He'd passed through the universe in the blink of an eye, torn from a quiet, dying world full of darkness and storms and shadows and emptiness and arrived--

Here.

The light hit him before anything else. Great metal buildings that stretched to the sky had lights in more windows than he could count. It must have been nighttime when he arrived, but there was so much light. Bright colors moved and changed, like synthetic monsters swirling around him.

The noise hit him next, but his ears had been ringing for so long that there seemed to be a delay between what he heard and what he understood. It was different from Alastor, different than it had ever been. In distant memories he recalled the technology of other worlds, but now it was just static in his mind.

The smell made him forget about everything else. At first, the freshness of the air. It smelled green. It smelled crisp. Cold. Alive. He didn't feel the chill in the air, he was too focused on everything else.

He didn't recognize anything about this world. It wasn't Alastor, and it wasn't Jupiter. Beyond that, he knew nothing.

Except, that he smelled food. His stomach growled audibly, ferociously, and while he had gotten used to the hunger he hadn't been so tempted by the smell of food in ages. It had to be food, he knew the smell of meat cooking over a flame. And if there was food, there must be--

Someone cooking it.

There was a lump in his throat when the pieces of the puzzle seemed to slowly come together. He didn't want to get his hopes up, he didn't want to be let down. He didn't want to fall for a trap.

He didn't understand that he was in one of Destiny City's many parks, in the middle of a bustling part of a very busy city. He only knew that someone was doing something and it smelled good.

He walked straight towards it without any regard for the world around him. He was so used to being alone that he didn't anticipate someone walking right into him.

Or, rather, they collided with each other; Alastor broke through the treeline and stepped onto the walkway at the same time someone else walked into the same space. The force wasn't enough to hurt Alastor but it was enough to offend the stranger.

Alastor didn't fall but he froze after the collision. The man he'd run into stumbled back and his face turned red with rage and embarrassment. Alastor heard him yelling, in a language he understood, but he was more captivated by the audacity of the stranger. He didn't look very important; he was dressed in a white button down shirt and tie, and a boring gray suit.

It took him a few seconds to process the man's words and it sounded like they were going through a filter first. It had been so long since he heard someone else's voice that his mind needed a few seconds just to catch up. Alastor simply stared at him while the man attempted to berate him. He must not have been giving the response the man wanted, because suddenly the man was stomping towards the Senshi with a balled fist, so Alastor did what anyone would do--he hit him, first.

The whole scene was a blur; it felt surreal, like he was dreaming, but he hadn't dreamed since--

No, his mind rapidly corrected him.

He didn't dream. He'd never dreamed. There was no since.

Alastor hadn't planned to come into this with violence, but the second the stranger was within reach to hit him, Alastor struck first. So far as he was concerned, the stranger started it. He hadn't even really had to think about it--and, to his credit, he hadn't even hit the man that hard. What else was he supposed to do? Alastor was raised on a war-faring world; the sputtering man was lucky that he wasn't currently recipient of a full on assault. If they were on his homeworld, if this were in front of an audience? Alastor might have already thrown him to the ground and pummeled him into dust.

Oh.

But, he wasn't on Alastor. Social cues were different. He probably shouldn't have hit someone so quickly, he'd only just gotten here. Maybe this man had been sent to bring Alastor to his allies?

...No, probably not. He looked so basic, so unimpressive.

He stared down at him for only a second, but maybe he was sending the wrong message.

Before he could open his mouth to say anything, the man was scrambling backwards. Whining. Pleading. "I don't want any trouble," he said, in a squeaky voice so drastically different from the arrogant demands he was making just seconds ago. He reached into his pocket and fumbled for something.

A weapon? Maybe not, he didn't look like he'd have even known how to wield one.

Alastor took a step towards him to help him up, but the man only squirmed back more. His wallet tumbled from his pocket and he threw it at Alastor. It hit him in the knee weakly, and with that simple offering, the man jumped to his feet and scrambled away.

Alastor watched as he disappeared, not immediately understanding this strange practice. If that was an attack, it was possibly the least intimidating of any assault. He stood for a long moment, either waiting for the man to come back or for his weapon to do something.

Second ticked on. Nothing happened.

He stared down the sidewalk and waited for him to come back.

He didn't.

It slowly dawned on Alastor that if the man had not thrown it to attack him, it must have served some other purpose. He'd left something, deliberately. Alastor was tempted to leave the folded leather where it had fallen, just in case it was enchanted or cursed or some delayed attack, except there was a niggling voice in the back of his head that demanded he inspect it. He knew how important it was to collect whatever could be used, to find function in anything he could.

He had plenty of questions; he couldn't afford to leave something that could have been useful. Maybe he had a map, or information about what world he'd found himself on.

Alastor picked up the little leather thing and had to leaf through it for a few seconds before he realized it was some sort of wallet. Not like the ones he was used to, of course--it was so boring. There were coins and bills inside, a card with the man's face on it, and words he didn't understand. He squinted at the tiny text it as if he was somehow going to know how to translate it. He glowered at it as threateningly as he could, like if he expressed enough rage it would magically translate itself for him.

It was a worthwhile effort, but the information did not magically appear in his head.

Maybe because his stomach was again screaming to follow the smell of food.

Alastor had no concept of time, but this was not unusual for him. He couldn't--or chose not to--remember the last time he smelled anything like this. Even if he could remember, this was still something new and unexpected.

For as much of an expert as he was at getting lost, it wasn't hard to find food. Not here, at least. He tracked it like a predator to prey. The aroma was practically a tangible rope tugging him towards sustenance.

Within a minute, he could see the line. He could see someone preparing the food, quickly.

He didn't power down when he got in line at the stall, nor did he care about the strange looks he got. Standing in line was mechanical, innately understood while still being so foreign to him.

It wasn't the first time he'd stood in line for a meal. It was just the first time in a long time, and if anyone had asked he would have had to confess that he was excited. Hopeful.

There were people around him. Talking, whispering. He understood this language, but their accents were strange, and there were words that were strange and unknown to him. He could communicate well enough if he'd wanted to, but he had no reason to. He didn't know them, and they didn't know him. He didn't care to know them, he had more important people to deal with. He had to find Percy, who had to be around here somewhere.

He must have chosen this world for a reason. Maybe for the food, but Alastor's standards were so low right now that he would have probably actually still been fine with anything warm.

Standing in line was so domestic, so out of place for him. He'd been fighting a war for--yeah, still not counting. For a while.

And yet now, he could feel nothing on his radar--more importantly, no Chaos. It was odd, not to be smothered in the slick filth of Chaos.

To be somewhere devoid of that infection--it was good.

Strange, but good.

He spent most of his time in line trying to recognize anything. The clothes were unfamiliar (and unfashionable) but the food smelled so good. He didn't know what it was. When he reached the front of the line he found himself wondering if this was another illusion, another trick. He stalled for words, he forgot how to talk. The aggressiveness of the vendor shook him out of his uncertainty--no illusion would be intentionally callous. He didn't know what he wanted, he wanted everything. He pulled out a few gold coins to cover the cost and was met with scrutiny, but it was only when the cashier asked if he had any actual money in the wallet he was still holding that he realized the fortune that had befallen him.

It didn't occur to him that he was paying with stolen money (it was freely offered! He hadn't demanded it!) so he passed it over easily.

None of this felt real, so when he left the stall with a bag full of food he couldn't identify, he once again felt like he was fighting to surface his thoughts in a mind smothered in shadows and cobwebs. He'd been to other worlds before, and even used to have been fairly good at navigating them. Or getting lost well enough that he found himself where he needed to be eventually, usually with some stories to tell.

...He didn't know what stories he'd have to tell of this world, but he had stories to tell his husband when he found him.

No one else was powered up but it never crossed his mind that he should power down. Doing such on his home world might as well have been a death sentence and even if that meant the Chaos could sense where he was, it meant he could sense where it was, too. This world seemed so much safer, but if anyone was looking for him it would have been easier to find him when he gave off a signature.

Alastor was both good at waiting and also not. He had waited for--no, he wasn't allowed to count. He'd waited for a while for any sign of things to change. Now that they had, he was impatient. He was ready for something to happen. He was off of his world--he needed to get back, needed to save it--but he needed to figure out where he was, where he was supposed to be.

He was probably lost again. That was fine. He didn't have a map, but Percy probably did. He was probably looking for him now. He'd probably picked this world because it had no chaos, probably called him here because they had some advanced technology that could burn out the Chaos. There were enough lights here, the shadows would never reach the Hall like this.

Alastor pocketed the wallet, now that he knew the value of it and made his way somewhere where he could watch. Where he could wait.

A waist-high stone fence became his seat, and he settled himself upon it despite the cold.

The food was gone before he tasted it, and while his stomach was temporarily appeased he didn't know how long that would last. Not long enough. He was so used to tasteless necessities that barely gave him the energy to go on that it wasn't until he'd devoured the entire bag that he realized it had been good. The flavor lingered, and it wasn't until he was sitting there with an empty bag that the reality of this--whatever it was--began to set in.

He knew he'd been alone. He knew he'd been starving. He knew he'd been outmatched--holding his own, but without the resources to win. He was used to darkness, and silence.

It was night here, but it wasn't dark. People were out and about, doing whatever they wanted. No one was hiding from the shadows. No one was armed.

This world seemed safe and that was more unnerving than any thing else. He didn't remember the last time he'd let his guard down, and he certainly couldn't now. Shadows moved around him, and each one was a dagger in the darkness, waiting to strike. He was on edge, ready for combat, but--

It didn't come. The shadows were still. Biding their time, maybe. Or maybe they hadn't followed him from Alastor. He couldn't be certain. He couldn't trust that they couldn't reach all the way out here, not when they'd taken his world before.

The crowds came and went, and he searched their faces for one that he knew. He sat still, feet pressed flat against the wall and hands folded in his lap. He had no use of time, so it didn't matter when early evening stretched to late night, and inched towards early morning. The crowds thinned, and new faces were few and far between, but he knew he was here for a reason.

He just had to be patient. He just had to wait.

Maybe in his youth he would have decided to just walk around, to just push forward, to get so lost that he found himself somewhere down the road, but he couldn't afford to be so reckless now.

It had been cold when he arrived, but he naturally ran hot so the chill hadn't bothered him. For a while, it was even refreshing. There were no clouds in the sky, not at first. He could see the stars. There was no moon, not tonight, but if there had been that might have just blinded him. It was bad enough that his eyes kept misting over--from the cold, no doubt. It wasn't anything else. Couldn't be anything else.

The stars seemed so bright, though. He stared for a long while, trying to pick out shapes that he knew, but there were none.

The clouds rolled in when the crowds rolled out but he didn't expect rain. He couldn't smell it in the air, couldn't feel it in his scars.

It snowed, instead. Gentle and peaceful.

This world wasn't truly quiet; he could still hear rushing and rumbling, and the distant hum of electricity. Though he didn't know what it was he understood that it must have been normal.

The cold wasn't enough to chase him away and when he lost sight of the stars, his attention returned to the ground.

He was alone, again; he couldn't see anyone at all. The shops nearby had closed up, and no one else seemed to be out.

But, that was okay.

He was only looking for one person, anyway. He could wait.