A Trail of Blood and An Icy Reception Pt. 1/2

A lone, blood covered man crawled forward along the asphalt of a dark alleyway. His right hand clutched his side, putting pressure on a deep, heavily bleeding, puncture wound. His face was covered in numerous bruises, and his right eye had swollen shut. Despite the severity of his situation, the man's thoughts currently lay elsewhere.

'What the hell is happening? I took that giant bald bitch's head. I killed him! I know I did. How…?'

"Ahh…ahh!"

Allowing his thoughts to distract him proved to be a mistake. One proven by a sharp, piercing pain assaulting him. Stopping his crawl to look up, the man noticed that a shard of broken glass had dug its way into the hand he was using to drag himself forward. Breathing heavily, the man cursed inwardly as he pulled the shard out using his teeth. Afterward, fighting against the pain, he once more began his crawl across the alleyway.

'I don't have time to waste. If I can't stop the bleeding soon… I'll die.'

Inch by inch, foot by foot, he crawled forward. He was headed towards a flickering light at the far end of the alleyway. It looked to be the flicker of firelight… and fire meant people. People that might be able to help him. And at this point, that could be his only hope of survival.

'How far is it? I… I might not make it at this rate.'

Crawling was taking too long, he needed to move faster. The problem was his right leg, he felt certain that it was broken. Worse still, it was bleeding too. Still, he had been through too much to let that stop him now.

'Dammit! Faster… I need to move faster! Huh?'

"That… that might work."

Mid crawl, he had noticed an old two-by-four leaning against a nearby wall. It looked just tall enough for him to use as a makeshift crutch. Although, given the look of it… it might just fall apart in the attempt. Either way, it was worth trying. He wouldn't make it there otherwise.

His vision was becoming blurry. It was taking every ounce of willpower the man possessed, just to stay conscious. And he knew full well that if he blacked out, it was all over. The strange life he'd lived up until till now, his harsh struggle against an unwanted fate… and everything he had accomplished despite it all. It would all be for nothing.

Grabbing the nearby two-by-four, he somehow made it to his feet. Or… more accurately, his foot. And as luck would have it, the two-by-four held up under his weight. Without wasting anymore time, he began to hobble his way toward the flickering light in the distance. Happily, he was now moving at a much faster rate of speed, managing to reach his destination in just under three minutes.

'Fuck! That was one long ass alleyway!'

Looking around after arriving at the flickering light, he was happy to see that it was indeed a blazing fire. One that burned inside a metal barrel. And although he could only speculate as to why there would be a flaming barrel in an alleyway, it still meant that there should be people around.

"Hello… hello, is there anyone there? I… I could use some help. Anyone?"

Calling out in a weak voice, he continued looking around. There were multiple blankets, and a few shopping carts filled with assorted items. Strangely though, he didn't see any other signs of life. There were no people here. That wasn't a good sign. Not for him, at any rate. After taking one last look around, he then moved towards the fire.

His breathing now ragged, his movements sluggish, he looked about for anything he could use to stop the bleeding. Using the firelight to aid his search, the only thing he could find was a metal bar leaning against the barrel. With time being of the essence, the man would have to use it to cauterize his wound.

"Oh… this is gonna hurt."

Placing the metal bar into the fire in order to heat the metal, he then hobbled over to one of the smelly, crust covered blankets laying off to the side. Using one, he picked up the now scalding metal bar. Then after sitting on the ground, he lifted his blood-soaked shirt. Wincing from the pain and ready to pass out from the blood loss, he bit down on his makeshift crutch. Steeling his resolve, he firmly pressed the metal bar against his wound.

"Uunngggrrrrhhhh!!!"

As the sear of flesh reached his ears, the man let out a muffled scream and collapsed onto the cold asphalt he was sitting on. His breath now ragged, he spat out the board that was still clenched in his teeth. After laying there for a few moments, his fatigue began to take over. Just before passing out, however, the man looked up and noticed the night sky for the first time since finding himself in this alleyway.

'Huh… is that the Bat Signal?'

"What… the… FUCK?!"

---

"Mm…"

Waking up in a daze, the man refused to move. He found himself lost in thought about the signal projected onto the clouds above. Realizing he wouldn't get any answers by laying there, he moved on to examining the wound on his side. He was glad to see that the bleeding had stopped.

Although he didn't know how long he'd been unconscious, the man could tell that he had regained a bit of his strength. Knowing that he wasn't in the clear just yet, though, he grabbed the two-by-four lying next to him, before slowly getting to his feet.

'I need to get to a hospital… and while I'm moving, I should try and figure out where I am.'

From the Bat Signal in the sky, to the fact that he didn't remember being stabbed, there were too many questions that needed answering. First and foremost, of which was how he ended up in this alleyway. It made no sense logically speaking. So, he thought back about what he last remembered. Killing Thanos. Yes… that Thanos.

The man had been living in the Marvel Cinematic Universe for the past two decades. And although it was not his home universe, he had hoped for it to be his last. Judging by the Bat Signal in the sky and his current predicament, however, he had a sickening feeling that his hope was for naught. He suspected that he'd crossed realities again.

'First, it was the MCU and now it's the DCU… who did I piss off?'

The man had been happy in his first life. Then, one morning he just… woke up, in the body of a cripple named Aldrich Killian. Someone who was destined to become a villain in the MCU. There was no explanation given, no divine being telling him to struggle through… just him keeping calm.

Well… that last part was a lie. He freaked the hell out. But that was then, and this was now. Besides, as Killian, he came to learn something that his first life had never taught him. To persevere… even when the whole world was against you.

Simple enough to say, but from the day he awoke in the MCU, the odds were always stacked against him. First, he was cast in the role of a cripple. Then, into the role of a villain. Neither had been his choice. Instead, it was as if the MCU itself was fucking with him. Over… and over again.

Killian didn't let his situation get to him though… not at first. He had tried the whole "hero thing". Did his best to help. He even changed the outcome to his own story, which should have resulted in his death. He soon realized, however, that another hero wasn't what the world needed.

No. The Avengers… Earth's so-called "mightiest heroes", turned out to be a bunch of shortsighted fools. They would save the few at the expense of the many. They were reckless. Arrogant. And worst of all, completely oblivious to the responsibilities of their own actions.

In one way or another, they caused one disaster after another. From Loki, to Ultron, and then… they even turned on each other. They were choice without consequence. Power unchecked. And even when the world needed them to, passing laws that would restrict and monitor superhuman beings, most of them still didn't fall in line. Instead, they yet again chose their own self-righteous beliefs over accepting the consequences of their own actions.

Killian had been there the day it all went to shit. Watched in horror as a city fell from the sky. A disturbing testament to one man's ego. There had been nights for weeks afterwards that he awoke screaming, the cries of the dead echoing in his ears. And the children… the children's cries were always the worst. It was more than he could bear. Not without doing something, that is.

It was then that he too made a choice. To embrace what he had long denied. That he would become a villain… if it meant stopping the heroes. Keeping them in check. And he had succeeded. Killian brought order to the chaos caused by men in metal suits and would be gods. He then went on to prepare the world for what the future held in store for it.

Thanos… the mad Titan, the MCU's "big bad". He was coming. Paving the way hadn't been easy, but he managed it. He created advanced super-weapons and starships in which to carry them. He perfected an advanced form of genetic manipulation created via nanotechnology, called Extremis. All in order to form an advanced army of near-unkillable soldiers.

Then using the same nanotechnology, he created a techno virus, one that only affected those not born on Earth. One that would weaken or kill Thanos and any he brought with him. And it worked. Though, not without pushback from certain concerned parties.

Heads of State from across the world started referring to him with words like, "madman" and "evil dictator". They all asked him how he was any better than the Avengers, as he also refused to stop his work when asked.

The truth being, he wasn't any better. He understood that. Then again, he wasn't going around claiming to be a hero either. He owned what he was… a necessity. A hypocritical necessity, yes, but a necessity, nonetheless.

Besides, he should NOT have been needed in the first place. Before even coming up with such plans, Killian had gone to those very leaders with what he knew. Proven it even… and they all chose to do nothing. No… instead, they claimed that their nations could stand against any threat. That they would never back down.

'Bureaucratic bullshit, plain and simple! If they had acted to protect their own, I wouldn't have had to do it for them.'

Killian was disappointed by their inaction but was ultimately unsurprised by it. He was a villain to most, so it's not like his word held much weight to begin with. That all changed, however, when Thanos finally arrived. As soon as he entered the solar system, Killian had been notified. He then surrendered control of his forces to the United Nations under the condition that they immediately be mobilized to stop Thanos' invasion.

There was, of course, heavy resistance to his actions, as no one had expected Killian to hand over everything he'd built. Skepticism toward his motives was completely natural, though it didn't last long. Most nations were quick enough to realize the threat that loomed over them.

Killian made certain of it, by informing the people of each nation via news and social media. With their own people at their throats, each nation started stepping up. What followed was a first in humanities' long history. A world united. The peoples of all nations standing together against a common enemy. And Earth itself became the battlefield.

'It was a hard-fought victory, but we managed it.'

Thanos and his forces were greatly weakened by Killian's nano-plague. A dirty tactic to be certain, but one that saved a great many lives. Though his participation didn't end there. Taking to the battlefield himself, Killian wielded the Mind Stone, one of six stones of near limitless power, to assault the Mad Titan's psyche itself.

Then, with a blade forged from confiscated Vibranium, one of the MCU's toughest metals, Killian claimed Thanos' head. Then… it all went dark. Killian woke up here, in the DCU. Bleeding from a wound he had no memory of receiving. Most likely having been sent here by whatever force dragged him into the MCU in the first place.

'I still can't help but feel as if some cosmic douchebag is getting off on this… hmm?'

His thoughts came to a pause as he hobbled along the alleyway. He had noticed his appearance in a broken mirror on the ground beneath his feet. Although it was still nighttime, the moon gave off just enough light for him to see his reflection. The face that looked back at him though, wasn't the one he had grown accustomed to for the past twenty years. It was a different face altogether.

"Ha-ha-ha…"

Killian could only laugh at his failure to notice such a key detail. Sure… he'd been preoccupied by the whole 'bleeding out' thing, but still! Sighing to himself, he took stock of the man looking back at him. Long, dirty, disheveled black hair. Startling, sea-blue eyes… well, the one not swollen shut, anyway. A scraggly, unkempt beard lining a face that looked to be around thirty years of age. He would even describe it as being roguishly handsome, if not for how haggard it seemed.

'A new body, huh? I wonder who this one belonged to…?'

After a few more moments of observation, Killian continued walking with the same slow, hobbling stride as before. Coming at last to the area he had started at, he took a good look around. Bloodstains were the most obvious thing of note, likely caused by him crawling on the asphalt. Then there were multiple shards of broken glass.

'From the shape of the glass shards, it was probably a bottle of some kind. A wine bottle would be my guess.'

"Mm… what's that?"

There was a pile of stacked cardboard off to one side of the alleyway. Under normal circumstances, he would never have given it a second look. That is, if not for one, rather disturbing detail. The cardboard in question… happened to be bleeding.

"Well… that's not creepy as fuck, now, is it?"

Letting out a deep sigh, he decided to take a closer look. Reaching the pile, Killian used his makeshift crutch to lift a few pieces of cardboard from atop the pile. After seeing what was beneath the pile, however, he slowly backed away.

"Shit."

Three dead bodies were laid out beneath the pile, clearly having been hidden there. And judging from their dirty appearance and worn-out attire, they had likely been homeless while still alive. Scratching his bearded chin, Killian looked at his own clothes and began to slowly, but surely put the pieces together.

'Multiple stab wounds on all three bodies. Each wound, the same width and length as my own.'

"Meaning… we were all likely stabbed by the same assailant."

It wasn't the first time he'd dealt with death, so Killian didn't panic or try to hobble away. Instead, he calmly assessed the situation. As he did so, he heard someone yell out behind him. Turning around in a quick a speed that his wounded body allowed, he frowned at what the person was yelling.

"DIE, YOU ZOMBIE BASTARD!!"

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