Fresh new chapter!


Now tell me, how did all my dreams turn to nightmares?
How did I lose it when I was right there?
Now I'm so far that it feels like it's all gone to pieces
Tell me why the world never fights fair
— Home by Bebe Rexha, Machine Gun Kelly, and X Ambassadors


During the first few moments, he nearly reevaluates his stance on atheism. The initial gasp does nothing but pull water into his lungs and drag his mind back to a dark cave in Afghanistan, head held underwater and shockwaves spreading through his body when it touched the car battery on his chest, if hell was a real place then this is what it would feel like. Except, as his eyes reflexively widen, the light of his HUD drags him back to the present.

It only takes a fraction of a second for reality to set in, statistics about drowning going through his mind as he immediately holds his breath, lungs burning from the small amount of salt water he'd breathed in before realizing, and the countdown of one minute – accounting for his diminished lung capacity – is delegated to the back of his mind as he sluggishly moves his arm to the suit's chest, trying not to be frantic as he slides off a small panel over the reactor and presses the trigger under it.

The repulsors flare to light, thankfully not damaged, and he shoots out of the water at Mach 1 speed, launching himself into the air and immediately disengaging the front plate of the helmet, coughing out his lungs as he tries to regain balance. It becomes much more difficult when the repulsors start flickering and he starts losing altitude, so his efforts turn instead to finding a decent crash site. Somehow, he hadn't fully registered his surroundings yet, and as he half-flies and half-falls toward a deserted-looking beach, there is a noticeable lack of property damage and alien corpses in his immediate vicinity.

The suit crashes into the sand in an unplanned remake of his cave escape, though thankfully a lot less explosive, and he lies there for a couple of minutes taking in some blessedly fresh air into his poor lungs, as fresh as New York air can ever be in any case. Every muscle in his body chooses that exact time to protest their very existence, and he barely has enough energy to reach the release mechanism on the side of the suit before letting his arm fall back to the sand, listening to the whirring and groaning of his armor as its falls apart around him.

His black sabbath shirt and jeans are soaked through, which wouldn't usually be the case but one of the hits during the battle clearly dislodged something enough to allow water into the armor, and the feeling of soggy socks inside his shoes is becoming increasingly unbearable, enough to force him to sit up with a groan and crawl out of the suit to sit directly on the sand. Tony fully blames the adrenaline and consecutive near-death experiences for how long it takes him to realize that, unlike when he entered the portal, it's currently nighttime.

Kicking off his soaked shoes and soggy socks – because he has his priorities straight – he takes some time to inspect his surroundings. The beach didn't look like any of the ones he knew in New York – never mind that beaches have never been at the top of his hangout spots list – or really any other beach he'd ever seen abroad, but judging by the number of neon signs he could spot in the distance he may as well have been in Tokyo. It's too far to read any of the signs, so he resigns himself to drying off before rushing to find out where exactly he'd crash-landed since it was clearly very far from the alien invasion's ground zero he'd left behind.

He spends a few minutes checking over the suit as thoroughly as possible while it's lying in the sand, taking the time to push and prod it back to the shape it had been before deploying to save his ass from the god of oily hair's defenestration. Once that's done, the whole thing is about the height of a large suitcase and only a little wider, but unfortunately lacking the wheels and handle to be rolled around. Well, not for long, he decides, and takes a little longer to rearrange nonvital parts into a small handle.

That should do it, he decides after some tweaking and stands with a pained groan, stretching before grabbing onto the handle and- holy shit I forgot how heavy this thing is.

Fortunately, if he can't move it he doubts someone else could, and even then there's a reason trackers exist, so he doesn't feel bad about leaving it behind, grabbing his shoes – and the soggy socks that have at least dried sightly – and carrying them in one hand as he heads over to the closest neon sign in the seafront.

The sign reads "Orchard Beach Snack Bar", he notices once he's close enough to read it, and looks newer than the rest of the store that's shoved in between two others, with an old-looking paint job and wooden chairs and tables out in the front. He's still skeptical about the location – Orchard Beach is in New York but it never had this many buildings and enough neon to outshine the moon – so the first thing he does is head to the cashier, who's got her back turned to him and seems to be organizing something in the cabinet behind her.

As if hearing his footsteps, the cashier turns around with a pleasant enough expression, "Hello, welcome to Orchard Beach Snack Bar, how can I help you?"

Tony opens his mouth to reply, but something catches his eye and he ends up staring for a moment before asking, "What's that? The thing on your temple?"

It looks like a small LED circle, that goes from blue to yellow the moment he asks.

"An external feedback biocomponent present in all Cyberlife androids, Sir," She informs, as if it's some sort of common knowledge, before continuing in the same light and pleasant tone that all store workers wish they could maintain, "How else may I be of service? Would you like a menu?"

"I'm good," He replies absently with a slight frown, "What city are we in?"

"New York City, Sir."

"Right, right- and the date?" He goes on with no small amount of confusion.

"May 10th, 2032," She tells him with seemingly endless patience, not even commenting on how he's dripping slightly and creating a small puddle floor, "Sir, you don't seem to be exhibiting any signs of intoxication, but I could get in contact with-"

"No, no, that's- I'm good, thanks," He hurriedly informs her before turning around and walking right out of the store in quick steps. "What the fuck?"

It's too elaborate to be a prank, he rationalizes after leaning on a wall to catch his slightly panicked breath. He could have walked into any store, and he would have heard of any renovations in the Bronx, buildings don't just sprout out of the ground overnight. There's also no alien invasion to speak of since he figures there would be a lot more people running around like chickens with their heads cut off, or at least more noise besides the usual thrum of the nightlife in the city that never sleeps. Still, to seriously consider time travel…

Well, he did fly through a wormhole, and there are theories- not now.

Whether it's 2012 or 2032, he needs to get access to the internet as soon as possible. The suit is mostly dead, only reacting to manual commands – likely due to the lack of JARVIS' connection – and he didn't have his phone in the first place, so the situation pretty much amounts to being stranded in an unfamiliar place with no means of communication and no proper way to verify the supposed android's claims. He can't even go back to that bar unless he's willing to risk a call to the authorities about the crazy guy that doesn't even know where or when he is. At best he'll get a reprimand for supposed intoxication – nevermind the lack of signs since he did have a drink while distracting the would-be conqueror that set up base in his tower – and at worst be shoved to the loony bin, or maybe snatched by a shady government agency since that sounds like something SHIELD would do.

Glancing around himself, Tony takes notice of which buildings hold stores as opposed to residences and which ones are still open. The date offered by the alleged android had rattled him enough that he'd forgotten to ask for the time, he realizes as he makes his way into a different entrance. The store is smaller than the bar and there are swimwear items on display, probably banking on convenience to make their sales. There's no one in sight when he steps into the business, but there's a flight of stairs half-hidden behind a counter at the other end of the room.

"Anyone up there?" He calls after a few moments of waiting, not feeling very patient.

There's a crashing sound and hurried footsteps before a harried-looking teen becomes visible rushing down the stairs, offering a sheepish grin as a greeting, "Hi, sorry, we're not- I mean, it's open but I was s'pposed to- um, how can I help?"

"You work here?" Tony can't help but ask in amusement, the kid barely looks old enough to be out of high school, especially drowning in the cargo pants and oversized t-shirt combo. The unruly mop of curly hair, blue eyes, and freckles don't help.

"It's my ma's store," is the kid's non-answer, "I forgot to lock up," he admits, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Lucky for you I'm not a burglar," he jokes, something about a normal interaction with another human being – even if an adolescent one – making him feel more at ease. "I actually just wanted to know the time, and maybe borrow a phone," he explains in a hopeful tone, motioning to his still slightly dripping attire, "mine ended up taking an unplanned dive."

"Sure dude," The kid pulls a phone out of his back pocket, holding it out.

What he grabs, he realizes after looking down at the phone, is something much like his own personal phone, which wouldn't be surprising if he didn't know his design was years ahead of everything else in the market and he doesn't have any plans to release it any time soon, not before letting the public acclimate to the natural technological advancement it takes to get to it. The goal is to slowly update the Starkphone models until they naturally reach his current iteration, nothing Google wasn't doing already with their own technological advancements, but looking down at the transparent, glass-like mobile in his hand, with a slightly thicker black frame around it and apps littering the see-through screen, the entire concept of time travel is immediately brought back to the forefront of his mind.

"Thanks, kid," he tells him, glancing at the time on the screen and noticing it's ten to eight p.m. so the amount of closed stores makes sense. He opens the calendar almost automatically, staring as it seems to mock him with the information that it is, according to it, the 10th of May, 2032.

Of course it's a Monday, nothing good ever happens on a Monday.

"Owen," the kid's voice makes him look up with a questioning look, "Not kid," the kid explains, and Tony huffs in amusement before focusing back on the phone.

Following the current path of information gathering, the next app he opens is the map. It confirms his location, the only beach in the Bronx, and while a couple of location tags stood out to him – his favorite pizza place apparently still in business – most of them were unfamiliar. Dragging the map to Midtown Manhattan, he tries not to react to the complete absence of the Stark Tower, a completely different building taking its place. Scrolling back to the Bronx, he takes a good look at the map, memorizing the immediate vicinity before closing the app.

The first thing he looks up is androids, skimming through most of the – honestly very interesting – information enough to get a sense of what it was about. Unable to stall any longer, he looks up his own name, only to find zero results related to Tony Stark. Searching for Howard Stark and Stark Industries predictably wields the same results, and he chooses to discard that line of research before he can start to overthink it.

"You done yet?" The kid asks, tone slightly impatient, and Tony figures it's best not to test his luck.

He makes a few more quick searches – general information such as the name of the president and stuff he shouldn't take for granted like the coin in current circulation – before handing the phone back to the kid, "Here, thanks k- Owen."

The quick correction earns him an amused look and they part amiably, with Tony leaving the kid to lock up the store and making his way back to the suit. He could roam a bit more, but there are very few stores still open and the rest of the buildings look residential, so returning to base – for lack of a better term – feels like the best option for the moment.

As he crosses the beach, his eyes narrow at the spot he'd left the suit before he immediately breaks into a run while yelling "Hey, hey, no! That's mine! Don't touch that!"

There's someone somehow managing to drag his compacted suit through the sand by the makeshift handle, but they thankfully pause at his exclamations. Upon closer inspection – while he's recovering his breath after catching up to the would-be suit thief – the one trying to make off with his armor is another supposed android, a male brown-eyed blond dressed in an olive green jumpsuit with light green and orange highlights, the LED on his right temple along with the reflective blue strap and triangle on the jumpsuit's left chest identifying him as one just as he'd read a few minutes before. To the right of the triangle, written in white, is WR600, the android's model, though its usefulness is diminished by the fact that Tony's hardly had the time to memorize all of the available models so far.

"Sir, littering is legally punishabl-" The android starts, but Tony is quick to interrupt.

"It's not garbage! It's just too heav- wait, you can drag it. You're stronger than a human, aren't you?" He asks, the situation no longer seeming as hopeless as before, "of course you are, I barely moved it a couple inches, that's great! Think you could help me move it somewhere else?"

Tony watches as the shining LED smoothly transitions from blue to yellow for a moment before returning to blue, "Of course, Sir. Where would you like it to be moved to?"

He thinks back to the map he'd checked out on the kid's phone as well as any knowledge he already had before on the location before answering, "Just follow me, it's a bit of a walk so we can make some stops if it gets-" not tiring, humans get tired, so- "taxing to your system, lugging that thing around."

The android only nods and Tony takes that as his cue to lead the way, heading toward where he knows the playground and courts are located, as well as a couple of buildings with a high chance of being empty and available for him to make use of for the moment.

"What's your name, by the way?" Tony asks after a moment. He can only listen to the sound of metal dragging against sand for so long.

"I am WR600, serial number 212 718 618, designation 'Adam'."

"Kind of a mouthful," Tony jokes lightly, "so, Adam, what can you tell me about Cyberlife?"

Now that he has an immediate plan of action to focus on – even if it consists of squatting in an abandoned building with his compacted suit – it's easier to push everything else to the back of his mind and focus on gathering information that may be useful. The android is able to answer basic questions about the company – stuff he'd probably find after a short online search – but nothing too detailed. Adam can also talk about his model's functions and duties, which are basically to keep the beach and seafront clean and litter-free as well as take care of the surrounding plant life. It takes a minute to find the correct phrasing, but Tony eventually learns that the WR600 is in fact owned by the city instead of a local business as he'd initially assumed, pretty much a mechanical version of a garbage collector with the advantage of nearly 24/7 work hours due to never getting tired or needing to eat, only stopping for the necessary recharge time.

He asks about information security, mostly wondering if they're used as an alternative to security cameras, but learns that Adam's specific model doesn't have such a feature, which makes sense for something owned by the city since no governor wants to be accused of spying on their people. Tony considers that the android could be programmed to lie about it, but figures there's no harm in the other questions he wants to ask, at most he may come across as having lived under a rock or a particularly unprepared tourist. He then proceeds to ask about the closest subway station and any cheap coffee shops, committing the information to memory, as well as any close by hardware stores and ATMs.

Tony's questions inevitably come to an end once he spots an empty building looking abandoned enough that taking it over for the night probably won't make a difference, "Here, you can just put it in front of the door and I'll have a buddy of mine pick me up."

Adam nods and proceeds to do as asked, placing the suit in front of the old-looking door, "Will that be all, Sir?"

"Yeah, thanks Adam," he tells the android, "don't let me keep you from your actual job." When the WR600 turns around to leave, he remembers to add, "Hey, if you see me around, call me Tony, alright?" That would at least help tell him apart from identical models.

Adam pauses, looking back quickly enough for Tony to glimpse a flash of yellow in his LED before it fades back to blue, "Goodnight, Tony."

"Night," Tony mumbles at the android's back, letting out a tired sigh and leaning back against the wall to the side of the door.

No time to rest yet.

With a discreet glance at the most likely surveillance spots to check for cameras, he finds none and moves over to the door, checking to see if it's locked, which it unfortunately is. He would check the windows if he had nothing else with him, but the likelihood of being able to lift the suit through a window was incredibly low, so he makes quick work of putting his shoes back on – sans soggy socks – and kicking the suit into the door instead, letting the weight of it knock it inwards. The noise makes him wince and look around, but there's no one to notice it and the android is already too far to register. Tony steps over the suit, enters the building, and takes a deep breath before grabbing the handle and heaving the compacted suit into the darkened room and closing the door behind it.

With the door closed the only light source becomes the dirty window he notices to his right since his shirt is too thick to let the light of the reactor through. Standing in a relatively closed-off room – the door can't be locked but inching the suit in front of it makes sure it stays closed – and away from prying eyes gives him a slight sense of safety, enough to let himself slide to the floor next to the suit. His hand absently fiddles with the underside of it, nails digging into the edge of the reactor cover and sliding it off to let the cool blue light illuminate some of the room just enough to check for rats or anything else undesirable.

That's when it finally seems to down on him, the weight of the situation and everything he's learned so far. He flew into a wormhole, a fucking wormhole! There were aliens! So many- a deep breath, he lets his head fall back with a thud against the wall. If he ever gets back home, he's finding whoever ordered a fucking nuclear strike into his city and blowing them up to see how they like it.

If there's even a way back.

His breath hitches like something's stuck in his throat, and he should be grateful to be alive – he is – but all he can think about is never seeing Pepper or Rhodey again, not hearing JARVIS' voice or playing with the bots- it's too much. He had been ready to die – one life versus many was an easy choice when the people he loves are one of the many – and didn't regret his choice, but it still left a bitter taste in his mouth to think of the organization supposedly focused on world security deciding to simply give up on over eight million people with zero assurance that the portal would even close if it got blown sky high.

Now he's here, in a familiar but foreign dimension – because there's no way his legacy could be completely erased which means he never existed in the first place – with nothing to his name but a damaged suit and the clothes on his back, reconsidering his stance on praying for the infinitesimal chance that some deity out there might listen and be able to take him home. Somehow, despite the complete lack of torture and yelled threats with guns to his head, it feels worse than the cave.

When he finally lays down to sleep due to his body's protests and lack of anything else to do – the cold floor against the back of his humid clothes making him shiver – he has a feeling that any possible dreams will end up turning into nightmares.


WR600 is Ralph's model, btw. I'll try to update soon but no guarantees since I'm still figuring out the whole timeline.