"Where is this?"
Natasha walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows, her boots clicking on the hardwood. The view was breathtaking—a sprawling coastline meeting a gray-blue ocean, dotted with white sails. The air conditioning hummed with a quiet, expensive efficiency that felt a world away from the rotting safehouse in Budapest.
"This is Long Island, New York," Rosen replied.
As he spoke, the air around him shimmered. The crimson Archmage robes and the glowing Staff of Antonidas dissolved into motes of light, replaced instantly by a pair of dark jeans and a fitted grey t-shirt. It was a new trick he'd mastered with the System Space—a quick-swap loadout. One second he was a warlord, the next he was just a guy.
Natasha spun around, her eyes widening. "New York? You're telling me we just crossed seven thousand kilometers in three seconds?"
"Well, yes and no," Rosen said, a mysterious smirk playing on his lips. "It is New York. But it's not the one you know. And it's definitely not seven thousand kilometers away."
He walked over to the wall and tapped a framed calendar hanging by the kitchen island.
Natasha followed his gaze. She froze.
The calendar was from a local auto shop. It featured a vintage Mustang. But it was the date that stopped her heart.
MAY 2002.
"May?" Natasha frowned. "It's January. And... 2002?"
She looked at Rosen, waiting for the punchline. "You didn't just teleport me. You brought me back in time?"
"Saying it won't convince you," Rosen said, grabbing a set of car keys from the counter. "Let's go for a drive. You need to see the skyline."
The Drive
They took a sleek, silver convertible from the garage—Rosen's assets in this world were apparently just as substantial as in the other. As they drove from Long Island toward Manhattan, the cognitive dissonance hit Natasha hard.
Everything felt... older.
The cars on the highway were boxier. There were no smartphones; people were talking on chunky Nokias or using payphones at gas stations. The billboards advertised movies she had seen on DVD years ago. The fashion was a mix of denim and frosted tips.
But the real shock came when the skyline of Manhattan came into view.
Natasha was a master of observation. She knew the New York skyline better than the back of her hand. She knew where the Chrysler Building stood, where the Empire State Building pierced the clouds. And she knew exactly where Stark Tower was supposed to be—the gaudy, high-tech monolith Tony Stark had built to stroke his ego.
But Stark Tower wasn't there.
In its place stood a massive, gothic-industrial structure. It was jagged, imposing, and crowned with glowing green letters that spelled out a single name:
OSCORP.
"Oscorp?" Natasha whispered, the wind whipping her red hair. "What the hell is Oscorp?"
"Stark Industries doesn't exist here," Rosen said, his voice cutting through the wind. "Neither does S.H.I.E.L.D. Neither does Captain America."
He glanced at her, enjoying the look of absolute bewilderment on the face of the world's best spy.
"Welcome to Earth-96283," Rosen announced. "It's a parallel universe. Here, the year is 2002. The tech is a little behind, the threats are different, and you? You don't exist."
This was the universe of the Sam Raimi Spider-Man. It was a simpler time, before aliens invaded New York, before Ultron, before Thanos. It was the perfect logistical base.
The only downside, Rosen noted internally with a pang of annoyance, was that the dollars here didn't work for his System. The System was picky; it only accepted currency from his "home" reality. But for everything else—housing, resources, hiding assets—this place was paradise.
"So Stark went bankrupt?" Natasha asked, still trying to process the Oscorp building.
"He was never born," Rosen corrected. "Accept the fact, Natasha. This is a clean slate. I told you I could help you live under the sun. Here, there is no Red Room looking for you. There is no Dreykov. You have no file, no history, no red ledger."
He glanced at her. "It's better this way. What did you have back there worth keeping? That fake family in Ohio? Alexei and Melina?"
Natasha stiffened. "How do you know about them?"
"I know everything," Rosen said simply. "I know about the Red Guardian. I know about little Yelena. I know it was all a cover. Trust me, you don't want to see what Alexei looks like these days. He's rotting in a Russian prison, getting fat and telling war stories that never happened."
Natasha fell silent. The mention of her "sister" Yelena stung, but the shock of his knowledge proved his point. He wasn't just a wizard; he was omniscient.
"You're right," she finally admitted, her voice steadying. "But if I'm not mistaken, my work won't be limited to this universe, will it? You didn't buy a multiverse door just to visit 2002."
"Sharp," Rosen nodded. "This is just the lobby. In the future, we'll be exploring a lot of different realities. Are you up for it?"
Natasha looked at the Oscorp tower, then back at Rosen. The idea of jumping between universes was insane, terrifying... and infinitely more interesting than assassinating diplomats for Dreykov.
"Multiverse travel beats the Red Room," she smirked. "But the hazard pay better be good. I'm not working for minimum wage."
"You'll be disappointed then," Rosen laughed. "I'm a capitalist at heart. I'm great at exploiting my employees. But hey, you can always get a side gig here. Be a barista. It's 2002, the coffee is cheap."
Natasha rolled her eyes. "Capitalists like you should be hung from lampposts," she muttered in fluent Russian, a grim joke from her Soviet upbringing.
"What was that?" Rosen asked innocently.
"Nothing," Natasha smiled sweetly. "Just praising your business acumen."
"Thank you," Rosen replied, switching effortlessly to perfect Russian. "But I'm not just a capitalist. I'm more of a feudal lord. And in my territory, I don't just exploit labor... I also restore the Right of First Night."
Natasha's smile froze. Her eyes narrowed dangerously.
"Damn," she whispered. "You speak Russian."
"I speak everything," Rosen grinned, turning the car onto the bridge. "Don't worry, the terms are settled. You work for me, you get your freedom. Now, are you ready to meet the protagonist of this universe?"
"Protagonist?" Natasha raised an eyebrow.
"Every universe has a center of gravity," Rosen explained. "In ours, it's Tony Stark. Here? It's a broke kid from Queens who just got bit by a spider."
He gunned the engine.
"Let's go say hello to Peter Parker."