The Smuggling rules populated in full.
SMUGGLING PROTOCOL — ACTIVE
Note 1: Due to entry via Smuggling into a universe that has experienced multiple spacetime distortion events, this transit will be completed via projected avatar. Your physical body remains in the origin world.
Note 2: Extraordinary abilities and items you currently possess must be purchased separately for avatar use. Standard skill-type abilities transfer without cost.
Note 3: The system will bypass the forced analysis and breakthrough process for this world. Certain system functions will be unavailable for an extended period as a result. In compensation, your asset point acquisition rate in this world will be multiplied by ten.
Note 4: After completing sufficient missions and establishing a sufficient survival record in this world, you will be formally recognised as part of its timeline. At that point, physical transit becomes available and avatar/inventory integration is possible.
Jude read through all four points twice, then stared at the ceiling for a moment.
"To be entirely honest," he said, "the process of illegally crossing into a foreign world, taking on false employment, and working toward eventual citizenship has a certain familiar quality."
[This is standard procedure. Please do not draw comparisons.]
"Right." He thought for a moment. "Can I still access the shop once I'm there?"
[Yes. Items purchased there cannot be brought back to the origin world until timeline recognition is achieved.]
"Asset points transfer back?"
[Yes.]
"That's workable." He opened his panel and reviewed his situation. Most of his current capabilities were skill-type — they'd transfer freely. He had roughly $110,000 in remaining assets. The tenfold acquisition multiplier meant this world would effectively pay out at ten times the normal rate for any work completed. Bonus level, he thought. Farm resources, find the Drakes, come home.
"Alright," he said. "Let's go."
He found a secluded section of pavement, away from foot traffic and any visible surveillance, and activated the skill.
You said you'd never do abstract art again.
"I'm a confirmed liar," Jude said, and lost consciousness.
"Hey — buddy? You alright?"
The voice arrived before he'd fully registered that he had ears. Jude opened his eyes.
Above him: sky. Bright, actual sunlight, the specific quality of midday in a city that had more of it than Gotham. He was lying on a pavement. A young man in a leather jacket was standing over him with an expression that had cycled through concerned and was working toward impatient.
"What are you doing lying in the road?"
Jude sat up. Brushed dust off his clothes. Took stock.
Bustling street. Traffic. The atmospheric texture of a functional, relatively cheerful city. In the middle distance — partially obscured by buildings but unmistakeable once you knew what to look for — the circular profile of the particle accelerator. Different colours than the one he'd just been standing in front of, different condition, but the same fundamental shape.
Central City, he thought. Different universe. Drake ended up here, from there, which means—
He processed this.
Is that reasonable?
It was, actually. Cosmically inconvenient, but internally consistent.
"I'm sorry." He gave the young man an apologetic smile. "Low blood sugar. I get dizzy when I've been walking too long." He reached into his pocket for a piece of candy.
Nothing.
Right. Corner of Abundance is a supernatural item. Not on the avatar by default.
He made a mental note: acquire emergency supplies before attempting anything that might require keeping someone alive.
"Just don't lie down in traffic," the young man said, with the tone of someone who had decided this wasn't his problem, and left.
Jude watched him go. He'd caught the brief, evaluative glance at his pockets as the man turned — the slight flicker of calculation at finding a prone stranger in a deserted stretch of road, no cameras visible, wallet presumably accessible. Not acted on. But noted.
Central City, he thought, is not a utopia. Just a reasonably functional city with a good superhero.
He found a coffee shop, connected to the wifi, and checked the date and time in this world.
"I'll need an identity," he said.
[World has not been analysed. Local identity purchase unavailable. Available options: forged identity documents, certificates, phone numbers, database accounts. Identity can be reinforced by accessing government records and the Central City PD database.]
Every single option on that list is a crime.
[Standard procedure for Smuggling entry. Please proceed without reservations.]
He bought the forged documents, noted that he was currently cash-free, and took out his bicycle.
He'd have preferred the wheelchair — the combination of apparent vulnerability and actual speed had served him well in Gotham, and he'd grown attached to the aesthetic. But the wheelchair was too recognisable, too specifically Gotham, and this world hadn't established any context for it. The bicycle was fine.
Without his intermediate physical enhancement — a purchased upgrade that hadn't transferred, since he'd chosen not to buy it for the avatar — his cycling speed had dropped considerably. Something in the range of 80 km/h rather than the higher end he was used to. Still fast enough to feel like a bad decision to anyone watching.
The gold shop transaction was smooth. The forged documents were system-produced and indistinguishable at every point of inspection the owner ran. Jude converted a portion of his gold, packed the cash into a bag, and stepped back onto the street.
He pulled up the map on his phone. Bank, one block north.
Convenient.
He got on the bicycle and rode toward it.
The bank's interior had the specific quality of a mid-afternoon lull — a few customers, a couple of staff at the counter, the quiet institutional hum of money being processed in an orderly fashion.
Jude walked in.
"Everyone stay still! Hands up! No phone calls! Move!"
He stopped.
Two men. Guns. One had a customer by the arm near the door; the other was at the counter, directing a teller with aggressive specificity. They were working quickly, which suggested they'd done this before and had a timeline.
Jude looked at the scene with the expression of a man who has recently survived a week of supernatural parasite consumption and is finding armed robbery a somewhat anticlimactic way to spend his first afternoon in a new universe.
The one by the counter looked at him.
"You!" He pointed the gun. "Get over here and help load the money! Now!"
Jude pointed at his own face.
"Me?"
"Move it!"
He walked to the counter.
He stood next to the teller and mechanically began placing banknotes into the bag, in the cooperative spirit of someone who has decided that this was simply the texture of the afternoon.
In Gotham, he thought, with some detachment, a two-person bank robbery would end with the bank manager pulling out a shotgun from under the counter. This kind of thing doesn't happen in Gotham because the baseline threat of consequences is significantly higher. Central City is clearly operating on different assumptions.
The Flash's city. Safe, conscientious, generally positive. Criminals here apparently still felt comfortable walking into banks in the middle of the day.
Interesting, Jude thought, continuing to transfer banknotes. The safest city in the country and I walked into a robbery within twenty minutes of arrival.
He filed this under the growing ledger of things that were technically coincidences.
Technically.
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