Normal isn't supposed to feel this hard.
I wake up, put on the Stark Industries badge, walk into the lab, and try to look like I belong. It should be easy. On the surface, I'm just another underpaid intern fetching coffee and pretending to know what all these prototypes mean.
But it's impossible to forget where I am. Every conversation is a reminder. Someone mentions the Jericho missile. Someone else curses Obadiah Stane under their breath. Every headline on the TV in the break room is another countdown, ticking toward Iron Man.
Toward the MCU.
I keep telling myself to stay small. Blend in. Don't meddle. Let the story unfold. But the universe keeps nudging me.
The whispers come back.
It's little things at first. A faint push to the right when a cup of scalding coffee slips from someone's hands. A flicker of warning before a prototype panel sparks and hisses with smoke. Each time, I move before my brain catches up, before danger is even real.
And each time, I feel the same chill crawl down my spine.
Luck doesn't explain it.
The others just laugh it off. "Man, Brooks, you've got crazy reflexes," one of the engineers jokes. I force a smile, laugh along, but my pulse is racing.
Because I know this world. And I know how dangerous it gets.
The timeline unrolls in my head like film: Tony Stark in a cave, hammering together the Mark I. Obadiah tightening his grip on Stark Industries. SHIELD circling, already watching. And eventually, New York burning under an alien sky.
And here I am. A nobody who should not exist. A variable. A crack in canon.
The whispers don't let me ignore it.
Late one night, when the lab is nearly empty, I feel it again. A pull. Not urgent, not sharp, just… guiding. My eyes flick to the corner of the room. There's a drawer, one I've never noticed before, half-cracked open.
I hesitate, then cross the room and pull it open. Inside are old schematics, half-burned papers shoved aside, the Stark Industries logo faint on the corner. Weapons plans. Outdated, but chilling all the same.
I slam it shut, heart hammering.
That's not luck. That's not instinct. Something wanted me to see that.
And the worst part? I don't know if it's helping me… or warning me.
That night, sleep doesn't come easy. When it does, the dream returns.
The cosmic tree stretches through the stars again, roots wrapping galaxies like veins, branches clawing at infinity. The same voice hums in the marrow of my bones:
"Every universe remembers you differently. Which one will you become?"
This time, though, the vision shifts. I see flashes: myself standing in firelight, hands glowing. Myself standing in shadow, face hard, eyes cold. Myself broken, hollow, forgotten.
I jolt awake, chest heaving.
The whispers aren't random anymore. They're shaping me. Testing me.
And deep down, I know this is only the beginning.
The MCU is already moving forward. Tony Stark is still trapped in a cave, but not for long. The first domino is about to fall.
And I have no idea if I'm meant to stop it… or make sure it happens.
———————————————————
Chapter 2 🔥🔥
Let me know if yall like this.