Hannah watched his life form shift and move as he stood there. She knew he was handcuffed by the way he was standing. But what made her pause suddenly was the fact that his life form was the same as her own. Of course she didn’t know the color was red but she knew it was the same which meant that he was....“You’re a mutant.” She suddenly said reaching out, tugging off her glove as she did and placing it atop the handcuff. In a matter of seconds the handcuff had rusted away before disappearing altogether, freeing the man. Hannah quickly pulled her glove back on. “You are just like me.” Happiness and relief colored her tone as she watched his life form.

So what in the hell is this place supposed to be?

You hadn't done anything to get here. You were flying, riding the high of your stolen riches with a companion -- and then you found yourself on the ground, alone, with none of it. If it were a prison, at least, you would understand, but it feels more like a big old cosmic joke. None of the residents here resemble you, none of them know what this is, and none of them know how to leave. ...Which makes it all the more surprising when you finally spot a familiar shape. It's not Henry -- you realize, disappointingly -- but familiar all the same and still a grand relief when you finally catch up to him. "Hey, you! Yes, you, hold up --"

-- somehow, despite your athleticism, you've managed to run out of breath by the time you catch him. "You look like me," You say, between wheezes. An obvious statement, but it feels necessary, somehow. "Where -- where is all this? What's going on?"

Little Odessa was crowded today, sprawling with tourists and locals alike who were participating in the local culture, food, and fanfare that the Russian-based faction of Brooklyn provided. Ronan made his way down the bustling streets, shouldering past people as he made his way to his favorite bakery and coffee shop. It had a flickering neon sign on the front advertising “World’s Best Coffee!”, and Ronan pushed open the dingy metal door to reveal the inside of a quaint, clean space. Faint Russian polka music played overhead as he stared at the display cases, moving forward and bending down to inspect their contents.

“I have an expectant mother craving a sweet tooth,” he said absentmindedly, hoping the shopkeeper could hear him. “Should I get her syrniki or marlenka?”

@foundedinhope

The location: a small coffee shop on a cold winter’s day. (It was winter, oddly enough, as mere hours ago it had just been the middle of August. He’d encountered stranger.)

A stranger: an unassuming man, more plainly clothed than many of the people he’d spotted on the street. Relatively normal, little to note about him from mere appearances. What caught Stanford’s attention was the apparent struggle the man was having over a small book. Discreet closer inspection he could see that the book was simply one of sudoku puzzles– not difficult per se, but time-consuming at the worst of times. Frankly, Ford was just impressed that the stranger was using a pen for that. Confidence, showing in the most subtle of ways.

So he takes the time to approach him, glance over the puzzle more closely. It only takes a few short moments for him to figure out the issue.