Chapter 1: The Punchline to Existence
The last thing Adama Stiels remembered was the stale, recycled air of his apartment, the faint scent of instant ramen, and the glorious, tragicomic irony of a poorly timed sneeze. He'd been mid-binge, deep into a particularly convoluted episode of The Flash where Barry Allen was, predictably, messing with the timeline again. A rogue crumb from his suspiciously orange cheese puffs had launched itself with suicidal abandon directly into his nasal cavity. He'd barely managed a choked, wheezing laugh—a final, pathetic punchline to a life lived mostly indoors, punctuated by pop culture references and the occasional, ill-advised stand-up routine in front of his bathroom mirror.
Then, the world had exploded. Not with a bang, but with a disorienting, nauseating whoosh. It felt like being sucked through a cosmic straw, stretched thinner than a superhero's plot armor, then compressed tighter than a villain's ego. Colors swirled, sounds warped, and the distinct taste of ozone filled his mouth. He was vaguely aware of a profound, ancient hum resonating through his very bones, a sensation akin to plugging himself directly into the mainframe of the universe.
And then, just as suddenly, it stopped.
He landed with a decidedly un-superheroic thud on what felt suspiciously like a sidewalk. The air, however, was definitely not apartment-stale. It was cool, damp, and carried a perplexing bouquet of exotic spices, something vaguely floral, and… was that wet dog? He blinked, his vision swimming, and slowly, painstakingly, pushed himself up.
He was on a street, alright. A quaint, slightly damp street, lined with brick buildings that looked like they'd been plucked straight from a postcard. A sign above a nearby shop, its paint a little faded, read "Spice Shop." Well, that explains the curry-scented air, he thought, his mind already reaching for the familiar comfort of sarcasm. Portland. He knew that much from the distant, barely legible street signs. But it wasn't his Portland. His Portland had more artisanal coffee shops and fewer… well, he hadn't gotten to the "fewer what" part yet.
Then, it hit him. Not a bus, thankfully, but something far more invasive. A flood. A deluge of data, like someone had force-fed him the entire internet, but instead of cat videos and conspiracy theories, it was… everything. Names, dates, creatures, histories, ancient languages, obscure rituals, and a mental image of a library so vast it made the Library of Congress look like a dusty bookshelf in a condemned motel.
A voice, calm and utterly devoid of emotion, echoed directly in his mind, not in his ears.
[SYSTEM ACTIVATION: Welcome, Host Adama Stiels. Initialization Complete.]
Adama blinked. Then he blinked again. Host? Is this some kind of elaborate VR prank? Did I finally hit my head hard enough to unlock the secret level of reality?
[ALERT: Transmigration successful. Location: Portland, Oregon, Grimm Universe, Approximately Episode 1: 'Pilot' timeline.]
"Grimm Universe?" he muttered aloud, his voice raspy. "Seriously? Not, like, the Marvel universe where I could actually fly, or the Arrowverse where I could at least brood dramatically? No, I get the one with the scary monsters and the really, really convoluted family trees." He paused, a wry grin tugging at his lips. "At least I didn't end up in Twilight. That would be a fate worse than death. Which, ironically, I just experienced."
[PROCESSING: All Grimm-owned artifacts and literature within 50-mile radius acquired. Relocating to Library Archives. Note: Original locations now contain a placeholder note directing to 'The Lorekeeper's Sanctuary'.]
As the System droned on, a faint, almost imperceptible shimmer rippled through the air around him, then spread outwards, like an invisible wave. Across town, in a dusty old Airstream trailer, Nick Burkhardt, currently oblivious to his own destiny, felt a sudden, inexplicable lightness. A faint, ancient hum that had always been a background presence in the trailer, a subtle weight of history, simply… vanished. Where thick, leather-bound journals had sat for generations, now lay only a single, elegantly scripted note: "The Lorekeeper's Sanctuary now holds these tales. Seek wisdom, if you dare. – The Librarian." It was a note that would confuse the hell out of him later, but for now, he was just wondering if he'd left the window open.
Adama, meanwhile, felt a strange, almost pleasant warmth spread through his mind, a hum of power that settled comfortably behind his eyes. He glanced at the spice shop, then at the unassuming trailer parked just a few feet away, which had suddenly shimmered into existence, looking ancient and grand for a fleeting moment before settling back into its mundane, slightly dusty facade. Only he could see the subtle glow, the faint, ethereal energy clinging to it.
[NEW ABILITY UNLOCKED: Grimm Vision (Passive - Active upon Wesen woge, visible to Host only).]
[LIBRARY MODE SWITCH: Available. Current: Normal Mode. Command: 'Grimm Mode' to activate. Note: Grimm Mode prevents Wesen woge/powers within Library.]
[HOST BUFF: Double Strength within Library active. Outside Library: Enhanced human strength (Grimm baseline).]
"So, I'm basically a walking Wikipedia for monsters, with a magic library that doubles as a Wesen-free zone?" Adam mused, already processing the implications. "And I'm stronger? Great, now I can lift heavy books and out-arm-wrestle a grumpy badger-man. Is there a tutorial level, or do I just jump straight to boss fights? Because this feels like a 'skip tutorial' kind of day."
He peered down the street, and for a fleeting, terrifying moment, he saw it. A man, walking past a bakery, his face twisting, stretching, his eyes going wide and feral, covered in coarse, dark fur. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, a blink-and-you-miss-it horror show. A flash of primal fear shot through him, quickly followed by a morbid curiosity. Oh, so that's what a woge looks like. Neat. And terrifying. Mostly terrifying.
[NEW FEATURE: Multiverse Bodyguard Recruitment available. Select target for immediate transfer.]
Adam's eyebrows shot up. "Multiverse bodyguard? Well, that's just cheating. Or, you know, a brilliant loophole. Finally, some good news." He thought for a moment, mentally scrolling through a mental Rolodex of fictional characters. Captain America? Too Boy Scout. Batman? Too broody. Iron Man? Too much ego, even for him. He needed someone powerful, yes, but also someone who understood loss, who wouldn't immediately try to punch him for his sarcasm, and who wouldn't be too attached to their original universe. Someone who could adapt.
His mind settled on a face, a flash of red. Wanda Maximoff. After Pietro. Before Vision. That sweet spot where she was powerful, grieving, and adrift. Perfect. She wouldn't have a whole lot of reasons to go back, and she definitely knew how to throw down. Plus, he figured she'd appreciate the change of scenery from, you know, being constantly sad and blowing things up.
"Alright, System," he declared, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "My choice is Wanda Maximoff. Specifically, Wanda Maximoff from the MCU, right after the Ultron incident, before she gets too cozy with the synthezoid."
[PROCESSING SELECTION: Wanda Maximoff. Target parameters confirmed. Initiating transfer protocol.]
He grinned. "Excellent. Now, where's the coffee? This transmigration thing is exhausting, and I feel like I just ran a marathon through a dimension filled with bad CGI." He paused, looking around the strangely quiet street. "And speaking of running, is there a map? Or do I just wander around until I stumble upon the main plot? Because I'm pretty sure Nick Burkhardt is out there somewhere, probably trying to figure out if he needs new glasses or a therapist."
[NOTIFICATION: Grimm presence detected in Portland. Grimm Nick Burkhardt. Location: North Portland Precinct.]
"Ah, there he is. Right on schedule," Adam murmured, a genuine, if slightly unhinged, smile spreading across his face. "Looks like the show's about to start. And I, for one, am ready for my close-up. Or, you know, my awkward cameo where I accidentally save the day while making a terrible pun." He patted the unassuming side of the trailer, a silent promise to the ancient Library within. "Looks like we're in business, old friend. Time to make some money, save some lives, and generally mess with the natural order of things, one sarcastic comment at a time."