bones, would have broken my ankle. Fortunately, I'm pretty tough and flexible.
I looked at the sky, and, to my foolishness, it was already daylight.
I headed back the way I came, of course, with a hoodie on, and got lost in the alleys.
When I exited, I went to a rundown motel, one of those places someone would use to harvest organs, and checked the prices.
After telling the manager I'd be back at night, I left.
45 dollars for a night. Not a bad sum.
I barely realized it, and it was already office hours. 8 a.m. I went into a hardware store and bought some USB cables, two Bluetooth adapters, a USB memory stick. I asked about computer market prices, and a new laptop was priced between 300 and 600 dollars, depending on the specifications. However, a used one could be found between 150 and 300. No more.
After buying a set of small precision screwdrivers, I left and went to a pawn shop where I found a used laptop for 200 dollars. It had decent specs for the time.
I continued on my way, and to wrap up the rest of the day, I arrived at a restaurant by 10 a.m. It looked like it would be busy, so I greeted people.
The restaurant is small, cozy, but it smells of fried food and old spices. The décor is basic, nothing impressive, but the atmosphere feels… alive. I approach the counter and see an older woman with her hair tied up in a messy bun and glasses almost at the tip of her nose. She notices my presence and looks up.
"Yes?" she asks, in a neutral tone, with a slightly hoarse voice.
"Hello. My name is Edward. I was wondering if you have any openings… for a dishwasher," I say, getting straight to the point.
The woman furrows her brow, as if evaluating my request in silence. "Do you have experience?"
"Actually, yes, I was a soldier in a country in Latin America. We did a lot of things there, including washing dishes. I can start today if necessary," I reply, trying to sound convincing.
She sighs and looks down at the notebook she's holding. "We could use some help… The rush hour is coming up soon. The pay is 7 dollars an hour. You'd work from 11 to 7."
A man appears behind her, a tall, thin guy with short hair and tired eyes. It seems like he's been listening. "Are you hiring
another person?" he asks, glancing at me.
"Here comes the madness, Jim," she responds without looking at him. "If he wants to get into dishwashing, it's not my problem."
Jim looks me over for a moment. "Just try not to break anything and don't get in the way, alright?"
I nod, trying not to laugh under his gaze, attempting to intimidate me.
The woman extends her hand to me. "I'm Martha. If you need something, let me know, but don't waste my time. And Jim is the chef. Don't bother him, he's got enough with the customers."
I shake her hand. "Thank you. I promise not to disappoint you."
Jim scoffs and heads to the kitchen. Martha turns and gestures for me to follow. "Let's go, I'll show you where everything is. I want you ready at 11 sharp."
---
*11:05 AM*
The first hours are intense. Martha showed me where the sponges, soaps, and gloves are, then left me alone in the dishwashing area. The place is overflowing with plates, pots, and utensils stacked high. There's barely any space to maneuver.
After fifteen minutes, my hands are already wet, and a couple of drops of sweat slide down my forehead. I'm struggling with a pot that has burnt bottom when I hear Jim's voice from the kitchen. This is definitely not worse than the army. But I haven't washed dishes since I was a recruit.
"Hey, newbie! Did you fall asleep or what?" he shouts, not even bothering to look.
"I'm almost done!" I reply, trying to sound calm.
"Faster," Martha murmurs as she passes by, not stopping.
With each batch of dishes I wash, it seems like another mountain appears. The chefs come in and out, leaving more utensils and empty plates at a speed I can barely keep up with. Sometimes I hear the noise from the dining room; customers arriving and leaving, the clattering of silverware, and Jim's orders echoing in the kitchen. Martha passes by now and then, checking to see if I missed any plates.
---
*2:30 PM*
I've barely had a moment to breathe. When I finally see some space in the pile, Martha comes back with a tray full of plates.
"Rush hour, sweetheart. Get ready," she says, not waiting for a reply. She winks and leaves.
The mountain of dishes makes me sigh, but I keep going, scrubbing, rinsing, and drying at almost an automatic pace. The soap has dried my hands, and the fatigue is starting to settle in my arms. I just need to keep going. Jim comes in now and then to take something from the fridge and glances at me sideways, like he's evaluating how much I can handle.
---
*5:00 PM*
By the time afternoon rolls around, the pile of dishes slowly starts to decrease. I begin to feel the relief of the end of the shift approaching, but I stay focused on the work.
Martha appears again. "Are you still alive?"
"I could keep going all day," I reply, half-joking. She gives me a faint smile.
Jim approaches and throws a nearly full pot of oil into the pile. "For you, rookie," he says, with a tone that sounds like a mix of mockery and respect.
While I clean, Martha hands me a small bottle of water. "Take advantage, you've got less than two hours left," she comments, and walks away.
I drink the water in silence and return to work, waiting for the end of my shift.
---
*6:55 PM*
The last plate. I wash it, rinse it, dry it, and lean back against the kitchen wall, exhaling. My arms are tense and my shoulders stiff. Jim walks in, and for the first time, he seems relaxed. He gives me a look and nods.
"Good job, rookie. You didn't break too easily."
Martha appears and leaves a small envelope on the counter. "Here you go, for the day. If you're interested in coming back tomorrow, we'll talk."
"Thanks, Martha. Jim," I say, nodding to both of them.
I leave the restaurant feeling exhausted but satisfied. Maybe, after all, this wasn't such a bad start.
It's really nothing compared to what I could make from stealing, but I need some legal income. Plus, a place to make connections.
If I worked like this every day, I'd make 1,800 dollars in a month, which I think, for the time, isn't too bad.
Honestly, the people who don't work in this country just don't want to.
I head to the rundown motel where I was earlier, pay the manager, and head to the room. It's small, but it has a shower and a bathroom, with a mirror and a sink. Enough.
I take off the only clothes I have and wash them as carefully as I can, hang them on the shower curtain, shower, and once I'm done, I start working with the scanner, still naked. I wasn't
going to put on wet clothes. I forgot to buy a change of clothes after all.