Jon's eyes popped open. Ugh, something small and furry just ran across his face! He gasped, sitting straight up, swatting wildly. His heart wasn't just beating fast, it was pounding like crazy, super loud in his ears. This wasn't his comfy bed. It was cold, hard concrete. And it didn't smell like fresh laundry, it was a nasty mix of old pee, rotting trash, and that weird metallic smell, like old blood. Gross. He squinted in the dark, the shadowy alley walls closing in on him, making it hard to breathe.
"Wh... what the heck?" he croaked. His voice sounded all rough and weird. He frantically felt around for his phone, his lifeline to normal life. Nothing. Empty pockets. Panic, cold and sharp, shot through him. Then, he looked at his hands. They were all wrong. Bigger, with rough calluses he'd never had, and a little bit of dark stubble on his knuckles. This wasn't his body. The awful truth hit him like a punch to the gut, stealing his breath.
He scrambled backward, a little whimper escaping him, until his back hit the dirty brick wall. All he had in his pockets was a crumpled, weird-looking bill and a few foreign coins. No wallet. No ID. Not even a single piece of paper with his name on it. He remembered falling asleep in his own bed, scrolling on his phone, feeling totally safe. Now he was here, a stranger in someone else's skin, smelling like forgotten lives and city grime.
The distant, loud roar of a huge city didn't make him feel any better. Above, neon lights from buildings he couldn't see cast a sickly, yellowish glow on the ground, making him feel even more sick. The air tasted bad, thick with city pollution. He tried to take a deep breath, to steady his shaking hands, to calm his freaking-out mind, but his lungs hitched. He just had to get out. He needed answers. Right now.
Jon forced his shaky legs to stand up. His new body felt super heavy, clumsy. He was definitely taller, broader, stronger, and the cheap, rough clothes felt awful against his skin. His eyes darted around, looking desperately for anything, anything at all, that made sense. And then he saw it. An old newspaper, with big, bold letters screaming, "STARK INDUSTRIES."
His mind went wild. Stark Industries? Like, Tony Stark? The Avengers?. He wasn't just in the wrong place, he was in the wrong world. He was in the Marvel Universe. The sheer, impossible size of it almost made him lose it. His breath caught again, a desperate sob stuck in his throat. This wasn't a bad dream. This was real. And suddenly, the rats and the bad smell were the least of his worries. He was in a world with super soldiers, alien invasions, and purple giants snapping their fingers. How was he, Jon, just a regular guy, supposed to survive this?
Panicking wouldn't help. Still, a nagging doubt bothered him. Marvel Universe? It felt too crazy, too impossible. He didn't know how he got here, or why he was in this strange body with nothing. He needed more info, something to ground him, to really understand what the heck was going on. He needed a plan. He couldn't just walk up to the police and ask for help. He'd probably get locked up, or experimented on, or something even worse. He was nobody here, a ghost in someone else's body. He had to blend in, disappear, until he could figure things out. He thought through his options, his mind racing, until one idea clicked. The local library might help. Yeah. It's public and full of info. He needed to know what year it was. Had Thanos already happened? Were the Avengers even a thing yet? He needed current events, maps, anything to make sense of this terrifying new reality.
But as he took a careful step, another wave of real fear washed over him. Libraries wouldn't be open now, not in the middle of the night. And the thought of wandering these strange, possibly dangerous streets, with police probably everywhere, made him stop. He couldn't risk being noticed. He had to wait. Wait until morning, when the city was busy, when one person wouldn't stand out so much. He'd find a sheltered spot, hunker down, and just get through the rest of the night.
He found a recessed doorway, out of the wind and away from passing car lights, and curled up, trying to make himself as small and hidden as possible. The concrete was hard, the air still cold, but he forced his eyes shut, hoping that morning would bring some answers. When the first weak rays of dawn finally lit up the city skyline, painting the dirty buildings in a bruised, hopeful light, Jon pushed himself up. Every muscle hurt, screaming from the uncomfortable night, but he ignored them. He had to move. He had to think. He had to survive. He stepped out of the shadows, into the busy, overwhelming chaos of the waking city.
He started looking for a public library, knowing he couldn't walk too far and had no money. His eyes scanned every shop, every street sign, every billboard for a clue. He followed the crowds of people, hoping to bump into something helpful, like a map. After what felt like forever, he saw it, a big, old city map bolted to the side of a bus stop. Relief washed over him, quickly followed by a fresh wave of worry. The map was old, faded, but he could still read it. He traced the streets with a shaky finger, looking for any sign of a public library. His eyes finally landed on a small, simple icon marked "Public Library," about five blocks north and three blocks east. It wasn't super close, but he could walk it. He memorized the route, the street names and turns burning into his mind. This was it. His first real step in this terrifying new world.
Following the map's directions, Jon walked through the unfamiliar streets. The city, even early in the morning, was a loud, smelly mess, totally different from his quiet suburban life. He dodged hurried commuters, delivery trucks, and the occasional bright yellow taxi. His new body felt awkward, the extra height and size constantly reminding him he didn't belong. Finally, he saw a building that matched the map's simple icon, a solid, brick place with wide, inviting steps and a sign that said "Metropolitan Public Library."
Taking a deep, shaky breath, Jon pushed open the heavy glass doors. The air inside was cooler, calmer, a nice break from the city noise. The quiet hum of lights and the rustle of turning pages replaced the blaring horns. He moved in a super casual way, trying to blend in, to look like any other person. His eyes darted around, checking out the layout, the different sections. He needed a computer, or if not, old newspapers. He headed for the "Local History And Periodicals" section.
He found a comfy, though worn, chair tucked away in a corner and started his frantic search. He began with newspapers, picking up old ones, scanning headlines, sports scores, and obituaries. He needed a starting point, a year to latch onto. Then he moved to history books. He focused on recent history, big world events, trying to figure out where in the Marvel timeline he'd landed. His mind raced, putting together bits of info, desperately looking for answers that would either confirm his worst fears or give him a tiny bit of hope.
Hours blurred into a dizzying mix of facts. He read old newspapers, government reports, and history books. He found lots of stuff about Tony Stark, a name that meant tech genius and wild celebrity, but nowhere was there any mention of 'Iron Man' or armored suits. This definitely put him before the first Iron Man movie, before Tony got kidnapped, though he didn't know the exact date of that big event. But it was clear, he was here. He was, without a doubt, in the Marvel Universe. The realization was a cold, hard knot in his stomach. The first little bit of doubt was gone, replaced by a terrifying certainty.
Now, the sheer, crushing weight of his situation really hit him. He had no money, no ID, no powers, nothing but the clothes he was wearing and a head full of dangerous future knowledge. He couldn't just wait to die, he had to survive. Options were few, and scary. His immediate worries screamed at him, food and a place to sleep. He needed to find them, and fast, without drawing the kind of attention that would mess up his already shaky freedom. His mind, now driven by a desperate need to survive, started going through possibilities, no matter how crazy they seemed. He couldn't go to the police, they wouldn't care about his wild story, or worse, they'd see him as a threat, a lunatic, or someone to experiment on.
Then, a bold, crazy idea popped into his head, The New York Sanctum. The very idea of sorcerers, protectors against threats from other dimensions, suggested they were the only ones who could understand his problem. They dealt with dimensions, surely, they could get his impossible situation. But getting their help was super risky. He knew forbidden stuff, where they were, who the Ancient One was, even how their magic worked. To just blurt it all out would bring a ton of questions, How did he know? What else was hidden in his mind? Being totally honest felt like showing all his cards, leaving him completely exposed.
After thinking about it frantically, a smarter plan formed. He needed their trust, or at least the Ancient One's. He couldn't be totally mysterious, but telling everything was too dangerous. His best bet was to ask for a direct meeting with the Ancient One herself. In that meeting, he'd tell a carefully made half-truth, he knew about them, he wasn't from this world, and he desperately needed their help to understand and survive in this new reality. he couldn't tell them how he knew about them. He figured there were two main possibilities, Either the Ancient One, with her magic eye or her own amazing foresight, already knew something about him showing up, or she wasn't constantly looking into every possible future, and his sudden appearance would truly be a mystery to her. Either way, his partial confession, plus his refusal to say how he knew, would definitely make her curious. It would force her to investigate, either with magic or by using the Time Stone. Whatever they found out on their own, it would be their discovery, letting them decide whether to help him based on what they found, instead of him just laying out all his dangerous secrets. This way, he hoped to get their help without completely giving up his advantage.
Even though this plan was unpredictable, it still felt like his best, maybe only, shot. Even if they refused to teach him magic, just getting a safe place from such powerful beings would solve one of his biggest, most immediate problems. And if the whole thing went wrong, if they saw him as a threat or just a burden, it was still a risk worth taking. He had no other believable way, no other person in this terrifying new world who could possibly believe, let alone help, someone in his impossible situation.
With his target set, Jon spent another hour hunched over the library's local maps, carefully tracing the way to the New York Sanctum. It was a pretty long walk from the Midtown library, a journey that would push his already tired body to its limits. Memorizing the map, he slipped out of the library, blending into the lunchtime crowd. Public transport was out since he had no money, so he just walked, and walked, and walked, using his new body's surprising endurance. He walked through busy streets, quiet neighborhoods, and the occasional park, always staying on the edges of the crowd, avoiding eye contact, and walking fast like everyone else. When he got super thirsty, he found public water fountains. For food, he looked for discarded scraps, though luckily he didn't find any, just relying on the little energy his body had left. The journey felt endless, every block a small win, every new landmark confirming he was, slowly but surely, getting closer. He even managed to avoid drawing attention by sometimes joining the flow of people going into and out of busy subway stations, not to ride, but just to warm up or use a bathroom before disappearing back onto the streets, using the city's anonymity to hide his lack of money.
As evening started, painting the sky orange and purple, a distinctive, old-looking brownstone finally appeared. It really stood out among the modern buildings, like something from another time, giving off a strange feeling of quiet power. The Sanctum Sanctorum. His heart pounded in his chest, not from being tired, but from a mix of terror and desperate hope. He stood across the street for a long time, watching, gathering his courage, trying to figure out exactly what to say. But the cold was getting into his bones, and the gnawing hunger was becoming unbearable. He couldn't wait anymore. Taking one last, deep breath, Jon crossed the street and climbed the steps. He raised his hand, his scarred knuckles feeling oddly heavy, and knocked firmly on the heavy, fancy door.
Moments later, the door creaked open. A robed figure, a monk with an impassive face and eyes that seemed to hold ancient secrets, stood before him. Jon, determined to stick to his strategy and not offer any unnecessary details that could be used against him, kept his voice steady, his gaze direct. "I need to speak with the Ancient One," he stated.
The monk's expression remained impassive. Without uttering a single word, or offering any sign of recognition towards Jon, the robed figure simply closed the doors with a resounding thud. Jon was left standing alone on the steps, a profound sense of dismissal settling upon him.
Jon didn't budge for second. The quiet street just made the sudden empty feeling in his stomach feel even bigger. But he was too desperate to just walk away. He knocked again, a little lighter this time, then harder. He waited. Nothing. Zilch. He tried again, changing his rhythm, like, knock-knock-knock, then a pause, then knock. Just a persistent, kinda annoying sound. Hours just dragged by. The last bit of daylight faded, replaced by those harsh streetlights and the distant city rumble that offered zero warmth. The cold just sank deeper into his bones, and that empty feeling in his stomach turned into a painful ache. The thought of another night outside, shivering, without even a gross alley to hide in, made him feel totally helpless. Are you kidding me right now?! This is my life? Getting ghosted by a monk?!
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