The quantum vortex spat Arun out onto freezing cold metal. The impact rattled his bones, and his stomach twisted in protest—worse than any VR motion sickness he'd ever had. He barely managed to roll onto his side, chest heaving, before a dimly lit corridor swam into focus. The walls hummed with a low, rhythmic throb—some kind of advanced tech pulsing through the facility.
"Oh, great. Please be a checkpoint or something," he groaned, pushing himself up on shaky arms. Every muscle in his body protested.
"Computer, location check?" he tried, half-joking, half-hoping some sci-fi AI would chime in with a friendly welcome.
Instead, a mechanical voice blared overhead: "Unknown individual detected in Sector 7. Security protocols engaged."
Arun's stomach sank. Red warning lights flooded the corridor. Before he could even think about bolting, thick metal barriers slammed down on both ends. "Wait, hold on—I don't even know where I am! Can we just—"
"Intruder containment initiated. Deploying countermeasures."
With a soft hiss, panels along the walls slid open. Turrets. Small, sleek, and definitely armed. His brain fired into overdrive. Every gaming instinct he'd ever developed surged forward.
Analyze the pattern. Find the safe zones. Exploit the environment.
A warning shot zapped past his feet, scorching the floor. Arun lurched sideways, heart hammering. No way this was real. No way. But the next shot didn't care about his existential crisis. He barely dove behind a thick support beam in time.
Think. Think. Think.
The turrets were firing in sequence. Left to right. About half a second delay between each shot. The exact same pattern as that raid in Final Fantasy XIV. Copied Factory. He'd done this a thousand times.
"Okay," he muttered, adrenaline sharpening his focus. "New skin, same mechanics."
He took a breath. Then moved.
Dash, cover, dash. His lungs burned. His legs screamed. But he made it three pillars down—two left. He was slower than in a game, but his mind was faster. He spotted a maintenance panel near the floor, slightly loose. That had to be interactable. If this were a game, it'd be a destructible object or an emergency access point.
A stun blast grazed his shoulder. Pain exploded down his arm. No HP bar here. No respawns. This was real.
His breath came ragged, but his hands found the panel. Fingers slipped under the edge, pried it open—wires. A mess of them, but he didn't need to understand the system, just disrupt it.
Another blast barely missed his face. The turrets were adapting. Of course they were. Phase Two.
"Not today," he gritted out, grabbing a handful of cables and yanking hard.
Sparks. A high-pitched whine. The turrets stuttered. Then—
"Security systems mal-mal-malfunctioning. Emergency shutdown initiated."
The turrets retracted. The barriers lifted. Arun collapsed against the wall, chest rising and falling in uneven gasps. He did it. His first real-world achievement without a keyboard and mouse.
A voice cut through the silence. "Your response time is decent. Your technique, though, needs work."
Arun looked up and felt his brain short-circuit. A woman stood in a nearby security station, watching him through a set of monitors. Tactical suit. Auburn hair. A face he recognized instantly.
Natasha. Freaking. Romanoff.
Except... not the one from the final battle. This wasn't the hardened Black Widow he'd seen sacrifice herself. This was her from before. 2023, maybe? The time travel years.
"Quantum signature detected," she continued, eyes assessing. "You're either very lost... or exactly where you're supposed to be."
"I—" Arun struggled to find words. "I don't even know where I am. Or when."
Her expression didn't change. "Avengers Compound. 2023. Three months before we figured out time travel."
Oh. Oh.
She folded her arms. "Those defense systems were calibrated for enhanced individuals. You shouldn't have been able to evade them." A pointed glance at his very much not-enhanced body. "Your physique doesn't exactly scream 'super soldier.'"
Arun flushed, looking down at his Star Wars pajamas. "I, uh... just treated it like a game. Pattern recognition, timing, environmental exploits. Basic stuff."
For the first time, Natasha's expression flickered—was that interest?
"You saw patterns in a randomized defense grid?"
"It wasn't random. Nothing is. Even when it looks chaotic, there's a system underneath. It's just... about recognizing it before it recognizes you."
She considered him, silent for a long moment. Then, she turned toward a console. "Stay put. If you're telling the truth about the quantum displacement, we need to talk. And—" She eyed his pajamas again. "Maybe get you some real clothes."
As she walked away, Arun leaned against the wall, fingers still trembling from adrenaline. His mind wasn't racing with thoughts of his next raid or leaderboard rank. Instead, something new was taking shape.
What if all those wasted hours—every puzzle solved, every enemy AI outsmarted—had actually been preparing him for something real?
For the first time in his life, he felt like he had an answer.
And it was just getting started.
To be continued...