Salem Centre
The sun shone brightly over the hill of the small town. Its light, like sprinkled gold over the treetops, it passed through windows, shining equally on all, nudging people to claim another chance at life.
A renewal for those who still have hope and want something from this life.
And yet, for others who have lost the meaning behind pursuing a new dawn, they'd rather close the curtains—at least it helps blur their sense of time.
It didn't matter whether it was night or day; to those who had closed themselves off from the world, it all looked the same.
It was an annoying reminder of their failures, of chances left unclaimed.
Life had already moved on, but they were still stuck in a long-gone yesterday where they lost hope.
Such was the case inside an unsuspecting two-story building on the fringes of town.
"Too bright…"
Amidst the stillness of the bedroom, the annoyed groans of a young man could be heard as he pulled the blanket over his face, shielding himself.
That action led to another discomfort—he started feeling hot. He flipped to the other side, facing the wall.
"Close the curtains," he muttered, half-awake, wishing there was someone to do it for him.
WHOSH
Adam's eyes immediately shot open as soon as he heard the sound.
"WHO'S THERE?" he yelled and sat up straight in bed, only to be met with the silence of an unfamiliar room and the slight swaying of blue curtains.
For a moment, his eyes shone with hope, as if he was expecting to see the silhouette or ghost of someone.
A few moments passed before he sighed. His senses picked up only distant birdsong and the sweet scent of flowers and trees.
"I guess it's the wind," he said, staring at the drawn curtains.
Slowly, he stood up, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings.
"Yeah, that's right. I'm not home anymore."
A twenty-square-meter room, its walls painted light yellow. The bed was placed by the window. To the left was a PC desk, and to the right stood a brown wooden nightstand. In the corner beside the bed was a door leading out of the room.
Adam took a few steps forward. He flung the blue curtains open and stood there.
"It's only been one night, yet so much has changed."
Storefronts and signs unfamiliar to his memory lined the street below.
On the horizon, hills rose and fell, dotted with trees bleached by the glare of sunlight.
"Good morning, Adam!" a man shouted. Quickly looking down, Adam saw it was Harry, the owner of the bar.
"G-Good morning, Harry," he replied awkwardly, waving his hand.
Last night, he had woken up in an unfamiliar house, wearing unfamiliar clothes, and looking healthier than he had in years.
Worse than waking up like that was not knowing where he was, or even who he was.
Fortunately, he had inherited a set of memories not much different from his own, allowing him to blend in.
But Adam suspected; no, he knew, with a rising sense of certainty, that those memories were fabricated.
As if whatever had brought him here had carved out a place for him through space and time, allowing him to exist.
Waving goodbye to Harry, Adam left the room and stepped into a narrow corridor that led to a living room and kitchen.
He opened one of the adjacent doors, entering a spotless, white-tiled bathroom.
He took his time examining his reflection, his full, healthy cheeks, the stubble on his chin, his eyes, now changed to a golden hue.
A sense of dissonance rose within him. He didn't know what to say. Until now, he had been living in a state of half-belief.
If not for the photo of his mother on the nightstand and the documents he had found proving his identity, he would have assumed his brain cancer was causing hallucinations.
He wasn't a fanfic cliché. Transmigration and Reincarnation didn't come with a manual, only confusion.
No, Adam was real. Flesh and bone. And now, his existence in this world had created a conflict, leaving him suspended between belief and disbelief.
He ran a hand through his hair, starting gently, then rougher as anger and frustration surged within him.
BANG
His fist smashed beside the mirror, spreading cracks across the hard white tiles.
"What's happening to me?" he growled through clenched teeth, oblivious to the damage he had just caused.
Veins throbbed on his forehead as he struggled to contain the rage building up.
"Did I die?" he said between labored breaths.
"Is this some kind of joke?" He stared fiercely at himself in the mirror—as if accusing the man in the reflection, as if he were staring at someone else.
There was no response. No one answered, just like during the last two years of his life: alone, confused, with no shoulder to rely on.
Moments passed as he stared at his reflection before finally deflating, hands resting on the sink, head bowed, eyes moist.
"I was supposed to see Mother… and now… what the hell is this?" he whispered, knowing no one could solve his dilemma.
Surrendering to a state of numbness, he quickly pushed through the monotony of the morning. Half an hour later, he descended the stairs into a restaurant that looked exactly like the one he once owned.
He headed into the kitchen and made himself a quick breakfast: cereal and a cup of coffee.
"Let's see if everything matches," Adam muttered, picking up his phone. He checked the date.
It was 2011 which made him frown but it was expected when he saw his old model phone.
Next he searched the web to verify whether his memories were accurate.
His first search term was "mutants," recalling the protests and political conflicts surrounding their unregulated presence in the U.S.
Sure enough, several web articles popped up as soon as he hit the search button.
Adam's expression didn't change, not a flicker, as he stared silently at the headlines.
"Marvel…" he muttered, contemplating the absurd idea that he was now inside the Marvel Universe.
His thoughts drifted to what he had been doing last night before waking up in this new world.
"Did I accidentally cause this by trying to write a fanfiction?" The question remained unanswered. But he doubted that was the case—because if it was, then where were Adam's powers?
"Great. Now I've gotten caught in a skewed transmigration," he grumbled.
That is, if I haven't just gone insane.
He finished his breakfast quickly and picked up his phone again. A quick search brought up a list of New York hospitals.
A moment of silence followed as he remembered Dr. Yang gently telling him that he didn't have much time left.
Time seemed to stretch. His eyes flickered with complex emotions before he shook his head and dialed a number.
RING, RING, RING
"Good morning, welcome to Metro General Hospital. How can I help you?"
Adam didn't respond at first, his heart pounding in his chest.
He was afraid.
Afraid that even here, he would face the same fate.
"Sir, are you there? Is this an emergency? Do you want us to send an ambulance?"
"No," Adam replied quickly, sensing the concern in her voice.
"I want to make an appointment with one of your oncologists… this afternoon, if possible."
"Can you hold for a minute?" she asked.
"Sure," he replied and waited.
"Okay, good sir, what's your name?"
"Adam Winters."
"I booked an appointment for you at 1 p.m. Please make sure to arrive on time."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome anytime, sir."
Adam ended the call and checked the time. It was currently 10 a.m. If he wanted to be there on time, he needed to leave soon.
He checked his wallet—his ID, his debit card, the three hundred dollars in cash, and a bank receipt with his name. It included his access code and account balance.
Fifty thousand dollars. Financially, he felt stable, at least for now. Adam didn't waste any more time and stepped out of the building, making sure to lock the door behind him.
He made his way to the bus station, which, like most things in the small town was conveniently close. Fortunately, he found a bus heading to New York still loading passengers.
He quickly paid the fare and boarded the bus, forcing a smile at the people who recognized him as the reclusive son of the late Martha.
Time passed, and soon the bus departed, leaving town behind.
Adam leaned his head against the window and gazed out at the hills, the trees, and the large mansion situated just outside of town, lingering on it the longest.
He had a strange feeling, an epiphany of sorts, that he'll be coming back to this mansion.
Soon, his eyelids began to droop, and he let himself drift into sleep.
NEW YORK.
METRO GENERAL HOSPITAL.
"Thank you for your patience, Mr. Adam. I believe we're done," said a short, black-haired man, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he looked at the young man who had come to the hospital demanding to be tested, for cancer, of all things.
It was one thing to have symptoms. It was another to come out of sheer doubt.
Doctors weren't supposed to act like this. Most would gladly and selflessly jump to help a sick patient. But his amusement didn't come from malice, it came from the steps every competent doctor followed.
Symptoms? None. The young man exhibited no signs, no recollection of anything unusual.
Blood tests? Normal.
Neurological response? That, however, was... abnormal. Something almost inhuman.
Three hours of tests ended with a brain MRI scan that showed no tumors or growths. That was it. Examination complete.
He'd seen cases like this before. His amusement was justified.
Was it ethical? That was up for debate, and like hell he was going to do that at the end of his shift.
"Say, you're not one of those guys who self-diagnose on Google, are you?" Doctor Peter raised an eyebrow, eyeing Adam's emotionless face.
"No."
A short reply.
He remarked inwardly.
Fitting for someone who hadn't smiled once since stepping into his office.
Not even at one of my best old jokes.
"Well, that's good. If I had to rely on Google, I'd have been diagnosed with a prehistoric virus and lost my medical license by the end of the week." He smiled teasingly.
"I guess I'm lucky then." Adam's mouth twitched. an action that didn't escape the doctor's notice as his smile widened even further.
Satisfied, he sat down at his desk, flipping through the test results.
"Now, Mr. Winters, have you been under stress lately?" he asked as Adam sat across from him.
"I... I guess you could say that," Adam nodded hesitantly. It was the truth—no point putting up a front when he knew himself best.
"You know, we've seen cases like this before," Peter said, gesturing as if pointing at imaginary patients. "Stress can affect a lot even your body. I had a patient who literally crapped himself at work because his boss kept dumping paperwork on him all week. You get what I'm trying to say?"
At this moment Adam suddenly started to miss Doctor Yang. At least she wasn't a yapper like this one.
He sighed, head dropping a little. His mental state was barely holding together, and this was a waste of time.
The doctor didn't know what was at stake. He didn't know that Adam had died last night.
"I get your point. But please, just tell me the results."
"That's good," the doctor replied, finally sensing the irritation behind Adam's façade, and the exhaustion beneath.
"You don't have cancer, Mr. Winters," he said with a genuine smile, done with his teasing.
"You really don't need to worry. Our examination confirmed you're perfectly healthy. I'm the best oncologist in this hospital, and I say that with full confidence."
"Am I really cancer-free?" Adam asked, finaly letting go of the breath that he didn't know he was holding.
Sensing his state, Peter leaned forward.
"I assure you, Mr. Winters. Do you have any doubts I can clarify?"
Doubts? Adam thought. Yeah, I've got a whole lot of doubts. And an existential crisis or two you might want to look at.
Adam shook his head. "No... Thank you. I guess stress got to me. These past few days have been... hard, to say the least."
"I understand. That's why I recommend a few days of rest. Wind down, take it easy."
"Rest you say." He leaned on his chair, feeling both relieved and lost.
Now what?
He asked himself then went with the flow of the hospital procedures until he stepped outside.
Cancer, of all things…
Adam's steps carried him through the busy streets of New York. Pedestrians rushed past, but he felt detached, his thoughts shielding him from the world around him.
Mother always said we should accept what fate brings.
We're just tenants on Earth, with a short lease on life. So why complain when the landlord says it's time to go?
He remembered her words on her deathbed, how she gently ruffled his hair, smiling at him, and how he broke down in front of her fading eyes.
"Easy for you to say, Mom," he muttered. "I'm the one left behind to sort through the mess."
"Now tell me, how am I supposed to deal with all this?"
He raised his head, staring at the skyscrapers, ignoring the odd looks from passersby.
"Everything's real, Mom. The fictional worlds I used to rant about during our shifts, they're real. And now I'm in one of them."
Lost in thought, his feet wandered until he stopped across the street from a towering building.
He glanced around.
At the sleek architecture.
At the grand entrance.
At the black SUVs parked out front.
At the logo, plastered on nearby trucks.
Stark Industries.
"This leaves no room for doubt," he muttered, sweat beading on his forehead.
"I miss you, Mom." He smiled bitterly.
"But I guess... my lease on life hasn't expired yet."
Adam felt like weeping, his vision trembled, he had been denying this acceptance and belief that nothing was the same anymore.
At that moment, something changed inside him—like a knot coming undone. It echoed loudly in his mind
With it came a sense of clarity that soon overwhelmed his senses.
The world around him changed, as the mind world for a second overlapped with reality.
Like bubbles containing an island and a sea, connected by a thread from every person, filling his vision.
His eyes burned, he started seeing different colors and auras of multiple shades sticking like a veil on the people around him.
And then, a pulse. A wave of mental energy spread outward like the first light of dawn, sweeping across miles.
"AGH!"
Adam clutched his head as a splitting headache tore through him.
He bent forward, breath ragged, trying to resist the voices.
Some were real:
"Mom, what's wrong with this guy?"
"I don't know, honey. Just keep walking."
Others echoed from within:
Another junkie…
I want to quit my job…
I'm late for my date—I hope Priscilla won't mind...
"AGH—make it stop!" Adam yelled, blood dripping from his nose.
The voices were endless, millions upon millions of thoughts rampaged inside his mind.
"Here, of all places..." he groaned, knowing what was happening.
His Visionary powers were manifesting.
It seemed that resistance was futile Infront of the vast power threatening to be unleashed further and further away.
I have to contain it.
With urgent focus, he forced the thoughts away, skiming to what felt like quick sand of endless chattering. Until he found a place where his thoughts found solace inside the restaurant with his mother.
Suddenly as quick as the voices surged they subsided.
Silence.
As if nothing had happened.
But Adam knew better. He knew Visionary's powers like the back of his hand.
Slowly, he stood, forcing his mind to empty. He wasn't out of danger.
His thoughts were weaponized now, any stray vision could become real
And he didn't know what he could do, or even if he had the ability.
He didn't want to tempt fate.
He needed to disappear, fast.
He flagged a cab.
"Salem Center, please."
"That's a bit far from New York," the driver said, glancing at Adam's sweat-soaked reflection in the rearview mirror.
Without a word, Adam pulled a $100 bill from his pocket and shoved it into the driver's hand.
"Just—take me there."
The hesitation vanished.
"Alright. Buckle up."
Adam sank into his seat, breathing slowly as the cab wound its way through the city and out into the countryside.
Finally, some calm, he thought, staring out the window.
But even in this new reality—the Marvel Universe—he was still alone.
Nothing had changed… except the longing for his mother.
"Sweet child, you're not alone."
Adam stiffened at the whisper beside his ear, at the slight caress atop his head that felt too real to be considered a phantom.
He didn't move. Didn't speak. Just closed his eyes, trying to find peace, banishing the thought.
Moments later, he opened his eyes and looked to his side.
The seat was empty.
"This is exhausting," he sighed, eyes drifting to the fast-moving scenery.
The sun was setting.
A new dawn was coming.
One, he knew he couldn't hide from, behind closed curtains.