You wake up on a cracked Midtown sidewalk in a world that shouldn't exist: the Marvel universe. Sirens are closing in, agents are already eyeing you, and a scorched symbol just faded into the pavement where you landed. You have no powers, no suit, and no plan. Your only move is to run.
Sirens and birdsong fight over your head. You're flat on your back on cracked concrete, and a crowd is already gathering at a nervous distance, phones up.
"Did you see them fall out of the sky?"
Something red and gold streaks between the buildings overhead, and the sonic boom rattles your teeth. Two police cars skid to a stop at the edge of the crowd. Agents pour out, too sharp, too fast. One of them touches an earpiece and looks straight at you.
You scramble up. Under your foot, a symbol is scorched into the concrete, humming faintly. It fades as you watch. The agent's hand moves toward their holster.
You run. Down an alley that smells like rain and garbage, lungs burning, no suit, no shield, no plan. Behind you, boots hit the pavement in step.
The alley splits. Left leads toward the noise and lights of the avenue. Right is a dead-end service door, propped open with a brick. Above you, a fire escape ladder hangs just out of reach.