The man stood alone on the dimly lit subway platform, a solitary figure amid the echoing hum of the underground station. He looked to be in his early thirties, dressed sharply in a tailored black suit and a neatly knotted blue tie. His black hair, carefully parted to one side, framed a face defined by sharp features and thoughtful brown eyes. In his left hand, he clutched a black suitcase, and in his right, his phone's glow illuminated his face as he scrolled through it, a flicker of frustration crossing his features.
"Man, what's taking so long…?" he muttered, glancing toward the dark tunnel where the train should've arrived minutes ago. "I'll be late for the interview at this rate."
Finally, the low rumble of an approaching train broke the silence, its screeching brakes echoing off the tiled walls as it pulled into the station. Relieved, he stepped inside.
The compartment was empty—eerily so—but he welcomed the solitude. With a sigh, he sank into a window seat and reopened the manga he had been reading on his phone, the glow from the screen a small comfort in the hollow car.
"Dang, man, Loki's backstory is so sad," he whispered, shaking his head with a faint smile. "I really hope he joins the Strawhats…"
The rhythmic clatter of the train on the tracks faded into the background as he lost himself in the panels. But then the lights above began to flicker violently.
He jerked his head up, heart hammering.
"Wh–what's happening!?"
The flickering intensified, filling the car with unsettling staccato shadows. Then, without warning, a brilliant white light erupted outside the windows, blinding him. He clutched his suitcase instinctively as the light engulfed the compartment entirely.
Darkness followed.
Seconds—maybe minutes—passed before the overhead lights buzzed back to life. Heart racing, he scanned the compartment. Everything looked the same, yet something felt… off.
"What… what just happened?" he muttered, his voice shaky.
But there was no answer, and he quickly convinced himself it was nothing.
The train screeched to a halt at the next station. He stepped out and ascended the stairs into the bustling morning light, breathing deeply as the warmth of the sun washed over him. But the air was heavy, choked with smog, and he coughed violently before catching his breath.
The city was alive and busy, people rushing past with the usual indifference. He hailed a cab and soon arrived at a towering glass building, its sleek façade reflecting the morning sun.
Inside, the lobby was immaculate, humming with quiet efficiency. He approached the reception desk where a kind-faced woman greeted him with a polite smile.
"How can I help you, sir?"
"Uh… I have an interview here," he replied, adjusting his tie nervously.
"Your name, please?" She began typing into her computer.
"Daniel Lee," he said.
The woman paused, brows furrowing slightly. "I'm sorry, sir, but I don't see your name on the list."
Daniel blinked. "Can you check again? Maybe you misspelled it."
She shook her head. "No, you're definitely not on here. Do you have any documentation with you?"
"Yes, of course."
He set his suitcase on the counter, rummaged through it, and handed over a neatly folded paper. She examined it carefully, her expression shifting from curiosity to something far sharper.
"Mister Daniel," she said, her tone suddenly cold, "I need you to leave. Now. Or I will be forced to call the authorities."
Daniel's stomach dropped. "W-what? Why? What's going on?"
"I've dealt with my share of scammers working here, but I've never seen one as sloppy as you," she snapped, thrusting the paper back at him. "This looks almost real… almost. But there's one glaring mistake—the date. Your document is dated May 23rd, 2025. Today is May 23rd, 2010. Now leave before I make that call."
Her voice was sharp enough to cut. Bewildered, Daniel grabbed the paper and stumbled out of the building. His mind reeled.
"2010? What is she talking about?"
He pulled out his phone. The date displayed clearly: May 23rd, 2025. His hands trembled as he dialed his girlfriend Susan's number.
The number you have called is not in service.
A chill ran down his spine. He quickly tried his roommate Kyle's number.
Ring… ring…
"Hello, John speaking. Who is this?"
Daniel hesitated. "Uh… I'm Daniel. Is Kyle home?"
"Kyle? Who's Kyle?"
"This number belongs to him—"
"You've got the wrong number, buddy. I've had this phone for years."
Click.
The line went dead.
Daniel stood frozen, gripping his phone like a lifeline. He couldn't make sense of it. Everyone he knew—gone. Every number disconnected.
As he staggered down the street in a daze, a café TV caught his eye.
"Breaking news!" the anchor's voice blared. "Billionaire Tony Stark was attacked earlier today during the Monaco Grand Prix. The assailant wielded advanced weaponry, but our hero Iron Man quickly neutralized the threat and apprehended the terrorist—"
Daniel didn't hear the rest. His blood ran cold.
"Tony Stark…?"
He stared at the screen, the name reverberating in his head like a death knell. The truth hit him like a freight train: he wasn't in his world anymore. The flickering lights, the blinding flash—somehow, he had been transported here.
Here, to a world where gods walked among mortals.
Here, to the Marvel Universe.
"Shit…" Daniel whispered, his voice breaking. "I'm royally screwed."
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