Chapter 1: A Brush With the Future
My name is Rory, and I'll be honest—I'm a bit of an asshole.
I'm also a brilliant scientist with a tendency toward the... unconventional.
During what was supposed to be a routine experiment involving temporal displacement theory, a city-wide blackout caused a cascade failure in my lab's containment systems. One thing led to another, and before I knew it, I'd successfully joined the ranks of time travelers—though "successfully" might be generous considering I had no idea where I'd end up.
Lucky for me, I landed in the Marvel Universe, a reality where the laws of physics are more like... loose suggestions.
I'm absolutely thrilled to be here.
The good news? In a world where a guy can build a miniaturized arc reactor in a cave with a box of scraps, my particular brand of scientific genius finally has room to shine.
The bad news? I've somehow landed in 1970, a full 42 years before the Chitauri invasion of New York. That means I'm looking at potentially dying of old age before I even get to see Thanos snap his fingers.
Now that I'm stuck here, there's no way I'm accepting that kind of anticlimactic ending to my story.
So I've spent the last year developing the perfect plan: infiltrate the classified SSR (Strategic Scientific Reserve) facility hidden beneath Camp Lehigh in New Jersey, get my hands on the Tesseract, and use the Space Stone's power to explore the cosmos—maybe even find a way to extend my lifespan in the process.
After all, in the Marvel Universe, there's always a way to cheat death if you're clever enough.
Summer 1970Camp Lehigh, New Jersey
Crouched behind a stack of supply crates, I adjusted my fake beard and oversized sunglasses. The disguise wasn't perfect, but it would have to do. My baseball cap was pulled low as I kept my eyes fixed on the unremarkable door marked "E47"—the secret entrance to what would eventually become the heart of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s operations.
The plan was straightforward: bypass the guards, get through that door, crack the elevator's security system, and locate the storage area where the SSR kept all their "0-8-4s"—objects of unknown origin. S.H.I.E.L.D. had a habit of collecting weird artifacts and letting them collect dust in warehouses. What a waste of potential.
Checking my watch, I quietly retrieved several small incendiary devices from my backpack, strategically placing them around the base. These weren't your garden-variety explosives—I'd reverse-engineered the chemistry from old Stark Industries weapons I'd studied in history books.
Next stop: the mess hall. While the kitchen staff was outside on their smoke break, I slipped inside and stuffed a modified timing device into one of the microwaves, set the parameters, and made my exit.
Taking a circuitous route back to the SSR entrance, I hunkered down in my hiding spot and watched the seconds tick by on my watch. At the exact moment my countdown hit zero...
5... 4... 3... 2... 1...
A massive explosion erupted from the dining facility, sending a shockwave that I could feel even from my position. Flames shot skyward as chaos erupted across the base.
Some personnel fled in panic while others, showing admirable military discipline, rushed toward the blaze with fire extinguishers. Most importantly, the guards stationed at the SSR entrance abandoned their posts to assist with the emergency response.
Perfect.
I slipped through the iron gate and immediately went to work on the elevator's control panel with my screwdriver. The 1970s-era circuitry looked impossibly complex to anyone from this time period, but for someone who'd grown up in the digital age, it might as well have been a children's toy.
A few cut wires, a couple of jumper connections, and one strategic short-circuit later, I'd bypassed the security system entirely. The elevator hummed to life the moment I pressed the call button.
I quickly closed the control panel, straightened my stolen maintenance uniform, and stood casually in front of the elevator doors. With a cheerful ding, they slid open.
Clipping my forged security badge to my shirt, I stepped inside and hit the button for the sublevel, acting like I belonged there.
Since I hadn't been able to get my hands on the building schematics ahead of time, I was essentially flying blind down here. I wandered the corridors with purpose, grabbing a coffee mug from an unattended secretary's desk and using it as a prop while I memorized the layout.
Office numbers, corridor turns, emergency exits—I cataloged everything. The hallway ended in a T-junction, and just as two staff members emerged from a door on the right, I smoothly turned left to avoid any awkward encounters.
That's when I saw it: a door at the end of the corridor marked "084"—exactly what I was looking for.
Unlike the high-tech security I'd expected, this door was secured with an old-fashioned pin tumbler lock. Lucky for me, I'd come prepared. I pulled out a tension wrench and pick set, inserted them into the lock cylinder, and began feeling for the pins.
As I worked, I heard footsteps behind me. A security guard had noticed my suspicious behavior and was approaching slowly, his hand drifting toward his sidearm. I could feel his eyes boring into my back.
Click.
The lock gave way just in time. I pushed through the door with casual confidence, and I could practically feel the guard's suspicions evaporating as he assumed I was supposed to be there.
Beyond the door lay another corridor lined with offices, ending in a massive storage area that looked exactly like something out of the Raiders of the Lost Ark warehouse scene—which, come to think of it, wouldn't be filmed for another decade.
Focus, Rory.
I exhaled slowly, confirming I'd found the right place, then quickly made my way to the storage room. The space was enormous, filled with crates, containers, and mysterious objects covered by tarps. Somewhere in this maze of government-collected weirdness was the most powerful artifact in the universe.
I'd memorized every detail of this scene from Captain America: The First Avenger, so after a moment of mental recalibration, I zeroed in on the specific containment unit that should house the Tesseract.
There—the third container from the left, after the two that were giving off that telltale blue glow.
Now came the tricky part. Unlike Tony Stark's bleeding-edge tech, I didn't have a portable laser cutter. This was going to require some old-fashioned problem-solving.
"Electronic lock system," I muttered, examining the control panel. "No manual override... no reset function."
I pulled out my screwdriver and removed the side panel, following the wiring back to the main control board. Switching on my flashlight, I studied the circuitry carefully.
"Signal-based authentication," I concluded. "If the base loses power, the control unit defaults to secure mode. Can't be bypassed by cutting power."
That meant I needed to trick the system at the signal level.
In binary code, 1 and 0 represent "on" and "off" states. If this electronic lock used a 10-digit code with digits 0-9, that meant 10^10 possible combinations—ten billion different passwords. Even with my enhanced knowledge from the future, I didn't have time for a brute force approach.
But I did have something better: good old-fashioned engineering intuition.
I turned to another nearby container and carefully dismantled its control board, removing a single signal diode. Then I connected both ends to my jumper cables and wired them into the target container's control terminal. The theory was simple—use the diode from the working system to send the proper authentication signal to the locked system.
Holding my breath, I carefully touched the other end of the cable to the power port on the circuit board.
Bzzzzt!
A small shower of sparks, and then...
CLANG!
"Gotcha!" I couldn't suppress a grin as the container's locking mechanism disengaged with a satisfying mechanical sound.
The metal container split open like a high-tech flower, revealing its contents. Immediately, my face was bathed in the soft blue glow of one of the most powerful objects in the universe.
"Hello there, Space Stone," I whispered. "You beautiful, reality-bending cube of infinite energy."
I wasn't stupid enough to touch the Tesseract directly—I'd seen what happened to Red Skull when he tried that. The poor bastard got teleported to Vormir to spend eternity guarding the Soul Stone. Talk about a cosmic punishment that fits the crime.
Instead, I emptied my briefcase and used two metal strips to carefully lift the Tesseract and place it inside the case's padded interior. The blue glow dimmed as I closed the briefcase, but I could still feel the power radiating through the metal.
I sealed the container again, restored the side panel, and gathered my tools.
"Phase one complete," I said to myself, hefting the briefcase. "Now let's see if I can get out of here without running into any time-traveling Avengers."
I was standing in front of the elevator, waiting for it to arrive, when the doors opened with their characteristic ding. What I saw inside made my blood freeze.
Three people stood in the elevator car: a woman in period-appropriate office attire, and two men I recognized instantly from countless movie posters and action figures.
Steve Rogers—Captain America himself—and Tony Stark—though this was clearly the Tony from Avengers: Endgame, not the mustachioed playboy who wouldn't be born for another decade.
Holy shit. Time travel. They're here for the Tesseract too.
I forced myself to stay calm as I entered the elevator, positioning myself near the control panel. The woman—who I now recognized as an undercover agent, probably Natasha Romanoff using a face-changing device—was focused entirely on Steve, barely acknowledging my presence.
"Are you new here?" she asked Captain America with a practiced smile.
I turned slightly, as anyone would naturally do when overhearing a conversation, using the moment to study Steve's face. Even with the 1970s disguise, those blue eyes and that jawline were unmistakable.
Steve glanced between me and the woman before responding carefully, "Not exactly."
The elevator reached the office level and I was the first to exit, briefcase in hand. I needed to put some distance between myself and Earth's Mightiest Heroes before they realized what I'd just stolen.
I spotted a restroom sign and ducked inside, immediately entering one of the stalls. Placing my sunglasses on the floor, I used the reflection in the lenses to check if anyone had followed me.
Sure enough, Steve Rogers was positioned outside the restroom, clearly waiting for something—or someone.
Pym Particles, I realized. They're here for Hank Pym's research, not just the Tesseract. This is their 1970 time heist.
A plan began forming in my mind. A risky, audacious plan that could either make me a legend or get me erased from existence.
After a few minutes, I heard commotion in the hallway—someone running, shouted orders, the sound of pursuit. Steve must have spotted Dr. Pym and was making his move.
I put my sunglasses back on and slipped out of the restroom, following the sounds of activity. Sure enough, I found Steve Rogers in what was clearly Hank Pym's laboratory, reaching for a rack of test tubes containing the infamous Pym Particles—the key to Ant-Man's size-changing abilities.
Time to make my entrance.
"Hey soldier," I called out, adopting an authoritative tone. "What do you think you're doing?"
Steve jerked his hand back and spun around, his face a mask of barely controlled panic. When he saw it was just me—the guy from the elevator—some of the tension left his shoulders.
I tilted my head, studying him with feigned curiosity while internally marveling at being face-to-face with the First Avenger.
"I, uh..." Steve stammered, clearly trying to come up with a plausible explanation.
I decided to throw him a lifeline. "Soldier, you need to be careful. That's Dr. Pym's research—highly classified stuff. You don't want to mess around with it."
"Right, I was just... curious," Steve said, seizing on the excuse I'd provided.
I waved him off dismissively. "You've got no business being in here. Get moving before Dr. Pym comes back and finds someone tampering with his work. Trust me, you don't want to be on the receiving end of that man's anger—he's got connections all the way to the top."
As Steve Rogers—Captain America—nodded sheepishly and headed for the door, I allowed myself a moment of smug satisfaction. I'd just successfully redirected one of the greatest heroes in Marvel history while carrying the Space Stone in a briefcase under my arm.
Not bad for a day's work.
Now I just had to get out of this base, find a way to harness the Tesseract's power, and figure out how to survive the next four decades until the real fun began.
After all, in a universe where a raccoon can pilot a spaceship and a tree can say only three words while still being a compelling character, how hard could it be?
End of Chapter 1
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