Stranded I

"I'm dead and this is my limbo because what else makes sense…?" Jacob Li Paul muttered under his breath, looking at the numerous decrepit one-storey buildings around him.

It was the afternoon but from the way the clouds darkened the sky, obscuring any sunlight, one could be led to believe that it was already nighttime. The only thing letting Jack know for sure that it wasn't night yet, was his power's passive.

From the roof of the tallest building that he climbed from – a dilapidated, abandoned fire station – everywhere he looked, the young man was greeted by dilapidated buildings and streets. The roads were filled with little chink, with some having a major fissure the thickness of a wrist, running through the asphalt. The walls of the surrounding buildings weren't faring better either. They were dirty, filled with what looked like gunshot cracks. Trash littered the sidewalk as what seemed like dirty sewage water was flowing at the edge between the sidewalk and the road proper.

On the horizon, Jack could see a plume of black smoke rising above black and gloomy giant skyscrapers – colossal structures of metal and concrete – leisurely billowing out and reaching toward the sky. An intense flash of red-ish light painted the area, buildings, apartments and skyscrapers around in an orange hue. Idly, he vaguely recognized in the background the distinct sound of police sirens mixing with that of fire trucks and ambulance sirens, creating a chaotic symphony of noise.

The picture this scene painted wasn't encouraging for his prospects…

"... Seriously, what the fuck! Where the fuck is this place from…?" Jack sighed, setting down the newspaper that he picked from the road.

Gotham Gazette, it read at the top of the page, in giant capitalized letters. The fact that he never heard in his life of a city called Gotham that was situated in America – a city this big and large from the look of it – was another indicator that he wasn't in Valence City anymore…

The date written in the article was another small indicator.

2011.

Supposedly a whole ass nine years in the past.

There was a possibility, however small it may be, that the newspaper was outdated, that maybe it was one of those fake newspapers not dissimilar to the Onions.

However, something in him – a feeling or sixth sense whatever he might call it – was telling him that it was not the case.

After all, given that not even five minutes prior to waking up in a dirty, dark and moist disease-ridden alleyway, he was fighting for his life along with many other supes.

They were all fighting for survival. In a fight with the fate of the entire world and the entirety of the star system as they know it in the balance. A fight which saw every hero, villain and rogue, whether major or minor ones – ally themselves to defend and fight against V, the harbinger of End.

A fight for survival. A last stand. One that Jack, one of the survivors, managed to witness them win. But at a great price.

A pyrrhic victory in summary.

The last thing he remembered before he died lost consciousness was seeing the moon destroyed, splintering into multiple pieces while Earth. his homeworld and dimension collapsed onto itself.

Jack wondered if the resulting plane or planetary collapse was the reason behind his new predicament. Was it the resulting energy clash generated by the collapse that transported him to what looked like another universe? Or was it something else entirely? Like a weird power interaction? Also, he wondered if he was the only one that was displaced. He remembered there being people in his immediate surroundings. So he couldn't help but wonder if he wasn't the only one who landed here or if they were all displaced but didn't land at the same place, thoroughly scattered through the multiverse…

However, Jack couldn't keep dwelling on it for too long as the weight of his situation started to dawn on him.

He was alone. In a city he'd never been in before, one which from the looks of it didn't look safe. He was alone, stranded in another universe. This situation wasn't good.

Anxiety twisting his guts, behind his riot assault helmet, his brown eyes shone in a vibrant red light – an ethereal flame blazing on his pupils.

The telltale sign of a power activation.

Before he could give himself to his panic attack and fully activate his power, Jack clamped down hard on his emotions, stopping his power from activating, burying his anxiety and concerns deep inside his guts, in the same place where he'd buried his grief and sorrow during the events of the last stand.

Now wasn't the time to panic. He needed to focus, to prioritize. He already took a cursory look at his surroundings. Now what he needed to do was take stock of what he had – of what he would work with going forward.

Jack clicked on the small button situated near his left eardrum, and with a hiss of pressured air, his helmet opened itself from top to bottom, mecha-shifting to let out his face bare to the open air for the first time since he arrived here.

A compacted, black riot gas helmet with ominous glowing protective red lenses rested around his collar. Accompanying his costume ensemble was a full body-fitting black spandex that was knife-proof. Over it, he wore a set of dark blue tactical armor composed of a chest piece, legs, arms and knees protection pads.

For a rogue, his entire get up was standard. It carried a mercenary vibe to it. Which he liked. It was practical and covered a lot of his bases and vitals body's parts while not overly restraining his movements too much. He wasn't an Augmented with enhanced physical attributes after all, so he needed his armor to not weigh too much. It also helps that the less weight he carried, the better it was for him when using [Chamber].

This way, he could bring out the best of it.

Observations and distracting thoughts aside, he started to consider what's on the order of business, what would be his next step – or first step – now that he's taken stock of your situation.

'Shelter, water and food in this order,' Was his immediate thought.

He took out his phone to check his battery and for a signal, unlocking it by using its face detection feature and in passing, taking a good look at his bruised visage reflecting on the screen.

A Tired, beaten and weary face was what greeted him.

With a sigh, Jack concentrated on brainstorming his next course of action.

Obviously, his first priority was to work toward meeting all his needs.

In priority, home or a shelter in his situation. Then water and food. Once he secured those basics three, he could start branching out and working on other things like finding a job, a place to stay, and doing research into the history of the world he was now in. From the local's supe dynamic to the current ongoing in the city. And looking at… the state of the streets and buildings around him; at the chaos surrounding the area with his ears picking the distant sound of gunshot near his position, but no longer of police siren; at the bleak mood permeating the air – he have a strong suspicion that this task was going to be the most important one if he wanted to increase his optics of survival.

Needless to say, as far as first impressions go, none of what he's seen and heard inspired confidence for next. It also didn't help that he wasn't exactly on top of his game. His back was aching, his limbs were slightly throbbing with pain and his spirit was in the gutter.

Usually, he fashioned himself to be an upbeat person, which for a rogue, was slightly unusual but at the same time, good for the optics of being a neutral figure. He'd cultivated his cheerful and easily approachable persona over the years during his budding supe's career, faking it until it was part of his real life outlook and character. And thanks to this crafted persona, he gained the capacity of being able to bounce back from nearly any setbacks.

Which he always did when faced with obstacles or life-or-death situations in the past. This was how he managed to overcome obstacles in his way without being part of a team. Up until he was considered to be a solid future potential pretender for the S-class status at only 19.

Regaining his bearing, Jack quickly and methodologically took stock of his inventory.

He didn't have much on his person or a lot of belonging to his name. He only has his supe's phone, not Genius-tech. 76$ and 20 cents in cash and a 10 cm (4") adamantium arrowhead in the belt compartment of his supe's costume. Oh, and said supe's costume, tactical boots, mecha shift riot helmet and everything.

He would have to work with it, and make it work. With 76$, he reckon that he could spend two or three nights at a cheap motel – one in a seedy part of town, not like everything around him already screaming 'seedy' – and still have some changes for food and some essentials.

However, apart from his costume, the most valuable thing on his person was probably his supe phone. If push comes to shove and he needed money, he would sell it for some cash.

He shivered, letting out a misty puff of smoke. The air was slightly cold and humid, probably because it was winter or nearing winter.

Sighing, he shifted on his feet and pressed the button of his helmet. The riot gas helmet snapped back in place with a quiet sound of gear shifting, snugly covering his face.

It was time to get on the move.