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- New York City, USA -
- January 17, 1940 -
Snow still clung to the rooftops like quiet ghosts, soft and unmoving beneath the pale morning light. Down by the Hudson, the wind had lost its bite, though the air still carried the metallic scent of winter and electricity — the scent of Nikola Tesla's work.
Inside the small, hidden workshop that once belonged to sailors and smugglers, a faint hum echoed from the walls. The Night Machine — Tesla's cyborg self — stood near the large table, going over the glowing holographic charts Agatha had helped him decode. Her magic had done what his science could not: it had revealed the missing thread.
The traveler — the one who had come through the breach in 1936 — was no longer just a mystery of numbers and symbols. They now had a place. A name was still beyond reach, but the coordinates pulsed softly in the air before him, forming a circle over a district near old Brooklyn — an abandoned underground sector that once connected to the old subway tunnels.
That was where the anomaly had hidden itself.
Tesla's metallic fingers tapped gently against the console, the sound faint but rhythmic, like someone thinking aloud. His artificial eyes flickered between hues of blue and white as calculations streamed through his mind.
"It seems fate favors persistence," he murmured.
Agatha's voice still lingered in his memory from their last conversation a few hours ago.
"I can't help you further, Nikola. The balance is shifting and I have my own battles to tend. The Daughters need me now. But you—" she had said, placing a hand on his arm before vanishing into violet light, "—you'll find your answers. You always do."
Now, he stood alone again, surrounded by the steady hum of his machines.
For a moment, silence stretched through the workshop. Then, a small sound — a flutter, soft but familiar — broke it.
Tesla froze, then turned slowly toward the open window.
A pale-grey pigeon swooped in gracefully, landing on the table beside him. Her feathers shimmered faintly, touched by a strange, ethereal glow that came alive in the sunlight streaming through the frosted glass.
"Mina," he said softly, his voice almost human in its warmth.
The bird tilted her head, cooing gently before hopping closer, her sharp eyes meeting his glowing ones.
"You've been gone far too long," Tesla said with a faint smile. "Exploring the world without telling me again?"
The pigeon ruffled her wings and gave a single, indignant chirp.
He chuckled quietly, a sound that was more vibration than breath. "I see. Still as proud as ever."
Mina fluttered up to perch on his shoulder, nuzzling briefly against the cold metal of his jaw.
Mina was no ordinary bird anymore. She hadn't been for a long time.
Years ago, before the war and before a part of his consciousness had been transferred into this new form, Tesla had met someone — a being beyond comprehension, one who claimed to be Michelangelo. Not the artist, not entirely human, but something divine — a maker, a shaper of form and soul. It was Michelangelo who had shown Tesla how to bind thought into matter, how to let the human mind live beyond the body.
And it was he who had touched Mina too, in his strange, gentle way.
Tesla had once watched in awe as Michelangelo held his hand over the small bird, light blooming like sunrise between his fingers, saying only:
"Every genius needs a companion who can fly higher than thought."
Since then, Mina had changed. She could shift her form if she wished — into something that resembled the beings Michelangelo had spoken of: the Shi'ar, winged people from distant stars. But Mina rarely did. She preferred her humble form, feathers and all. Perhaps she understood that purity didn't need grandeur.
"Michelangelo would have smiled seeing you now," Tesla said softly, adjusting the controls before him. "I could use your eyes again, my dear."
The pigeon cooed softly in reply, hopping down to the table as the holographic projection reappeared.
"Here," he said, tracing the glowing circle hovering over Brooklyn with his mechanical hand. "That's where the signal leads. The temporal signature is faint but still active — like an ember refusing to die. I need you to scout the area discreetly. If there's any sign of… instability, or if you sense anything unusual, return at once."
Mina stared at the image for a moment — as if she understood every word — then spread her wings. The soft hum of her energy rippled faintly through the air, leaving behind a trail of silver light as she shot through the window and into the open sky.
Tesla watched her go, eyes following until she disappeared beyond the skyline. For a long while, he said nothing.
His hand lifted, touching the place where she'd perched moments earlier. "Even gods need friends," he whispered.
He turned back to his workbench, where Agatha's leftover enchantment still glimmered faintly, forming symbols that hovered in the air like fading constellations. Her magic had stabilized his readings, but the power wouldn't last long. Time was still correcting itself — closing in around the anomaly like a wound trying to heal.
He needed results soon.
The Night Machine gathered his cloak, its dark fabric woven with conductive threads that shimmered faintly in the light. The Tesla Core in his chest pulsed once, a heartbeat made of light.
He paused at the door, glancing back at the now-quiet workshop. "Let's see what destiny has hidden beneath the city this time," he murmured.
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- Unknown Abandoned Subway Station -
- Brooklyn, New York -
- January 17, 1940 -
The old subway station had been forgotten by the world.
No trains had run through here in decades. The air was thick with dust and memory — a strange quiet that even time seemed to respect. Faded posters clung to the cracked walls, their colors drained away by age, and rusted rails stretched into darkness like veins beneath the sleeping city.
The Night Machine walked slowly down the broken steps, each metallic footstep echoing faintly through the tunnel. A faint pulse from the Tesla Core in his chest threw ripples of blue light across the damp concrete. Mina perched on his shoulder, her feathers slightly puffed, eyes alert.
She had already scouted ahead and found no sign of danger. Still, Tesla trusted instinct more than reports — and the air here felt wrong. Not hostile, just… charged, as if the tunnel itself was waiting.
The deeper they went, the clearer it became that someone had been here.
Old research equipment lay scattered across the floor — cracked beakers, broken oscillators, reels of wire, and strange glass tubes still faintly humming with residual energy. A few notebooks sat open on a table, pages filled with diagrams that blurred between science and alchemy.
Tesla stopped near the center of the room, his eyes narrowing. "This… wasn't just a subway station," he said softly. "It was converted. Someone's been experimenting here."
Mina fluttered down from his shoulder to perch on the table, cooing quietly. Her small claws scratched the paper, her head tilting as if she could read the strange scribbles.
Then, the lights began to dim.
One by one, the bulbs hanging from the ceiling flickered and died, until only the faint glow from Tesla's chest remained.
He didn't move. He knew that kind of silence — the kind that came before revelation.
And then, in the far corner of the room, something began to shimmer.
A faint outline appeared first, like a reflection in rippling water. Then came light — deep, radiant, alive — forming into the shape of a man. The brilliance was unlike anything mortal, vast and cosmic, his form a living constellation.
Tesla's breath — or what passed for it — caught in his throat. "Leonid…"
The glowing figure smiled, his expression soft, almost tender. "You always recognize me, Father."
For a heartbeat, Tesla said nothing. Mina gave a soft cry, fluttering her wings in both joy and confusion before returning to his shoulder. Her feathers caught the light, gleaming faintly gold.
Leonid's glow dimmed slightly, enough for Tesla to see the outline of his face — sharp, familiar, yet touched by something far beyond human.
"I knew you would come," Leonid said warmly, stepping forward. "You always follow the trail of energy others ignore. So, I prepared this place… sealed it, actually. No one can hear us now. Not even him."
Tesla's gaze softened. "You sealed this place? That's impressive, my boy. You've grown stronger."
Leonid's smile faltered for just a moment. "Power isn't always a gift, Father. Sometimes it's a chain."
Tesla could feel the pain behind those words — an echo of something heavier than he could fully understand. He remembered the last time he saw Leonid, years ago, when he'd chosen to return to his real father — Isaac Newton. Tesla hadn't tried to stop him. He'd simply watched, silently, as his adopted son walked away into the blinding light of destiny.
And now here he was again, standing in front of him like a cosmic reflection of everything Tesla had both feared and hoped for.
Mina's coo broke the moment's heaviness. Leonid looked at her fondly. "Still following him everywhere, aren't you?"
She chirped in reply, ruffling her feathers proudly.
Tesla smiled faintly. "She hasn't changed."
Leonid's expression softened. "I wish I could say the same for the rest of us."
Tesla tilted his head slightly. "You said you needed my help."
"Yes." Leonid's tone turned serious. "Something has gone wrong, something that neither Father nor I expected. You remember the breach — the one you traced here. It wasn't a random accident. Someone came through it, someone who wasn't meant to exist in this timeline."
Tesla's eyes glowed brighter. "You know who came through?"
Before Leonid could answer, the lights above them flickered violently, and a sharp sound echoed down the tunnel — metal scraping against stone, footsteps approaching.
Both Tesla and Mina turned toward the source.
A woman appeared from the far corridor, her coat torn, her face streaked with dust and fatigue. Her eyes, sharp and intelligent, darted between the two figures before settling on Leonid. She wasn't frightened — just cautious, as if measuring the weight of the scene she'd stepped into.
Her gloved hands were gripping something — or rather, someone.
Dragging behind her, half-conscious, was a man — young, dark-haired, dressed in torn clothing that once might have been part of a researcher's uniform. His head lolled weakly to one side, his breathing uneven.
Tesla stepped forward, his mechanical steps soft yet steady. "Who are they?"
Leonid looked at the man with a mixture of pity and recognition. "The unconscious man is the one who fell through the breach," he said quietly. "Nathaniel… Richards."
The woman adjusted her grip, lowering Nathaniel gently to the floor. Her hands trembled slightly, whether from exhaustion or worry, Tesla couldn't tell. Her eyes flicked toward him again, studying his mechanical form with quiet awe.
Leonid's light dimmed further, his voice low. "And, she is Evelyn, a resercher from around here, she was the one who first came in contact with Nathaniel, when he came through the breach. Unfortunately, Nathaniel's condition was very bad due to what I presume a backlash from the reality itself. He could only form a few words and actions occasionally, and was mostly paralysed and all along Evelyn had been the one to take care of him, due to her curioisity in his fragmented words and her compassion."
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