Chapter Text
The atmosphere on the fourth-floor geriatric unit was suffocatingly heavy, defined by an eerie, hollow quiet. The hospital was a shell of its former self, mostly barren with only a handful of long-term residents remaining after the evacuation orders had failed or simply been abandoned. Once again, I found myself stranded as the sole nurse on duty for the entire wing. Managing sixteen high-acuity elderly patients entirely by myself was never an easy task, but under the current circumstances, it bordered on the impossible.
This staffing ratio would have been considered criminally negligent, let alone illegal, under any normal regulatory framework. Yet, normal ceased to exist weeks ago, replaced by a slow-motion societal collapse that everyone could see coming. Now, I was deep into hour eleven of a grueling twelve-hour shift—and in all likelihood, my absolute last shift on this earth.
I paused outside Room 412, taking a slow, measured breath to compose my expression before pushing the door open. The room was stark, lit only by the harsh, flickering glare of a wall-mounted television in the corner.
"Good morning, Mrs. Johnson. How are we feeling today?" I asked, forcing a cheerful cadence into my voice that I didn't feel.
She looked devastatingly pale, far paler than usual, her gaze locked rigidly on the screen. The news channel was broadcasting on a loop, likely one of the very few local stations still automated enough to maintain a signal as the infrastructure crumbled.
"They say it's going to happen in the next thirty minutes," she said, her voice trembling with a quiet, devastating resignation.
I watched as the broadcast cut to a live feed of the celestial event: a colossal, flaming rock hurtling relentlessly toward our planet, captured by satellite cameras and amateur telescopes alike. The visual was inescapable, a terrifying testament to our finality.
"Steve, I'll be fine," Mrs. Johnson murmured, turning her milky, aged eyes toward me with genuine concern. "Why don't you call your loved ones? Or if you can get out of here, go home. Say goodbye."
I offered a gentle, self-deprecating smile, walking over to adjust her IV drip out of pure habit. "All the people I would call already have someone with them. But you guys... well, I think I'll do more good right here."
I didn't need to elaborate or burden her with the bleak details. I didn't need to tell her that the only people left for me to call were distant college acquaintances I hadn't spoken to in years, or a handful of distant relatives scattered across the country whose survival status was entirely unknown. My parents were gone long before the world started ending, and my apartment was miles away, empty and dark. Here, at least, my presence had a purpose.
Mrs. Johnson managed a weak, knowing smile. "Well, if we're going to be here together, why don't you pick what's on the television? The news is far too depressing anyway."
I chuckled softly, feeling a sudden surge of affection for the sharp-witted woman who had been my favorite resident for the past six months. "Well, I suppose I did save my best patient for last."
I picked up the remote control from the bedside table, quietly grateful that the hospital's high-speed internet and local servers were still functioning, feeding cached data from streaming platforms. We needed a distraction—any distraction—from the impending end of the world. I pulled up my preferred streaming service, navigating straight to my comfort movie.
Mrs. Johnson blinked in surprise as the colorful interface loaded. "Really? A superhero movie?"
"Well, I love getting lost in the worlds they create," I said, pulling up a chair and settling into the uncomfortable plastic hospital seat next to her bed. The opening scenes flickered to life on the screen, mirroring the small, sterile room we currently inhabited. "Plus, this one has an incredible soundtrack."
We watched quietly as the opening sequence played. The title flashed across the screen in bold letters right as Chris Pratt's character began dancing across an alien wasteland, the upbeat retro tune filling the quiet hospital room. I deliberately chose to ignore the way the ambient light outside the window began to shift, the blue afternoon sky rapidly darkening before blooming into a violent, unnatural orange glow.
Mrs. Johnson and I sat side by side, holding hands tightly, laughing aloud at the familiar, stupid jokes on screen. The tension in her shoulders finally melted away. But then, right as a major comedic beat landed, a blinding, actinic flash of white light pierced through the heavy window blinds.
I squeezed my eyes shut against the sudden agony of the brilliance. A fraction of a second later, a concussive shockwave hit the building—a deep, subterranean boom that rattled my teeth—and then, absolute nothingness.
The transition from non-existence to sensory input was jarring, chaotic, and loud.
The very first thing I registered was the shrill, persistent sound of crying. The second realization, arriving hot on the heels of the first, was that the crying was originating directly from my own vocal cords. The third, most terrifying realization was that my body was entirely wrong—far too small, far too weak, and completely lacking any sense of physical coordination.
Panic spiked, but it was instantly muted by the underdeveloped amygdala of an infant. I forced my eyelids open, greeted by a searing, blinding white glare from overhead hospital lights. Slowly, the glare dimmed as two massive, blurry silhouettes leaned directly over my field of vision.
"He has your eyes," a deep, masculine voice whispered in a tone of pure wonder.
A sharp, breathless laugh burst from the second figure. "That is quite literally the most stereotypical, cliché thing you could possibly fucking say."
"Well, it happens to be true!" the man protested, though he was smiling broadly. "Also, you are definitely going to have to tone down your swearing around this one here."
"Yeah, that's completely fair," the woman conceded, her voice softening. "Let me call May right now, let her know she's officially an aunt."
I felt myself get scooped up, shuffled through the air with practiced, gentle care until the man was cradling me securely against his chest. I tried to protest, to form words, but all that escaped my lips was a pathetic squeak.
"Hi, Michael. I'm your dad," the man said, his voice thick with the unmistakable, awed emotion unique to new parents. He turned slightly in the plush hospital chair. "Let's see what's on the TV."
He tilted his head toward a wall-mounted monitor in the corner of the private recovery room. My newborn vision was still a blurry mess, struggling to resolve shapes and colors, but the audio cut through the haze with crystal clarity. The news anchor's voice chimed from the speaker, casual and bright:
"Stark Industries stock soars to new heights today as Tony Stark finalizes a landmark thirteen-billion-dollar weapons deal with the Pentagon..."
Oh, you have got to be kidding me.
Shit... I've been isekai'd.