You jolt awake to the sound of car horns and distant sirens. Your apartment is small — a one-bedroom in Hell's Kitchen, fourth floor, radiator that clanks at 3 AM. Everything feels... wrong. The light outside your window is too bright, too golden, like the whole city is waking up from a fever dream.
Your phone buzzes. Then again. Then won't stop. Notifications pile up: "Half the world's population has returned after disappearing five years ago.""Tony Stark confirmed dead after defeating Thanos.""Avengers compound destroyed — casualties unknown."
You sit on the edge of your bed, head spinning. Five years. You didn't disappear — you lived through the Blip, watched the world hollow out. And now everyone's back, just like that.
Then you notice it.
On your dresser, next to your keys and a half-empty coffee mug, something is glowing. A stone, roughly the size of a golf ball, pulses with a deep, violet light that casts strange shadows across your wall. You don't remember putting it there. You don't remember it being there last night.
But somehow... you know it's been waiting for you.
What do you do?
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