Chapter Text
Everything looks like Tony Stark's dream. And uh, the monsters. The monsters are the dead giveaway.
You don't really get a pleasant start to this, it's rocky from the get-go. (You hit the ground running, so to say.) You fought them countless times, half-asleep, jabbing your fingers on the buttons in quick succession. But seeing them in person is a different deal altogether.
They're huge, first of all. Towering and imposing, also the foul smell and constant screeching and roaring is beyond overwhelming. Trying to gather your wits to get the fuck out of here, you run. You hate running. Absolutely loathe it. Endurance training is definitely not one of your strengths. So you– sprint to the nearest shop. People are shouting, there's broken glass crunching under your feet, and you have half a thought to thank your choice of big platforms and mourn the loss of your favourite pair.
You burst through the door, a couple of people racing in after you as well. The door shuts with a foreboding click, cutting off the sound from the street. Huh, soundproof. The staff is already going through the procedures of securing the place, there's a first aid kit on one of the tables and glasses of water distributed freely among the gasping folk.
You watch the silent battle through the large windows. The hunters have arrived and are handling the problem. You thought you'd admire their quick and efficient movements, but you're just nauseous and overwhelmed. Everything happened so fast. Faceless hunters fire shot after shot. There's a man with a fucking sword, of all things. And a girl with an acid-like evol? Wicked.
It's over in less than five minutes. You sit on the chair, mute. Holy fuck.
—
You would love an opportunity to freak out, properly lose your marbles and the like about– well, everything. But you’re in a public space, there’s people there, living breathing beings who did not sign up to be front row to an amateur performance of Shakespearean level of breakdowns.
Whatever force put you here took care of all the important bits. Otherwise, you’d have no idea where you'd need to go to recover (get for the first time? bullshit your way through?) things like a passport, medical information, diploma and the lot. Opening a bank account, credit history? Where to live? Money, taxes, bills to pay? Groceries? Thankfully, you don't get the chance to spiral into a full-blown panic attack.
Thing is, this isn’t your phone. You had an old thing, nicked in a few places, but still working. And an old-school book case for your phone with rad stickers, if you say so yourself. The thing in your pocket though is ultra-thin and intimidatingly modern. It unlocks with your fingerprint, thanks for the small mercies. The background and app display are carefully blank, like you're starting anew. However, unlike a completely new phone, this one has a lot of apps pre-installed and when you open the notes it has all the important information you were looking for. You check the calendar – yep, here are your work hours, how long the commute is. You can even click it, and it opens a map with the correct path and train you have to take from your apartment (that answers many important questions, thank fuck).
You breathe a sigh of relief and praise whatever deity gave you this. How thoughtful. Otherwise you'd be very tempted to just walk into the forest, lie down and let the nature (monsters) run its course.
That settled, you’re left with only an existential freakout on your itinerary. Fantastic.
—
You weave your way through unfamiliar streets in some sort of trance. Maybe it’s shock. Maybe you’ve overemoted and your capacity for new experiences has been maxed out. You’re not even close to being calm, but numbness serves you just as well for now.
You fish out your keys from your bag and are not even surprised that they look completely different. Sure, whatever. At least the half-erased mangled keychain is still yours and the sight almost makes you want to cry if you could feel anything at this moment.
Your room is almost an exact replica from your previous apartment you shared with a friend. Only, this one is a studio apartment, no housemates to share the kitchen and bathroom with, you won't hear giggling or swearing from the room over the paper thin walls. As an introvert, it's a blessing. As a human being who needs social interaction and who, fuck, probably just permanently lost contact with all your friends and family, it's devastating. You don't even have time to – mourn, or just– process this. You can't afford falling apart now, you have to keep moving, to settle in. And if the half-crocheted hat you wanted to gift to your friend sends a wave of hollowness that almost makes you collapse right there, well…
Alright. Time to plan, you’ll have plenty of time to wallow in misery with a bottle of gin afterwards.
Your first priority is safety. Then, stability. Financial mostly, mental – you'll figure that out later. Probably.
From what you’ve gathered, you're a tutor in a language school, thank fuck. You teach kids and teenagers, which is draining but also sometimes fun. Most importantly, it pays the bills. And this kind of job is the farthest thing from all plot related stuff. Perfect. So. Cautious yay?
You’re truly glad for the numbness or whatever, because going from just being– snatched (haha, raptured?) on your never completed grocery run is– a lot. Being thrust into the unfamiliar-familiar world and immediate danger is even worse. And there was no handy dandy gun strapped to your thigh or anywhere else on your person. No sudden luscious long hair swinging heroically down your back. All signs point to this – you’re an npc, a never-ending cast of not even support characters, just the background, maybe one of those voices in the cafe you hear in Tender Moments. Which is– you’ll sort your feelings about it later.
So you decide to make a list. That if the push comes to shove, who's the safest to approach? You can't let your tastes dictate this decision. You're not MC, you don't have the plot armour.
Alright.
You take a notebook and a pencil, wary of typing this up. Everything you do online can be tracked, hacked, and you have no idea how you would explain your knowledge – ultimately it would put you at risk, which is the last thing you want. So, paper. To extract that, somebody actually needs to care enough to break in, and you will work hard at being as unremarkable and uninteresting as possible, you've decided. So it'll never even come to that.
All of the love interests are uniquely obsessed with MC. And/or have some soulmate situation going on. You don't know the whole story, haven't finished it yet. Some bits and pieces you learnt out of order because you grew impatient. So, they don't align in your head very well. (And sometimes you were too busy hooting and hollering at the characters to actually pay attention to the plot.) Also, you haven't paid attention to the dates at all, so the year 2048 tells you nothing. You feel like you’ve seen this string of numbers before, which can mean– anything, to be honest.
You stare at your haphazard notes.
Xavier. There are chances of encountering him if wanderers attack, which – ugh. Soft-spoken and polite, even to strangers. Overall pretty trustworthy. Probably would listen to your story. But becomes completely feral if something concerns MC, so – proceed with caution if you don’t wanna get minced.
Zayne. Unless you're in dire need of a surgery and somehow manage to get into the Akso hospital, no way. And bro's busy working and saving lives, the last thing you want to do is bother him. (Here you have a little *: since he's a sweet tooth, there is a possibility of meeting him at a cafe. However, he seems to have very low tolerance for strangers bothering him, so hardly an option.)
Rafayel. Hard to reach, elusive. Petulant and flighty. His loyalties firmly lie with MC and Lemurians, everyone else barely gets acknowledged. Hard (impossible to outsiders) to gain his trust. Unless you're MC, basically a lost cause.
Sylus. Mafia boss. In theory, can be hot, and surprisingly, he has the healthiest boundaries of the bunch. Realistically, how would you even get in N109 zone? And secure a meeting with him? Alive? No. Avoid at all costs.
Caleb. Though his story with MC is touching, he's well and truly insane (a dreamy sigh). Yeah, he carries way too much on his shoulders as is. There’s also the chip and his entanglement with EVER to consider. Avoid avoid avoid. He's a trigger happy freak and you don't have the MC privileges.
After an hour of pondering, you come to a conclusion. Xavier would be the safest option. Maybe. You won't approach him even if you do see him, but it's good to have that settled.
You wonder if the MC here is another transmigrater. You wouldn't call them a luckier person necessarily, because, well, debatable. Being an MC is exhausting and scary as fuck. Sure, there are also many cute, sweet and even hot moments, but dear God is it also chillingly terrifying.
—
So, for you, not many things change as a result. Sure, you're in the fantastical future, but not a super distant one, which is? a relief? One of the reasons you were always torn when asked whether you would travel to the past or to the future is this consideration. Because, on one hand, the past is known, somewhat comfortable. You can choose the safest (arguably) location and time period. On the other hand — in the future the medicine should be more advanced and hopefully safer, but you can never know for sure, you could be getting a one way ticket to the apocalypse for all you know. Here it’s basically both. Haha. Um.
Out of a delayed sense of self-preservation or plain anxiety, you now have to keep a physical diary. Previously, all your disorganized thoughts and secrets and frustrations were neatly logged in your notes app. But now, you're too paranoid. And sure, you're a nameless npc, but better safe than sorry.
At first you only kept it at home, innocuous on your nightstand, while you went about your days, trying to adjust to the bizarre world of not-so-distant future and your new routines. However, the blessing of the notes app is that you can quickly jot something down immediately, wherever you are. Walking around with a little notebook and pen in your pocket at all times and writing something in it wherever you need is a bit awkward. Well, a lot awkward. You barely last a day.
Nope, this is not working for you. You're still paranoid, but you need to be able to keep track of your wondering mind and plot bits you suddenly remember out of nowhere. (Some places you see jog up your memory and you rush to write it down, you never know what might prove useful in the long run). So you go the extra mile, you develop a code, a short hand. Something only a 2025 20-something can be aware of. Write things down to extrapolate at home.
But sometimes you don't have the patience for this or the code is not sufficient, and nothing has happened in the past couple of weeks, so you loosen a little. Relax, even. These names are pretty common, you reckon. Nobody will take it seriously even if they see it, you try to convince yourself. And it works. You go to work, catch up on a million new shows, watch educational videos to make heads or tails with the whole metaflux protocore bullshit. Fanfiction still exists, after all. Some of your favorite shows even get traction again after newer reboots, so there's plenty of stuff to choose from. One Piece is still ongoing, god help them. You have newer hobbies now, get friendly with co-workers and your younger neighbors. It's not true friendship, not yet, but small talk is probably all you can handle right now anyway. Meaningful connections will have to wait until you're not a breath away from a mental breakdown.
You settle to this routine pretty easily, you've always been adaptable. Survival mode gradually loosens into something resembling a life.
Until one day you wake up to a message from an unknown number sent around 3 am. You’re still groggy with sleep, the weight of the situation hasn't caught up to you yet.
"Come claim your coupon! 50% off of your first order at Philo Flower Shop!"