"Traveler, you have arrived at the world 'Designation: Marvel Cinematic Universe - 199999'."
"Estimated stay duration: 30 Terran days."
"Source Power: 0."
"Current world Exploration Progress: 5%."
"Blessing: Born to Die."
When Emrys finally opened his eyes, he found himself staring at the desolate expanse of the New Mexico Gobi. He pinched the bridge of his nose, a sigh escaping his lips.
Though he had expected the Traveler to drop him in the middle of nowhere, this was a familiar kind of godforsaken. It reminded him of his very first arrival in this universe. It seemed that wherever he went in the Marvel reality, sand and tumbleweeds followed.
"Soundwave, scan the surrounding terrain. Localize signs of civilization," Emrys commanded.
He didn't need to walk blindly this time. He retrieved the Soundwave warrior—in his compact, portable form—from his private dimension. The mechanical spy quickly processed local radio waves and satellite pings, pointing a metallic finger toward the horizon.
After a twenty-kilometer trek through the heat, the outline of a small town emerged from the dust. It was a cluster of buildings clinging to life in the desert: Puente Antiguo. It was a modest place, but it possessed the essentials—convenience stores, a few diners, and a motel.
Emrys shed his void-suit for a set of rugged adventurer's clothes, adjusting his collar as he stepped onto the main street. He needed intelligence. While he could have tasked Soundwave with hacking the S.H.I.E.L.D. orbital grid, he knew the agency was currently infested with Hydra. Causing a digital ripple would bring the wrong kind of attention before he had even found his bearings.
He pushed open the door of a quiet diner, the bell above the entrance chiming with a crisp ring that startled a drowsy waiter at the counter. Emrys chose a window seat and signaled the man.
"An iced Americano, please. Black."
When the drink arrived, Emrys didn't reach for a wallet. He placed a solid gold coin on the waiter's tray. The waiter's eyes widened as he scrutinized the customer. Despite the dust on his boots, Emrys carried the effortless, noble poise of a man born to rule—a grace that commanded instinctive respect.
The waiter bit the coin, his eyes lighting up at the clear mark his teeth left in the soft, pure metal. "One moment, sir," he stammered, his suspicion replaced by an eager, toothy grin.
"Wait," Emrys called out as the man turned. "I have a few questions. I'd appreciate the help."
He flicked a second gold coin into the air. It spun with a metallic hum before landing perfectly on the tray.
"My name is Shaw, sir!" the waiter said, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. "I know everything that happens in this town. What can I tell you?"
"Tell me the date and our exact location," Emrys said.
"It's May 2011, sir. And you're in Puente Antiguo, New Mexico."
New Mexico. The fragments of memory coalesced in Emrys' mind. If he recalled correctly, this was the moment the God of Thunder was due to fall from the heavens. The Traveler's habit of placing him near "plot nodes" remained consistent.
"Has anything unusual happened lately?" Emrys asked. "Anything falling from the sky?"
"A meteorite? No, not yet," Shaw replied. "But the sky's been acting strange at night. Lots of lightning without any clouds."
"And strangers?"
"There's a group that moved in a few weeks ago," Shaw said, leaning in. "Astrophysicists, they call themselves. One older guy and two girls. They've got a van full of weird equipment. I think the lead guy's name is Erik."
Emrys nodded, satisfied. Erik Selvig, Jane Foster, and Darcy Lewis. He was exactly where he needed to be. "Take me to where they're staying. There's another coin in it for you."
Shaw didn't hesitate. He led Emrys to a large, rented residence on the edge of town. Through the large windows, he could see three figures frantically packing gear into a silver van.
As they approached the courtyard, a woman in a plaid shirt and sunglasses stepped out, looking wary. Her blonde hair was pulled back, and she looked like she hadn't slept in days.
"Can I help you?" she asked, glancing from Shaw to the well-dressed stranger. "We're a bit busy here."
"Ms. Jane Foster, I presume?" Emrys said, stepping forward. He produced a gold-embossed business card from his jacket pocket. "My name is Emrys. I'm a Rogue Trader—a private investor and merchant."
Jane took the card, her brow furrowing. "Rogue Trader? What is that, like a fancy way of saying you sell antique rugs?"
"It means I have a great deal of capital and a keen interest in atmospheric anomalies," Emrys replied with a charming smile. "I've followed your work on magnetic storm phenomena. I'd like to join your research team as a private benefactor."
Jane laughed, a dry, tired sound. "We're about to lose our funding, Mr. Emrys. We don't need 'interest.' We need a miracle."
"I am willing to provide an initial investment of one hundred million U.S. dollars to sustain your project, Ms. Foster. Effective immediately."
Jane froze. The girl behind her—Darcy—dropped the box she was carrying with a loud crash. Selvig stepped out of the house, his jaw hanging open.
"One... one hundred million?" Jane whispered.
Emrys watched her reaction with an internal smirk. Tony Stark had been right about one thing: throwing money at a problem wasn't just effective—it felt incredible. He had become the very thing he once envied, and in this universe, it was the fastest way to buy a front-row seat to the end of the world.