The evening shift was over. I'd just finished drying the last plates at the greasy diner, stacking them neatly to the side, my hands still reeking of cheap dish soap. My clothes were heavy with the stench of oil, sweat, and food—a predictable outcome of shuttling between waiting tables and washing dishes. The humid Istanbul air filled my lungs as I trudged through narrow streets toward my tiny apartment, exhausted. The flickering streetlights cast shaky glows on the asphalt, and the occasional rumble of passing cars echoed in my ears. I'm 25, but I feel 50. After losing my mom and dad, life's been choking me so tight that even breathing feels like a luxury sometimes. High school? Dropped out halfway. Chasing rent left no time or energy for studying. Orphaned, alone, maybe tall and handsome—or so people used to say—but what good is that? When I look in the mirror, I don't even ask, "How you doing, Ali?" anymore. The answer's always the same: Lousy.
When I got home, I locked the door and collapsed onto the couch. A deep silence enveloped the place, broken only by the faint hum of Istanbul's never-ending noise seeping in from outside. My mind, though, was the opposite—thoughts crashing into each other, refusing to shut up. "How long's it gonna be like this, Ali?" I muttered to myself, my voice fading into the empty room. "How long's this monotony, this suffocation gonna last? Every day's the same damn thing: wake up, go to work, wait tables, wash dishes, come home, sleep. Rinse, repeat. Is this a life?" A small voice inside me whispered, "It'll change one day," but I didn't have the strength to believe it. I closed my eyes, and exhaustion slowly pulled me under. Sleep was my only refuge right then. I had no idea what was waiting for me when I woke up. Who could've?
When I opened my eyes, something felt off. Was it the bed? The air? Instead of Istanbul's familiar mix of exhaust and garbage, my nose caught something else: a blend of old furniture, dust, and a hint of mildew. I lifted my head and looked around. This wasn't my place. I was in a small, dim apartment—walls painted a faded yellow, floors covered in scratched-up parquet. Gray light streamed through the window, revealing brick buildings and a narrow street outside. "Where the hell am I?" I said out loud. My own voice sounded strange to me for a second.
I got up and started poking around. The furniture was old but lived-in, like someone had called this place home for years. There was a tiny kitchen corner—a rusty kettle on the counter, a few dirty plates in the sink. The bed was a single, with a crumpled blanket tossed over it. In the middle of the living room, an old, beat-up TV was on, the screen flickering slightly at the edges. I got closer; the volume was low, but the subtitles caught my eye. I squinted to read them: "Famous Billionaire and Playboy Tony Stark Announces Closure of Stark Industries' Weapons Division." For a moment, I thought I'd misread it. I leaned in closer, and an image flashed on the screen. A guy in a sharp suit, goatee, middle-aged, oozing charisma. His face was so familiar my brain froze for a second. He looked almost exactly like Robert Downey Jr., but the name below him read: Tony Stark.
My hands started shaking. "Holy sh—" I muttered, my voice trembling. "Tony Stark? Isn't that… the guy from the Iron Man movies?" My head was spinning. I stared at the screen as the news anchor kept talking: "Tony Stark, after escaping a three-month captivity in an Afghan cave, shocked the world today at a press conference in Malibu, announcing that Stark Industries will cease weapons production. Stark stated, 'I realized I can't make the world safer with weapons.'" The words buzzed in my ears, but my brain was stuck on one thing: Tony Stark. Iron Man. The Marvel Cinematic Universe. "Then this place…" I said, my voice trailing off. "America… the MCU?"
I pinched myself. It hurt. No, this wasn't a dream. Panic set in as I glanced around, trying to figure out where I was. I rushed to the window and looked out. A narrow street stretched below, lined with red-brick apartments, old-school cars parked along the curb, and skyscrapers looming in the distance. This wasn't Istanbul, that much was certain. It felt like New York, but not the New York I knew—it was too real, too… 2008. People walked down the street: a guy hurrying with a coffee cup, a woman walking her dog. A siren wailed faintly in the distance. It reminded me of Queens, the place where Peter Parker grew up in the MCU.
I turned back to the TV. Tony Stark was still on, speaking at the press conference. "I saw a flaw in the system, and it's my responsibility to fix it," he said. Happy Hogan stood beside him, scanning the crowd with a serious look. Obadiah Stane's silhouette lingered faintly in the background. My mind flashed to the early scenes of Iron Man. This was 2008. The moment Tony came back from Afghanistan and turned everything upside down. May 2008, to be exact. "No way," I muttered to myself. "Did I… did I just end up in the MCU?" My heart was pounding like crazy. Fear, shock, excitement—it all exploded inside me at once. I grabbed my head, tugging at my hair. "Ali, calm down, calm down," I told myself. But how the hell was I supposed to stay calm? Last night, I'd fallen asleep in Istanbul. Now, I was standing in Tony Stark's world!
I sank onto the couch, took a deep breath, and buried my face in my hands. "Okay, think," I said. "Is this a prank? Is someone screwing with me? Or am I actually…" I couldn't finish the sentence. I looked around again—everything was so real, the idea of it being a prank was fading fast. The TV had switched to an ad—an old Stark Industries commercial from their weapons days. "If this is the MCU," I said slowly, "then Spider-Man's out there, Captain America's out there, Hulk's out there… wait a second, does that mean Thanos is too?" A wave of dread hit me. The Infinity Stones, half the universe getting wiped out… "No, no, not yet," I said, trying to calm myself. "This is 2008. Iron Man 1 days. Thanos is a decade away. I've got until 2018… I think." From what I remembered skimming, Thanos didn't make his big move until Avengers: Infinity War. But there was still plenty of insanity to deal with before then: Loki, Ultron, Hydra… "Ali, what the hell are you doing here?" I groaned.
I stood up and started pacing the small apartment. Every corner told a story. A dusty calendar on the wall read May 2008. A newspaper on the counter had a headline: "Tony Stark Missing," but it was crossed out—an old edition, probably. "Why am I here?" I said out loud. "What's my deal in the MCU? Did someone zap me here, or…" A million questions swirled in my head, but not a single answer. Then I heard a noise outside the door—footsteps, followed by the jingle of keys. My heart leapt into my throat. "Who's that?" I whispered. The door creaked open slowly, and I froze. My hands went cold. Whoever was coming in could be the real owner of this place. Or worse, someone in this insane universe looking for me. I had no idea what to do or say. All I knew was that my life had changed overnight. And this was just the beginning.