[New York] Antagonistic Roots

Walking through the crowded streets offered no succor. It might have felt as it for a moment, these thoughts were held in place, impossible to be rid of. The dread faded just slowly enough to wonder if it was unnatural.

Something more tangible would be of assistance in shaking off these concerns as the doctor would feel a man bump into him as he ran through the streets, offering no apologies as he turned to the right, which would perhaps highlight the conmotion running through the afternoon. A police cordon was established further into the block, baffled officers and concerned family members surrounding West Houston Street. It was difficult to see why, not in that it was subtle, but that it was blinding. A strange sphere of light was firmly wedged on the top levels of the building, a dizzying, perfectly circle seemingly arbitrarily floating in the air and clipping into what appeared to be an office complex of some sort. Staring at it was nauseating, as if it was infinitely hollow, a two-dimensional hole in a three-dimensional plane.

The mundane efforts to investigate it were mixed. Ladders seemed to phase through it and were retreivable, but brave officers and firefighters were rebuked with force the moment they attempted to make contact with the singularity, and so were unmanned solutions like ordinance and drones, as a wounded specialist at the scene might attest from a rebounded bullet. While the origin of this phenomenom was, at the time, not familiar or scrutable, Strange could deduce that it was some sort of dimension within this dimension, slowly growing for an undiscernible purpose.

Strange's display of sorcerous restraint inspire another ounce more of chaos before he set things in order. He was quick to find a capable officer, large, sturdy, wearing shades, and looked more annoyed than he looked bewildered from being shoved aside like an infant. There were of course complaints from people nearby, civilians and officers alike, which were rebutted by a swift "Can you fly?" from the chief. There was stunned silence and a couple of nos, continued by, "Betting lunch that he can and this is the kind of people that deal with whatever that thingamajig is, expand the perimeter, everyone back off! Back off!", the morbidly curious were swiftly compliant, while the seemingly griefstruck, likely relatives to whomever was supposed to be in this office, required a bit of force to move out of the way. Both the public, and the anomaly itself provided no more protest to Strange's spellcraft.

The phenomenom was even more blinding up close, however, there would be some clarity. Inside its seemingly hollow, pale white shape laid subtle silhouettes, of buildings and streets, a city of sorts. With a bit more observation one could find far-off landmarks such as Stark's Tower or the Statue of Liberty, the hole in reality reflected New York, pale and distant. The object didn't move, it inched slowly bigger, almost inperceptible if meassured in seconds, but it had a fixed origin, as if a bomb detonated in the center of this building, and its fallout hung in the air, playing out in slow motion through time and space. Against the pure white backdrop, a mosquito that hopped off of Strange's cloak was plainly visible as it flittered between them, seeking to step on the apparently warm and inviting void. It disappeared, there was no ripple, no movement, it simply passed through unimpended. For Strange, however, attempting to as much as touch the phenomenom so would rebuke him with enough force to slam him against his own containment sphere, a hostility that he could feel sizzling the closer he got. The source of the phenomenom was inside, but it wouldn't let him in without objections.

The boundary pulsed and rippled, as if it was aware that it was being breached, but was helpless to stop it. The atmosphere was palpable as Strange submerged more and more of his astral form into this world, assimilating him into a physical existence. Even though the world seemed to initially reject him, gravity did not, and would finish plunging him inside. Once he restored airborne balance, he could witness...New York...the entirety of it...perhaps.

From a hundred feet in the air, it looked like New York. Everything was where you'd expect it to be, there was traffic through the streets, there were people toiling lo and fro in a late morning hustle, getting their coffees and having chats in cafes, Central Park was crowded with activity as ever. Regardless, staring at the whole picture was already uncanny, and the illusion seemed to break down the closer you looked at it. Some buildings just didn't look the same, sunlight seemed to be a hue paler than what he just left, an almost audible silence, only interrupted by the seemingly rhythmic coo of pigeons, permeated the air, and most importantly, the horizon did not expand into the rest of the continental United States. The further one looked past the skyscrapers, the more the land blurred from a perfect reconstruction, to a hazy sketch, into a completely blank, gray canvas.

This was not New York, but New York was all there was.

At street level, the atmosphere was even colder than above the skies. The crowds of people were hard to grasp, their movement wasn't stilted or lifeless, some people were jogging, some took their time sightseeing, some were in a collected hurry, but there was an odd blur around them that made their form hard to grasp, their faces somehow incomplete or inpercetible through this hazy perception. The metal of the signposts and mailboxes wasn't warm, but it still made a 'tang' when knocked, and even though no one was interacting with him, the crowd did move around him as he moved through the faux city, suggesting that he carried some physicality and perceptibility in this realm. Blecker Street fast approached, and the window with the sigil of the Sanctorum was in sight, he could finally arrive to...get himself some new boots, presumably.

The building hadn't changed, it still had its antique look, the window's sigil had not changed in the slightest, however, it was a public space, a shoes outlet by the name of "Tic-Tac-Toes". Every other locale that he walks past every morning looked unsettlingly the same in this bleak reconstruction, but the Sanctorum itself was revised away for reasons not yet clear to Strange.

The automatic doors let Strange in into an offensively unfamiliar place. The structure of the main hall was there, even if the grandiose stairs had been replaced by a simple escalator. Any semblance of commodity and elegance was stripped away by arrays of shelves and displays. Book stands that chronicled forbidden spells instead contained catalogs of the new socks drop. Statues of the previous Sorcerer Supremes were replaced with display stands for Supreme merchandise, and Gods forbid there would be quiet contemplation, as the kind of music you would hear in activewear commercials blasted from far-off speakers that seemed to be louder on the left than on the right. As far as the quality of the goods, he wouldn't find a discount bigger than 10% if he combed the place clean. While there was nothing immediately wrong with the quality of the goods, there was nothing of interest on sale.

With an orderly queue in place and cashiers tending it, Strange could attempt to finally get a good look at the people populating this world. While they seemingly still exuded an inky blur even with little motion, their faces seemed to lack eyes. It made the abundance of shades, hats, caps, and inconvenient bangs all the more conspicuous in restrospect.

The boots had a nice texture to them, and their weight was firm. Somehow this was one of the few things the recreation was getting right.

Assuming the good doctor was a good client, he would be unbothered in the queue, the phantoms tending to themselves. Doing so was somewhat difficult, as the queue moved quite disjointedly. "Good morning and welcome to Tic-Tac-Toes", the cashier spoke to them, using a generous definition of the word, the shape of their mouth more or less slithered about in this anticognitive world, but the words were quite clear, the "fresh-grad working for 'experience'" tone was quite authentic. "Feel free to use your loyalty cards for a 5% off your order, or we can register you for it if you don't have one", they gave out a practiced pitch, scanning the item once they were given it.

"That'll be seventy eight and fortyyyyyyy s-eight dollars"

Even though the cashier had no eyes, Strange could feel a distant, dejected stare pierce right past him, it exhaled deeply through their nose, as if resisting the urge to sigh. "Sir, there is no need to joke, you already took your wallet out", they spoke and tilted their head down to draw Strange's attemption to the object in front of him, not only was it a wallet, it was his, ID and all. If opened, had not only the amount in dollars but the exact change in cents. "Manager's 'sick' so she's working remote. All she will see is the queue being held up", they mentioned, not wanting to deal with the irregularity, which seemed to extend to the world around him. Something about the atmosphere seemed to shift at the interruption, and Strange didn't need to turn around to see that a lot of eyeless stares, even from people beyond the queue, were now on him.

"Please let me see your loyalty card so that I can check in a 5% discount on your order, sir", the cashier insisted. If Strange rummaged through 'his' wallet, he would find one as well, a quite quaint use of the Sanctorum sigil as a checkbox.