An initial step-by-step guide for what Celine needed to do next slowly materialized at the forefront of her brain, forcing her to shift into her student mindset and forget her panic for a moment to instead view the situation like she would with any other school assignment or work assignment:

Step 1: Figure out the basics—shelter, food, and water.

After all, she needed to physically survive if she wanted to even ponder the logic of everything else in her predicament.

Luckily enough, she was also standing right in front of what she hoped was her solution: Back in (forward in?) 2025, Pym Technologies Headquarters stayed open 24/7 for employees who worked overnight, and the building also had a food court with free self-serviced vending machines—ticking off her food, water, and shelter worries in one go.

The biggest thing regarding shelter was the fact that Celine knew from when she'd first arrived in 1995 earlier in the day that her office on the 9th floor was virtually vacant, as was the entire floor practically, which meant that if she could make her way inside the building and up to her room, she was guaranteed at least a temporary shelter to stay at and hide in without notice for a few days while she figured out her next steps.

The only problem with that was—well, she was thirty years in the past after all, and there was a matter of whether or not her employee badge would even scan, seeing as it was a design three decades too early.

Nevertheless, it wasn't like she had another option, so Celine—after calming herself down considerably with a few breathing exercises that surprisingly helped—squared her shoulders, pushed the handle of the large revolving door at the entrance of Pym Technologies, and marched inside with her head held high and anticipation on full blast.

Just the mere walk from the door to the scanners next to the front desk was probably the most terrifying experience in Celine's life, if she had to be honest—the ten-second moment seemed to stretch into eons in her brain as she held her breath and tried her best to summon a casual expression to her face, avoiding eye contact with all the other occupants in the lobby. It was like wading through a pool of hyenas, and when the light on the scanner flashed green underneath her badge, she had to physically stop herself from collapsing right there and then in pure relief.

From there on, everything was somewhat blurred—Celine made it through the gates without a hitch, rode an empty elevator up to the 9th floor, succeeded in directly crossing paths with zero other individuals, barricaded herself in the room that once was and simultaneously would be her office, and slumped into the office chair, the whole time trying not to dwell on the complete absurdity of how normal and familiar the routine felt, despite her predicament being everything but.

She brought a hand up to her temple, blinking unseeingly at the wall as her mind ran at a mile a minute, Step 2: Contemplation executing immediately.

How did this happen? The singular question had probably reverberated around her head at least a million times at that point, but she couldn't help it, because she genuinely didn't know—how had she been sent back to 1995?

It was easier to first ponder the scientific, factual aspect of it all (or lack thereof, rather, seeing as honestly none of this made sense): Had she traveled to the actual past or an alternate timeline?

Celine wasn't well-versed in theories of time travel or anything of the sort, but after the logistics of the Avengers' Time Heist had been publicized in 2023 for bringing half the world's population back, there had naturally been a spike in public interest in time travel. Her exposure to the subject up until then had always just been from pop culture such as Back to the Future and Harry Potter, but once the scientific analyses of how Tony Stark sent the Avengers back into a new, alternate timeline had been published, that media logic had been effectively disproven.

So, following what she knew about the science behind the Avengers' time travel, then Celine could only suppose that the same thing happened to her, and she was stuck in the 1995 of an alternate timeline.

The implications of that were simply insane, and they were all of sudden simultaneously catching up to her all at once, crashing into the barely-constructed walls of her insanity:

My parents are alive right now.

The realization was surreal—Celine knew that they were both currently working somewhere on the East Coast, and that if she realistically had the means, then she could just hop on a plane and go find them, well and alive and young.

She swallowed, slightly dazed as she pushed that thought away quickly. Even in her current state, she knew that was a fantasy best not dwelled on.

She clenched her fingers and tried to focus back onto the science behind the Avengers' Time Heist to ground herself again, but that only succeeded in shifting her mind towards Tony Stark, and then the image of the Stark Industries billboard from earlier floated back into her head without a warning.

From what else Celine knew about Stark Industries's history, Howard Stark founded it in the late 1930s, and after his death, Tony Stark took over in 1991—

—which was three years ago.

Now, Iron Man was alive—not yet Iron Man, but just a mid-twenties genius billionaire all the same. Tony Stark was probably out partying somewhere currently, Pepper Potts was most likely still one of the many unnamed secretaries in the company, Obadiah Stane was still very much alive and present, and the Stark Industries weapons department—not yet shut down—was at the moment extremely busy mass-producing the world's most infamous firearms.

Nothing had happened yet. No Battle of New York, no Sokovia, no Thanos causing a half-extinction across the universe, no deaths. The Avengers didn't even exist yet—in fact, the superhero turmoil of the 21st century was but a miniscule pinprick in the distant future.

Celine felt like she was currently experiencing what probably would be the most harrowing crisis of her life.

Was she the only one in the world with the knowledge that Captain America was very much still alive but frozen in the Arctic? Or that Loki would bring a Chitauri army onto Earth to terrorize New York in 2012? Or that one day, a large, strange-looking alien with purple skin and a golden gauntlet would wipe away half of the world's population?

Celine suddenly felt light-headed. The influx of information, their implications, and her knowledge of where she was and what would happen seemed to just drop a weight onto her mind, as though they'd escaped the floodgates she'd managed to keep shut all at once and were now overwhelming her senses into going haywire.

Do I now have an implicit responsibility to prevent all those terrible events from happening? Could I even fix anything?

It was as though her brain was exploding from the daunting thought alone, like she was strapped onto a perpetually-speeding rollercoaster, where just as she thought the ride was over and she'd calmed down, she'd suddenly be taken for another loop.

In every relevant book or movie Celine had ever read or watched, she knew that it was against all laws of time travel to mess with and try to change the future—fictionally, at least.

But once again, this wasn't pop culture—this was real life, and the Avengers had done exactly that, hadn't they? Reversing terrible history in order to save lives? And now she was the one with all this knowledge, so who says she couldn't?

But this was also 1995, and what would she even do? Run onto the street and scream about an alien invasion coming in seventeen years? Who would even believe her?

Celine blinked, her thoughts receding for a moment, and then she scoffed loudly to herself in incredulity, the sound jarring against the silence in the office.

"Seriously?" she murmured to herself, shaking her head. The absolute last thing she needed was to develop some sort of martyr complex and put herself in mortal danger.

At that point, Celine's stream of consciousness had given her a massive migraine, and she simply decided to file it away into the distant compartments of her mind to ponder about some other day. She really didn't need to be worrying about the future of mankind right now, thank you very much—instead, she needed to just clear her head, avoid suspicion, and survive in 1995 undetected as she figured out what in the world she was supposed to do next.

So she did just that.

In the following days, Celine essentially cycled through the same routine of sleeping at her desk, sneaking down to the vending machines at random hours of the night as possible when she got hungry, and darting into hallways to hide from unsuspecting passersby as she continuously devoted herself to the task of sorting through the scattered thoughts in her mind.

She quickly came to the realization that full acceptance of her predicament would be harder to achieve than she initially thought—because despite the likes of the Avengers and monsters and aliens and gods having constantly disturbed the status quo of what was 'real' and 'unreal' throughout her life, experiencing such an abnormality as time travel by herself and having no one else with her to attest and relate to her difficulty in grasping the situation made the entire thing much more exponential for Celine to take in.

She truly didn't know how to assimilate to her new environment and—well, life, though it was hard to think of this as anything more than temporary, and Celine had no desire or brainpower to dissect the implications of permanency here just yet.

So, she tried her best to switch up her dull routine and familiarize herself to her new circumstances, and she began venturing outside of Pym Technologies frequently—both to avoid the possibility of getting discovered in her office and to explore the San Francisco of 1995.

Because Celine couldn't deny that the tiny ounces of scattered, surreal panic that had faded away throughout the days had come to be replaced by hungry curiosity, and the part of her that wasn't consistently worrying could almost be categorized as excited.

After all, she'd time traveled, for god's sake!

The city contained both tinges of familiarity and unfamiliarity, and Celine couldn't help but enjoy walking around and observing the foreign backdrop of the setting she'd grown up in all her life—and there were constantly so many people clattering about through the streets that she learned that there was really no need to worry about stirring up any sort of suspicion, and she could freely walk around.

Despite the three-century difference from 2025, 1995 San Francisco was still a bustling city of vibrancy, with the Golden Gate Bridge standing tall and stark against the skyline of the metropolis. Fisherman's Wharf, Celine was delighted to discover, still boasted a wide variety of sea lions, and the scent of fresh sourdough and clam chowder still wafted through the air.

Right outside Pym Technologies, cable cars were always clattering up and down the steep street, their bells ringing out amidst the chatter of street vendors and the hum of traffic. Throngs of people weaved through a maze of eclectic shops and bustling cafes, carrying Celine past colorful murals and vintage stores. Even at nightfall, there would be regular crowds outside North Beach, teeming with laughter amidst the notes of jazz floating across the air.

Without taking into account specific differences, Celine found that the San Francisco of 1995 was just as vibrant and dynamic as its 2025 counterpart, and the semblance of normalcy she obtained from simply strolling through the city was enjoyable enough to temporarily keep her mind off things (although she was going slightly crazy from the lack of social interactions, seeing as she didn't talk to anyone).

Of course, all good things came to an end.

—

It was exactly one week since she'd officially tumbled into 1995, and things were finally starting to go wrong.

Up until this point, things had been going as smoothly as they could given the circumstances, which was more than Celine could have asked for, really. However, her original plan wasn't as fool-proof or viable as she'd thought:

Firstly, the lack of access to a shower was starting to catch up to her. She'd been scrubbing every night at one of the sinks in the 8th floor women's bathroom, but there was only so much one could do with wet, bunched up paper towels and no change of clothes. Seeing as the 9th floor didn't have water fountains or bathrooms, she had to take the stairs or elevators down to a lower floor whenever she needed to use either of the two, which was beginning to cut into her anonymity factor—which also wasn't helped by the fact that she passed the front desk daily when she needed to access the vending machines or leave the building, and the man with the mustache behind the desk was beginning to give her strange looks—no doubt wondering where she'd suddenly come from.

Maybe he thought Celine was just a new hire, but she knew she couldn't keep this charade up forever. She wouldn't even be safe if she stayed continuously holed up in her office on the 9th floor, seeing as janitors dropped by at random, and she'd had to drop everything and hide in a vacant meeting room in the hall the few times one had unpredictably stopped by.

Celine knew if she stayed here, she'd eventually get caught. Sure, she needed to somehow find a way back to 2025 (as impossible as that currently seemed), but she very well couldn't do that if she spent all her days darting away from unsuspecting janitors in an office building.

So, after nearly an hour of pacing around her office and debating yes or no, Celine simply left, taking advantage of the morning rush to blend in with the hordes of employees in the Pym Technologies lobby and step past the revolving door undetected.

She swallowed, pausing outside for a moment and feeling her heart constrict as a sole thought fought its way to the forefront of her brain:

What do I do now?

She'd never been one for impulsivity, but there was nothing else she could do but leave, and now she had no idea where to go or what to do. She had no belongings, no money, and no identification documents that could even get her any minimum-wage job.

As far as the world in 1995 was concerned, Celine Myers didn't exist.

She found her feets automatically moving, and she began to walk down the street, hands twisting through her hair as she tried to summon a good idea, any idea, really, that would give her even the slightest bit of direction as to where the hell she was even going to sleep for the night.

A bench at the park? The mere thought of that was enough to cloud Celine's head into a frenzy. San Francisco was a dangerous place even now, and the last thing she wanted to do was to be out and vulnerable on the streets late at night.

And food! How was she going to prevent herself from starving? Celine didn't want to resort to stealing, which was both morally wrong and difficult to do, and the thought of somehow roasting a pigeon effectively shut down any appetite she possessed.

Maybe that thought alone can stave off hunger, she thought sarcastically. I should've taken more food from the vending machines.

She sighed, stopping. There was no use in burning up her energy, and she needed to conserve as much fuel in her body as she could.

It took Celine a moment to look around and realize that she'd stopped and was standing right in front of the flower shop where she'd first found out she'd landed in 1995, funnily enough. There was a new poster plastered on the window of the shop, and in the distance, the billboard with the enlightening Stark Industries ad that had been looming in the sky last week now displayed some random endorsement for chili hot dogs.

Celine turned her head back to the flower shop. On closer observation, the poster on the shop window was a hiring notice for a cashier position in the shop. Celine stared at the bright, smiley graphics of the paper despondently, wondering if she could pay someone with pure desperation to forge documents for her or somehow convince the store owner to pay her under the table—though that would probably just get the cops called on her for a suspicious lack of credentials.

"It's you again."

Celine whipped around at the familiar voice, immediately feeling the effects of whiplash in her neck as she found herself staring at the middle-aged Englishman from last week. He was still impeccably dressed and was holding a bundle of pink tulips in his arms, and he was eyeing her with surprise.

At this point, it had been a full week of muteness for Celine. She wasn't used to anyone addressing her directly in this time, and she couldn't help but blurt the first thing that came to mind as her defenses raised in paranoia. "Are you following me?"

The man frowned, obviously taken aback by her defensive tone. "Calm down, miss. I can assure you that I am not following you." He gestured at the tulips in his arms. "I came here to buy flowers for my wife. Tulips are her favorite, you see."

Celine blinked in return. She found her defenses softening, and she unexpectedly thought back to the informal tradition she had of always alternating the flowers in the vase in her office back in 2025. She cleared her voice, which was rusty from misuse.

"Sorry," she offered, feeling a bit bad because the man did genuinely look apologetic for scaring her. Then, because he had offered her a piece of personal information, and Celine had always believed in mutual transparency in conversations (not excluding this one, apparently), she said, "I've just been a little jumpy from stress recently."

"Unemployed?" he guessed, no judgment in his voice, and when Celine opened her mouth in surprise, he pointed at the ad on the window next to them with his free hand, which Celine had momentarily forgotten about. "You were staring at this quite hard."

"Oh."

"It's normal," the man said kindly, not privy at all to Celine's very un-normal situation. "Many young people are getting laid off these days. The job market is not in the best state currently, and positions are hard to secure."

His words only served to exacerbate Celine's stress, but she appreciated his good intentions nonetheless. She forced a smile, glad at least to be using her vocal cords to actually converse with someone. It distracted herself from her blind panic moments ago. "Yeah, that's true. Thank you."

She turned back to stare wistfully at the hiring notice and resume her brainstorming process on how to make it into the next week alive, the short interaction having had a nice calming effect on her brain socially at least.

She expected the Englishman to leave, to call a taxi and zoom off to his wife with his tulips and leave Celine to wallow in her desperate misery, but through her periphery, she watched him stay standing by her side, looking contemplative as he similarly stared at the hiring notice along with her.

A moment of silence passed, and then two, until—

Celine coughed hesitantly. "Uh—are you looking to apply for this too?"

The man blinked before chuckling. "Ah—no. I am already employed at the moment."

How fortunate for you, she thought monotonously.

"I was just wondering if you would like a job."

Celine opened her mouth and then closed it, frowning. "Um—yes, I do. That's why I was looking at this ad."

The man shook his head, looking at her intently. "I mean—would you like a job with me?"

"You're offering me a job?"

Oooookay—he was eloquent and well-spoken and didn't seem like a creep, but one could never be too careful. Celine started to back away carefully, keeping her eyes trained on the man. "I appreciate the offer, but I'm not interested."

"No, you misunderstand." The man reached into his blazer pocket, and for a horrible moment Celine thought he was going to pull out some sort of weapon, but he only produced a small, cream-colored card.

He held it out to her patiently, and Celine let a few seconds pass before she reached out and accepted it warily, holding it up to eye level to read the print:

Edwin Jarvis, Stark Industries

She nearly dropped the card.

Edwin Jarvis.

Mr. Jarvis, rather—she knew who he was. Everyone familiar with Iron Man's backstory in the aftermath of Thanos knew Tony Stark's life story, including who Mr. Jarvis, his beloved butler and who he named his artificial intelligence system after, was.

Celine wanted to smack a palm to her forehead as her eyes swiveled from the employee ID in her hand to the man in front of her, her brain rapidly connecting the dots as a hazy image of the infamous butler's appearance materialized in her head.

Edwin Jarvis—how hadn't she recognized him?

But her disbelief was tinged with suspicion, and Celine opened her mouth before quickly closing it, narrowing her eyes.

Is this fraud? What if he's pretending to be Mr. Jarvis?

She didn't know if she should kneel on the ground and thank her lucky stars and whatever omnipresent being was above her for this unbelievable opportunity or voice her suspicions.

She settled on the latter.

"Thank you for the opportunity, but how do I know you're actually who you claim to be and not a fraud?" she questioned.

This time, it was Maybe-Mr.-Jarvis's turn to open his mouth and then close it, looking taken aback. Clearly, he wasn't accustomed to strangers questioning his identity, and though Celine logically knew that he probably really was who he was claiming to be, seeing as identity theft wasn't really a thing in 1995 (hence the gigantic business flop that was G.E.N.I.U.S.), again—one could never be too careful.

"You're holding my business card," he said, sounding confused.

"But how do I know you didn't just steal it? Or forge it?"

He frowned. "I—well, I appreciate your attention to detail, but I'm not sure how I can prove my identity to you otherwise."

Probably-Mr.-Jarvis's genuine confusion was enough to somewhat diffuse Celine's suspicions, though she still couldn't understand why Tony Stark's butler was offering her a job in the middle of the San Francisco sidewalk. Maybe he was joking around with her.

"Why do you want to hire me?" she asked, baffled, half expecting him to laugh in her face and say Hahahah just playing with you!

Instead, Mr. Jarvis only stowed his ID away, clearly relieved that she wasn't going to run away and report him for fraud. He folded his hands neatly behind his back. "I would like to hire you for our finance department at Stark Industries."

"Wha—are you serious?"

"I am." To his record, Mr. Jarvis did look very serious. "I understand that this is extremely informal and unusual, but—" Here, a frown of what looked to be disapproval streaked across his face. "We are in dire need of capable intellect in our finance department, seeing as my boss—" Tony Stark, his boss "—saw fit to fire most of the employees a week ago when they failed to identify the poor financial implications of G.E.N.I.U.S. that you actually pointed out before its press release."

Celine's jaw was fully hanging open now, but she ignored it as she tried to process the fact that a few sentences she'd blurted to a stranger a week ago had just lost nearly a department's worth of people their jobs.

"I–I don't understand," she stuttered weakly. "How did Stark Industries prepare financial documents for the press release without a finance team?"

"Well, the press release never happened. It was called off, and the entire G.E.N.I.U.S. product has been pulled from the market for further modification. I relayed your pertinent concerns to Mr. Stark and urged him to approve the conduction of further research into the concerns, and miraculously, he listened." Mr. Jarvis's mouth pulled down here. "Once again, however, he practically fired his entire finance team for their oversight, so that has created an alternative problem.

It took a moment for Celine to process what he'd just said, and then the implications immediately hit her like a truck.

Because of her, the entire fiasco of G.E.N.I.U.S. didn't happen? She'd merely spoken three or four sentences about her worries with the product, and a week later had effectively changed the entire trajectory of internal company decision-making for G.E.N.I.U.S.?

Did I change the future? She felt like she needed to plunge herself into an ice bath—because of her, G.E.N.I.U.S. wouldn't even be released now, an entire department in Stark Industries was now nonexistent, and she'd essentially given herself a job through the butterfly effect.

"I–I mean, he's Tony Stark!" Celine exclaimed incredulously, almost afraid to continue the conversation. "He's a genius! Why does he even need a finance team or my help? I bet he could've figured those problems all out himself anyway!"

Mr. Jarvis only sighed. "Mr. Stark is truly phenomenal, but I'm afraid his chosen lifestyle at the moment leaves little room for him to dedicate time towards work like that. He cares very much about the company, that much is true, but unless a task or project is extremely crucial for him to take the helm, he is not very invested in the everyday mechanics of running the company on a smaller scale. After all, Stark Industries is doing extremely well at the moment, and unless there is something that would threaten that status, Mr. Stark prefers to be off doing. . . other things."

Girls, Celine thought blankly. Partying. Alcohol. Going wild. She was familiar with Tony Stark's playboy reputation before his entire Iron Man character arc.

She drew her mind back to the present, where it was having a very difficult time wrapping itself around the idea that she was being presented with a golden opportunity.

This is too good to be true, Celine thought, disbelieving. There's gotta be a catch.

"Why me?"

"You seemed very capable when you lent me your thoughts last week," Mr. Jarvis said simply.

"What—but you don't know anything about me! I don't—I don't even have credentials or formal identification or anything!"

Shut up, Celine!

Celine plowed on in disbelief, to her own internal chagrin.

"How are you going to hire me from one single interaction? I'm twenty-two! I don't have the expertise or experience that older folks in finance have—and you want to hire me for Stark Industries?"

She was really her own enemy.

Mr. Jarvis only gave her a look. "Young minds can be just as brilliant—if not more—as older ones. My boss is proof of that."

Well, Celine couldn't argue there. If there was someone currently alive who was more brilliant intellectually than Tony Stark, then she'd drink battery acid.

"And your boss knows you're offering a random girl off the streets a job for him?"

"Mr. Stark trusts my judgment, and your insights are remarkably sound. Would you be interested in discussing this further? I believe he would appreciate your perspective."

"I don't have formal identification," Celine repeated weakly.

Mr. Jarvis seemed to sense that her resolve was crumbling, because he straightened, and it was a wonder that he didn't ask any probing questions. "I'm sure Mr. Stark would be amiable to work something out. He's not one for following the rules day-to-day, as I am sure you know."

"Zero formal identification," Celine emphasized. "No birth certificate, passport, driver's license, or formal documents."

He frowned slightly but didn't look very bothered. "That might create some difficulty with filing taxes and such, but I'm confident that we can work something out."

This is crazy, Celine thought decidedly. This is crazy. I'm talking about subverting the law with Tony Stark's butler, who offered me a job to work for Stark Industries in front of a flower shop, and this is crazy. Crazy, crazy, crazy. Oh, and it's 1995! Crazy.

Nevertheless, one thing was also crystal clear—this was real, and this was her golden ticket.

The thought was anchoring, and Celine found herself asking, "You promise there'll be no questions asked about my background or for any documents if I take the job?"

"I will personally see to that."

"Then—I accept your offer."

Mr. Jarvis smiled at her, looking relieved. "Wonderful!" He held out his hand out, and Celine took it, feeling as though she was floating in a strange dream and needed to pinch herself at least a dozen times to wake up.

They shook hands firmly, and the formality of the action was so misplaced in Celine's current situation that it was mildly hilarious for some reason, and she couldn't help but giggle.

Maybe she was going insane.

"Now," Mr. Jarvis continued, sounding very business-like, "I'm very glad I caught you here at this time, Miss—?"

"Celine. Celine Myers." She realized he didn't even know her name.

"Miss Myers," he supplemented kindly. "As I was saying, I am very glad I caught you here today. You see, I have been on business for Mr. Stark here in San Francisco with my wife for the past week, and we are planning to fly back on Mr. Stark's jet to Los Angeles in an hour or two." He looked apologetic. "I do apologize once more for the late notice, but would it be convenient for you to leave with us? I would like to onboard you as fast as possible."

I'm dreaming. "Oh—yes, I'd like to leave right away," Celine said quickly. Maybe the universe was trying to make up for all the bad luck inflicted on her in the past week, and now she was questioning everything she believed in silently.

"Wonderful, wonderful," Mr. Jarvis murmured, looking as though years had just been added to his lifespan as he waved down a taxi. "We have packed everything up at our hotel, but where should we drive to for you to pack and pick up your things?"

Celine gulped. She hadn't expected to be put on the spot regarding this just yet. "Um—well, actually, you don't have to stop anywhere. I don't have anything I need to bring."

Mr. Jarvis's brow furrowed. "You do understand that you will be staying in Los Angeles indefinitely should you choose to work with Stark Industries? I would be happy to provide you with anything you need once we are there, but you would need to pack any treasured belongings now before we leave."

Celine couldn't help but blush. "I have no belongings. Just the clothes on my back."

"You are—?"

The word homeless hung in front of them, unspoken but acknowledged.

"Yes." She tried to seem nonchalant just as a yellow taxi pulled up in front of them. It was true—she was effectively homeless now, a fact that was weird and strangely sad to acknowledge.

"Then come on in," Mr. Jarvis didn't waste another second ushering her into the taxi, and Celine was struck by the kind lack of questioning that followed her answer. "We must get you onto the flight and into a comfortable situation immediately."

And as she shut the taxi door, staring out onto the streets of San Francisco through the glass of the vehicle windows, Celine thought that this might just have been the most surreal week of her life.