I woke up in a dimly lit apartment, the faint smell of mildew and dust heavy in the air. The walls were cracked, the paint peeling in patches, and the single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling flickered intermittently. The place looked rundown, barely holding itself together.
As I tried to sit up, a sharp pang hit my head, and suddenly, memories—not mine, but his—flooded into my mind.
In this world, my name was Zane Nightshade. I was 22 years old, with no family or friends to speak of. My parents had passed away years ago, leaving me with a small inheritance that I'd been living off. But now, even that was almost gone.
The memories painted a picture of a lonely, struggling existence. Late nights trying to stretch out the dwindling funds, quiet meals eaten alone, and an overwhelming sense of emptiness. Yet, despite all that, there was a flicker of determination in Zane's—my—soul. He hadn't given up, not completely.
I ran a hand through my hair and sighed. "So, this is my new life."
I glanced around the apartment, taking stock. A small kitchenette with a rusted sink, a stained mattress on the floor that served as a bed, and a rickety desk piled with papers. A single window overlooked the bustling streets of a city that looked suspiciously like New York, though it was hard to tell exactly where I was just yet.
"Jestara wasn't kidding about starting from scratch," I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck.
I closed my eyes and focused, feeling for the powers I'd been granted. They were there, humming just beneath the surface like a storm waiting to be unleashed. The shadows in the room seemed to shift and move, as if responding to my thoughts.
"Alright," I said to myself. "If I'm going to make it in this world, I can't waste time moping around. First things first—I need to figure out exactly where I am and what's happening in this version of the MCU."
I stood up, the creak of the floorboards beneath me snapping me out of my thoughts. I wasn't just Zane Nightshade anymore. I was someone with the power to change things, to carve a new path in this dangerous world.
And it all started here.
As I scanned the room, movement caught my eye—a small mouse scurrying along the baseboard. It was fast, but not fast enough. I summoned one of my swords, its familiar weight and shape materializing in my hand.
With a swift motion, I struck, the blade slicing cleanly through the air. The mouse's squeak was cut short as its body fell still.
I approached the tiny corpse, my heart pounding with anticipation. The moment of truth was here.
"Arise," I commanded, my voice steady.
The shadows around me flickered and surged forward, wrapping around the mouse's lifeless form. For a moment, the air felt charged with energy, and then the body shifted. Its physical form dissolved into a dark, ethereal shape, its glowing violet eyes snapping open.
The shadow-mouse turned to me, awaiting my command.
I smirked, the satisfaction of success coursing through me. "Good. Now, go find another mouse and bring it here."
The creature scurried off into the shadows, its movements impossibly quick and silent.
Minutes later, it returned, dragging another mouse by the scruff of its neck. This one squirmed and struggled, but I didn't hesitate.
I summoned my blade again, dispatching it in a single strike. Then, as before, I extended my hand.
"Arise," I said firmly.
The process repeated, and soon, I had two shadow-mice standing before me, their glowing eyes fixed on me, awaiting my orders. I could feel them in my mind, faint but distinct presences—loyal, obedient, and ready to act.
I crouched down, examining the two creatures. "You're not much," I muttered, "but this is just the beginning."
Their transformation had solidified something in me: my powers were real, and they worked. With time, practice, and the right opportunities, I could build something far greater.
"Alright," I said, standing up. "Let's see just how far we can take this."
I repeated the process, each time focusing on precision and control. The motions became automatic—summoning my blade, striking the target, and commanding, "Arise." With each success, my connection to the shadows grew stronger. By the end, I stood surrounded by 20 shadow-mice, their glowing violet eyes reflecting the faint light in the room.
The sensation was strange but exhilarating. I could feel them in my mind like whispers, ready to act on my every command. They weren't much now, just small creatures of darkness, but they represented something much greater—potential.
"Alright," I said, pacing the room as they watched me silently. "Let's put you to work."
I turned to 10 of them and pointed toward the door. "Spread out. Search the city. Find gang hideouts, shady businesses, or anything that can give us resources. Report back in an hour."
The 10 shadow-mice nodded—or at least I thought they did—and scurried off, vanishing into the shadows like smoke.
The remaining 10 stayed behind, their glowing eyes following me as I sat down at my laptop. It wasn't much—just an old, beat-up device I'd managed to keep running. I needed to figure out exactly where and when I was in this version of the Marvel Universe.
I leaned back in my chair, processing everything I'd just learned. The timeline was becoming clearer. Spider-Man had been active for a while, Tony Stark was already Iron Man, and next up was Bruce Banner's infamous battle with the Abomination in Harlem. That fight would leave a trail of destruction, and people would need help. Maybe I could use that opportunity to make a difference—and, if I played my cards right, perhaps even add the Abomination to my ranks.
Hell's Kitchen. Of all the places in New York, I had to end up in the crime capital. The shadow-mice had done their job well, bringing back bits and pieces of intel that painted a clear picture: gangs controlled the streets, and no one was safe after dark.