The interface pulsed once, displaying Jay's final configuration in glowing text:
[FINAL BUILD LOCKED]
Insertion: Drop-In (+2)
Power: Power Thief (-10)
Perks: Comic Nerd (-5), Mind Shield (-2), Power Protection (-2), DNA Lock (-2), Adaptive Power (-5), Heightened Potential (-2)
Drawbacks: Heavy Eater (+3), Unmasked (+4), Challengers (+4), Hunted (+4), Rivalry (+6), Arcane (+5)
Balance: 0 Points
Jay stared at the summary, a mix of anticipation and nervous energy coursing through him. No going back now.
"Satisfied with your choices?" XYZ asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.
"More than satisfied," Jay replied. "This is the first time in my life I've built something completely for myself."
XYZ gives Jay a moment after locking in his choices. The interface dims as XYZ clears his throat.
"One more thing—you won't need to worry about the TVA."
Jay raises an eyebrow. "Time Variance Authority? I figured this much interference would get their attention."
XYZ smirks. "Their tools only work within official storylines. You're being dropped outside that framework—like a gap in their system. They can't prune what they can't see."
"So I'm invisible to them?"
XYZ stood up, the pristine white room beginning to shimmer around the edges. "Yes, you are. Well then, it's time to begin your new life. You're going in completely clean—no documentation, no identity, no safety net. Just you and your choices."
The cosmic middle manager's form was already becoming translucent. "Your insertion point has been randomized within acceptable parameters. You'll arrive shortly after a pivotal moment—when everything changed publicly."
"No papers? No starting cash?" Jay asked, feeling a flutter of uncertainty.
"You chose Drop-In for a reason," XYZ's voice was fading. "True freedom means starting with nothing but what you can build yourself. Your perks will integrate over the next few hours. The Comic Nerd knowledge will hit first—brace yourself."
The room dissolved completely, reality folding like origami, and Jay fell—
Jay crashed into consciousness on cold asphalt, his head splitting like someone had taken a sledgehammer to his skull. The Comic Nerd perk activated like a mental supernova. Names, faces, alternate timelines, story arcs—decades of continuity slammed into his brain like shrapnel made of trivia.
He forced his eyes open and immediately wished he hadn't. The late afternoon sun felt like needles, but through the pain, he could see where he was. Tree-lined suburban streets stretched in both directions, expensive houses set back from perfectly manicured sidewalks behind wrought-iron gates. And in the distance, barely visible through the treeline, the outline of a very familiar mansion.
Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters.
Jay pushed himself up from the sidewalk, his new body feeling both alien and familiar. He was definitely taller than before, lean but with wiry strength. His reflection in a nearby BMW's window showed the changes—sharp features, messy dark hair with an almost ethereal quality, and brown skin that seemed to catch the light strangely.
The knowledge dump continued its assault. He knew exactly where he was, dropped practically on the X-Men's doorstep with nothing but the clothes on his back.
His stomach chose that moment to remind him about the Heavy Eater drawback, growling so loudly that a passing jogger gave him a concerned look.
'Great. Supernatural appetite, no money, no ID, and I'm probably on a dozen security cameras already.'
Jay started walking, putting distance between himself and the mansion. The sidewalks here were pristine, lined with trees older than most countries. Every house whispered of old money—the kind of neighborhood where senators had weekend homes. He needed to think, to plan, but the headache was making it difficult to focus. Every step triggered new flashes of knowledge—Wolverine's healing factor, Storm's weather control, Jean Grey's telekinesis, and her darker potential.
'So much power, all within a few miles of where I'm standing.'
But he couldn't just walk up and knock on the door. The X-Men were heroes, but they were also paranoid about threats to mutantkind. He didn't need a telepath to tell him how they'd react to someone whose literal power was theft.
The suburban perfection gradually gave way to something more recognizably middle-class. Jay found himself in Bayville's small downtown area after thirty minutes of walking—a main street that looked frozen in amber since 1985. Murphy's Hardware with its "Serving Bayville Since 1953" sign. A used bookstore called "Chapter & Verse." A bank branch so small it probably knew every customer by name.
The smell from Sal's Diner hit him like a physical force. Bacon, eggs, coffee, fresh bread. His enhanced appetite made his knees nearly buckle. If this was him now, just after arrival, what would the hunger feel like tomorrow?
'I need money. I need food. I need a plan.'
Jay studied the diner through the window. Late afternoon, not too busy. A few customers scattered around red vinyl booths, a waitress who'd probably been working there since the place opened, a cook visible through the service window with the unconscious precision of decades of practice.
A darker thought whispered: 'I could just take what I need.'
Jay shook his head, pushing the thought away. His condition was not an excuse to prey on innocent people.
'Start small. Start smart. The X-Men aren't going anywhere.'
A newspaper stand caught his eye. The headlines screamed about the impossible: "IRON MAN REVEALS IDENTITY," "TONY STARK: 'I AM IRON MAN,'" "WALL STREET IN CHAOS."
May 3rd, 2008. Stock markets in chaos. Government officials calling for registration of enhanced individuals.
Jay snorted. They had no idea what was coming. The Hulk was already out there, hiding in exile. Thor would arrive in a few years. The Tesseract was sitting in a SHIELD vault, waiting to call down an alien invasion.
A local news crew was setting up outside the bank, probably getting man-on-the-street reactions. The reporter, fresh out of journalism school, checked her makeup while curious locals gathered—retirees, teenagers cutting class, business owners on smoke breaks.
"—can't believe it's real," an elderly man was saying. "Iron Man, flying around like something out of a comic book. What's next, men shooting laser beams out of their eyes?"
'If only he knew,' Jay thought. Xavier's school was less than five miles away.
As the crowd dispersed after the broadcast, Jay noticed a wallet on the ground where an elderly woman had been standing. He picked it up, checking inside. Emma Rodriguez, eighty-three, with photos of grandchildren and forty-seven dollars in cash.
For a moment, Jay was tempted. But the photos of smiling children stared up at him, and he knew he couldn't do it.
Instead, he walked to the address on the license. Emma Rodriguez lived in a small cape cod with a garden that spoke of decades of care. When she answered the door, her face lit up with relief.
"Oh, bless you!" she exclaimed. "I was just realizing I'd lost it."
"Near the news crew," Jay said. "Must have fallen during the excitement."
Emma looked at him more carefully—the unkept clothes and hair, the slight tremor from hunger. "You look like you could use a meal, dear. Have you eaten today?"
"I... no, actually."
"Well, that won't do at all." She stepped aside. "I was just making lunch anyway."
The simple meal—grilled cheese and tomato soup—tasted better than anything Jay could remember. His enhanced appetite made him finish three sandwiches before he realized he was being rude, but Emma just smiled and made two more.
"So, what brings you to Bayville?" she asked.
"I'm... between situations. Looking for a fresh start."
"Running from something or toward something?"
"Both, I think."
Emma nodded as if that made perfect sense. "That's usually how it works."
On the television, news anchors continued their breathless Iron Man coverage.
"Different world now," Emma said. "Change comes in waves—sometimes gentle, sometimes like tsunamis. This feels like a big wave coming."
She was right. The world had always been stranger than people wanted to admit. The only difference now was the public's awareness.
When he finally left, it was with a full stomach, ten dollars Emma had insisted he take, and something he hadn't felt in years—hope.