The interrogation room of the S.H.I.E.L.D. black site smelled intensely of bleach and cheap coffee.
Patrick found this deeply offensive.
He had, after all, literally died from a lethal combination of espresso and panic. Being surrounded by the smell of coffee while handcuffed to a metal table in an interrogation room was beginning to feel like a particularly cruel joke from the universe.
And judging by the one-eyed man sitting across from him, the universe wasn't finished making jokes.
"Let's try this again, kid."
Nick Fury leaned forward, his expression suggesting that throwing Patrick into the sun might be preferable to filling out another report.
"You fall out of a dimensional rift in the middle of Times Square, create a crater, and show up wearing clothes that look like they've been dragged through a blender. You have no identification, no explanation, and no idea how you got here."
Fury paused.
"Are you a Kree? A Skrull scout? Some new breed of enhanced assassin? Or should I add interdimensional terrorist to the list?"
Patrick stared at him.
He had been interrogated for what felt like hours, subjected to an assortment of scans, and forced to explain the circumstances of his arrival so many times that he was beginning to question whether he actually remembered anything correctly.
The headache pounding behind his eyes certainly wasn't helping.
"For the last time, I'm a twenty-year-old college student from New Jersey," Patrick said. "I don't know what a Kree is, I don't know what a Skrull is, and I definitely don't know why I fell out of the sky."
He shifted against the uncomfortable chair.
"And, for the record, I'd like a lawyer."
Fury's expression remained unchanged.
"You're in a classified S.H.I.E.L.D. facility."
"Fantastic. Does that mean you have classified lawyers?"
One of the agents standing behind Fury coughed.
Patrick wasn't sure whether it was an attempt to suppress laughter or a sign that his life expectancy had just decreased.
Fury slowly turned toward the agent.
"Something funny, Miller?"
"No, sir."
"Good."
Fury looked back at Patrick.
"Because I would hate to think my people are finding this amusing."
Patrick swallowed.
'Okay. Note to self: stop antagonizing the man with an eye patch who probably has access to enough weapons to erase New Jersey.'
Fury tapped a finger against the table.
"Your story is that you were in New Jersey, something happened, and you ended up here. No explanation for the rift, no knowledge of extraterrestrial civilizations, and no special abilities."
"That's correct."
"And you expect me to believe that?"
"Honestly? No. But I'm hoping you'll believe the part where I have absolutely no idea what's going on."
For several seconds, Fury simply stared at him.
Then he turned toward the technician who had entered the room a few minutes earlier.
"Tell me we found something."
The technician hesitated before presenting his tablet.
"Full blood work, tissue analysis, and DNA comparison are complete, sir. The results are clean. He's genetically human, with no detectable alien markers or unusual biological modifications."
"Any evidence of tampering?"
"None."
"Enhanced physiology?"
"No, sir. His physical measurements are consistent with an ordinary human. His elevated stress hormones and caffeine levels are the most notable findings."
Patrick raised a finger.
"In my defense, the caffeine was a preexisting condition."
Nobody laughed.
'Rough crowd.'
Fury took the tablet and examined the report himself.
For the first time since the interrogation had begun, his expression shifted slightly.
Not relief.
More like irritation at having discovered that the problem was even less straightforward than he had hoped.
"An ordinary human," Fury muttered. "Falls through a dimensional rift into the middle of Manhattan."
He looked up.
"Of course he does."
Fury handed the tablet back to the technician and stood.
"Keep him under observation. Nobody lets him leave this facility until we know how he arrived here and whether there's a way for whatever brought him to repeat the process."
He turned toward the door.
"And get me a report on the dimensional disturbance. I want to know if we detected anything before he appeared."
"Yes, sir."
The door opened.
Fury paused on the threshold and glanced back at Patrick.
"One more thing, kid."
Patrick straightened.
"Yes?"
"If you're lying to me, I'll find out."
Patrick managed a weak smile.
"That's reassuring. I was worried you'd just guess."
Fury left without answering.
The steel door shut behind him with a heavy metallic clang.
The lock engaged.
Silence settled over the room.
Patrick waited several seconds before letting his head drop onto the table.
"God, I miss my apartment."
He missed his bed.
He missed his computer.
He missed having absolutely no responsibilities beyond assignments he kept putting off until the last possible moment.
Most importantly, he missed living in a world where a man named Nick Fury couldn't decide to have him disappeared into a black site.
He lifted his head and examined the handcuffs.
'All right, Patrick. Think. You're in the Marvel universe. You're apparently human. You're being held by an organization that probably has a file on every person who's ever sneezed suspiciously.'
He tugged at the restraints.
Nothing happened.
Then—
[Ding!]
Patrick froze.
A translucent blue window appeared directly in front of his face.
He blinked.
The window remained.
He waved a hand through it.
His fingers passed through the glowing interface without resistance.
"...Oh, you've got to be kidding me."
[Achievement Unlocked: Wrong Place, Wrong Time]
[Requirement: Travel to another universe and survive the initial impact.]
[Reward Claimed: Unstable Terraria World.]
[Type: Pocket Dimension.]
[Status: Highly Volatile.]
Patrick stared at the notification.
Then he read it again.
Then a third time.
"Terraria?"
The name struck him with such force that, for a moment, he forgot about the handcuffs.
He knew Terraria.
He knew the trees, the slimes, the ores, the bosses, and the general progression of the game.
He also knew that the game involved digging holes, building houses, and occasionally being murdered by something that looked like a floating eyeball.
But there was a rather significant difference between playing Terraria on a computer and being handed an actual pocket dimension.
The interface flickered.
A second window expanded beneath the first.
[Terraria Pocket Dimension Mechanics & Restrictions]
[Time Dilation: While the Host is inside the dimension, 1 hour in the Reality Anchor equals 60 hours inside Terraria.]
[Daily Entry Limit: The Host may spend a maximum of 1 hour of real-world time inside Terraria per calendar day.]
[External Time Flow: While the Host is outside Terraria, time continues to pass inside the dimension at a 1:1 ratio with the Reality Anchor.]
Patrick's mouth slowly fell open.
Sixty hours.
He could potentially spend two and a half days inside Terraria while only an hour passed in the real world.
That was absurd.
It was also potentially the greatest advantage anyone had ever received.
Until he read the next entry.
[Multiplayer & Pull Effect: While entering Terraria, there is a baseline chance for the world to dynamically pull another individual into the dimension. The Host may also manually invite eligible targets.]
Patrick frowned.
Another person?
So this wasn't necessarily a single-player world.
That could be useful.
It could also be a complete disaster, depending on who got dragged in.
He continued reading.
[Physical Tether: Upon entering Terraria, an individual's physical body in the Reality Anchor enters a sleep-like state. The individual retains faint awareness of their surroundings and may exit the dimension voluntarily.]
Patrick glanced toward the door.
So his body would remain here, asleep, while he explored Terraria.
That raised several questions, but the next notification answered one of the most important.
[Casualty Rule: Any individual who dies inside Terraria will be forcibly ejected into the Reality Anchor and locked out of the dimension until the next calendar day.]
Patrick went very still.
He remembered dying in video games.
He remembered falling into pits, getting overwhelmed by enemies, and occasionally making decisions that could only be described as aggressively stupid.
But those had been games.
Now death came with consequences.
He swallowed and continued.
[Inventory Authority: Only the Host possesses the privilege to transfer items between Terraria and the Reality Anchor.]
That sounded useful.
Potentially extremely useful.
He could gather resources in Terraria and bring them back into the Marvel universe.
Wood. Stone. Ore.
Weapons, armor, and whatever else he managed to obtain.
The possibilities began to multiply in his mind.
Then he reached the final entry.
[World Claim & Breach Risk: CRITICAL.]
[The dimension is currently Unclaimed.]
[The Host must actively progress and conquer the world to secure ownership.]
[Warning: If progress stagnates for too long, native entities and bosses will begin breaching the dimensional barrier and entering the Reality Anchor.]
Patrick stopped breathing for a moment.
He read the last line again.
And again.
"...What?"
His voice came out barely above a whisper.
'Conquer the world?'
He looked toward the ceiling as if someone might be watching him.
'You gave me a pocket dimension full of monsters and made it my responsibility to conquer it?'
His heart began to pound.
'And if I don't progress fast enough, the monsters start escaping into the Marvel universe?'
He imagined a slime bouncing through Manhattan.
That was manageable.
Then he imagined a horde of zombies.
Then an enormous boss tearing its way into New York while the Avengers tried to figure out why a giant flying eye had appeared over the city.
'Oh, I'm so screwed.'
A new notification slid into view.
[New Quest Generated: Social Butterfly of the Multiverse.]
[Objective: Interact with at least 10 known characters from the Marvel Universe.]
[Progress: 0/10.]
[Failure Penalty: Random debuff.]
Patrick stared at the final line.
The color drained from his face.
"No."
The notification remained.
"No, no, no."
He leaned forward, his handcuffed wrists scraping against the metal table.
"You cannot do that to me."
The system offered no response.
Patrick looked at the locked door.
He had been in the Marvel universe for less than a day.
He had already encountered Nick Fury, been interrogated by S.H.I.E.L.D., discovered that he possessed an unstable pocket dimension, and learned that he might accidentally doom an entire planet if he failed to make enough progress.
And now he had to interact with ten Marvel characters.
Ten.
Not ten random people.
Ten known characters from the Marvel universe.
'Does the system count Fury?'
[Quest Progress: 1/10.]
'Apparently yes'
Patrick pressed his forehead against the table.
'I'm going to die here.'
Then he lifted his head.
'Actually, no. Dying would be bad. Dying is the opposite of what I want. Especially if I end up respawning in a place full of monsters.'
He glanced toward the cot in the adjoining cell area.
If he was going to understand his new abilities, he needed to test them.
And he needed to do it before S.H.I.E.L.D. decided to move him somewhere even more secure.
Patrick took a deep breath.
He closed his eyes and concentrated on the interface.
A mental prompt appeared, offering him the option to initiate his daily entry into Terraria.
He selected it.
The transition was immediate.
The world seemed to twist sideways.
A wave of vertigo swept through him, followed by the nauseating sensation of being pulled through a space far too small for his existence.
Patrick clenched his teeth.
For one horrible instant, he felt as though his entire being were being stretched across an infinite distance.
Then—
Pop.
The sensation vanished.
The sterile walls of the black site disappeared.
Patrick stumbled forward, his shoes sinking slightly into soft, dew-covered grass.
He caught himself before falling flat on his face.
For several seconds, he could do nothing but stare.
A brilliant blue sky stretched overhead, almost impossibly clear. Towering green trees surrounded a vast expanse of grassland, their leaves shifting gently in the breeze.
The sunlight felt warm against his skin.
The air smelled fresh.
Somewhere in the distance, a bird chirped.
Patrick slowly turned in a circle.
No concrete walls.
No restraints.
No interrogation room.
Just an enormous, vibrant world that looked as though it had been pulled directly from the game he remembered.
Except it wasn't a game anymore.
He could feel the grass beneath his shoes.
He could smell the trees.
He could feel the wind brushing against his face.
He was here.
Actually here.
"Holy shit."
A grin spread across his face before he could stop it.
"It actually works."
For the first time since arriving in the Marvel universe, Patrick felt something approaching genuine excitement.
He had a pocket dimension.
He had access to Terraria.
And if the rules were even remotely similar to the game, he might be able to acquire resources, craft equipment, and grow stronger.
Maybe this wasn't a death sentence after all.
Maybe—
Patrick turned to his left.
And froze.
Standing approximately two feet away from him was a familiar man wearing a black trench coat and an eye patch.
The man looked just as stunned as Patrick felt.
Nick Fury stared at the impossibly blue sky.
Then at the trees.
Then at the grass beneath his shoes.
Finally, his gaze settled on Patrick.
Patrick stared back.
Neither spoke.
Three seconds passed.
Four.
Fury's expression slowly darkened.
Patrick felt his soul attempt to leave his body a second time.
They opened their mouths simultaneously.
"Motherfucker."