[Location: Queens – Corner of 38th Avenue | Time: 2:42 P.M.]
A taco cart sat quietly on the corner, once a busy spot, now slowed to a crawl. After the Snap, appetite wasn't the same. Neither was business. Carlos, the vendor, leaned on the counter, staring at nothing.
"Thirty tacos to go, please."
The voice cut clean through his thoughts.
Carlos looked up.
The man standing in front of him looked like he belonged in a painting, not on the street. Well-dressed, light golden hair, strong posture. Skin like marble left in moonlight. Face too perfect to feel real — high cheekbones, narrow jaw, eyes that didn't blink more than they had to.
Still, it was the face that made Carlos stop.
He'd seen it before.
Somewhere that mattered.
"Thirty tacos?" Carlos asked, trying to keep it light. "You serious?"
The man pulled a black badge from his coat. "Make it forty. The tab's handled by the Federal Supervision Wing."
Carlos barely heard the words.
His eyes were locked on the man's face.
That jawline. That silence. That stillness like a loaded spring.
Behind him, someone dropped their drink.
"…Hey. That's him."
"…Oracle?"
A woman holding a shopping bag took a half step back. Then forward.
"That's him. He was in the front lines. He stopped the Titan's charge—"
A boy at the back of the line was already pulling up footage.
On screen: blurry video. Fire in the background. Oracle — this Oracle — dragging Thanos through rubble. Four tendrils out. Glowing.
Headlines flickered underneath:
"AVENGER-CLASS MUTANT: ORACLE — S.H.I.E.L.D.'s LAST WEAPON"
"CONFIRMED: Oracle Annihilated Half of Thanos' Vanguard Using Hollow Purple"
"Soul Stone Counterstrike Leaves Oracle Comatose — Strange saves, Fury Takes Custody"
"Unofficial Sources: Federal Supervision Took Over Asset—But Who's Really in Control?"
Carlos didn't speak.
He just packed the tacos quickly. Neatly. With focus.
Then added two extra.
He placed the heavy bag down gently.
"No charge," Carlos said.
Tristin didn't move.
Carlos looked at him straight.
"You don't pay here," he said. "Not you."
Tristin didn't say anything.
He just nodded once.
Took the bag.
And walked.
[a while later]
[Location: Queens Municipal Library | Time: 3:17 P.M.]
Tristin stepped onto the front steps of the library carrying a large paper bag packed with foil-wrapped tacos and two bottles of Coke wedged between them. The entrance doors were propped open with bricks, old flyers fluttering in the wind.
He was halfway through the doorway when a voice cut in from the front desk.
"Excuse me! No food in the building."
A woman in a cardigan and lanyard stood behind the check-in desk, one hand raised, already eyeing the taco bag like it was radioactive.
Tristin didn't break stride. He pulled a badge from his coat pocket and held it out.
"Federal Supervision Wing. I'm on official business."
She hesitated, blinked, looked at the badge, then back at the bag.
He didn't wait for permission. Just nodded once and walked past.
Turns out power hits different when it comes with a paycheck
Walking and sitting at the desk, Tristin started drawing his plan.
First—the Snap happened.
Where was this world's Tristin? What was his role? He had no idea. And that's why he was here. Also to draw a bigger plan.
Since the Snap, the Avengers had gone silent. But he knew better. He knew they'd try something. Try to get the Power Stones.
And you know what?He wanted them to.
Because if they were chasing the Stones,if they were rewriting time—then so could he.
Because then the rules were off.
And if the rules were off?
Everything was possible again.
Everything could be fixed.
Everything could finally be perfect.
And who knows the future better than Oracle?
Sadly—he couldn't do anything right now.
The Power Stone wasn't on Earth. It was on Morag. And he didn't have the means for interstellar travel.
He couldn't get the Soul Stone. That was locked behind death.
The Reality Stone? Asgard.
That left only the Mind Stone and the Space Stone.
He couldn't get the Space Stone either.
And that leaves the Time Stone.
And he couldn't get that either.
"Back to point zero. Again"
The only possibility—the only possibility—is ambushing the Avengers after they return.
Which means Thor.
The Hulk.
Well. Smart Hulk.
Also Stark. Rogers. Lang. Maybe Romanoff.
Depending on the mission split, he'd have to be ready for any of them.
But realistically? Smart Hulk was the priority.
He was the one going for the Time Stone.
And that meant Sanctum return point. New York. Midtown.
Tristin stood up.
He didn't have a suit.
Didn't need one.
[SYSTEM INTERFACE – SUBJECT: ORACLE]
• Template Fusion: 97%• Energy Reserve: 243,000• Active Abilities: – Energy Absorption [MAX] – Six Eyes – Limitless Technique – Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue – Cursed Technique Reversal: Red – Hollow Purple
Tristin stared at the stats. Long.
A flicker of something moved through him. Not fear.
Not pride.
Wrath.
Jealousy.
This version had everything. Power. Access. S.H.I.E.L.D. support. He didn't have to fight for it. It was just handed to him. Plugged in. Green-lit. Approved.
He probably lived in a clean facility. Had backup. Ate hot meals. Charged off real reactors instead of broken streetlights.
Tristin had dragged himself through scrap yards. Siphoned power off exposed cables. Slept beside rusted turbines, ribs showing, skin burned raw from overloads.
This version had numbers. He'd had to survive.
"So why did I still lose?"
He closed the screen.
Didn't matter.
The stats were his now.
He just had to wait for the right avenger to come back carrying what he wanted.