Doctor Strange & The Anomaly

One Underground

The factory stood unoccupied for years, half-demolished, dangerous, yet somehow unassuming. It was the kind of building the citizens of New York City were used to seeing as they passed by, unsure of what it used to be, barely noticing its presence as it stood alone in the middle of a lot surrounded by chained fences and barbed wire.

Weeds and greenery escaped through cracks in the concrete, while unwanted furniture and bags of trash sat untouched, tossed over the fence and forgotten about like the building itself. It welcomed urban explorers, film students and teenagers looking for a place to drink and spray paint walls. There was a gap in the fence, just big enough for someone to squeeze through, a heavy metal door at the back of the old factory hanging off its hinges.

Inside, the cracked, crumbling walls were covered in graffiti and vines. Windows were boarded up, some broken, letting in slivers of light on the dust-filled hallways.

Spencer Wick wandered carefully over the heaps of rubble. He had a camera in his backpack and a flashlight in hand as he explored each dilapidated floor, taking photographs and recording his findings for his blog when suddenly, he heard something.

It was like a collection of voices, whispering intelligibly. It was genderless, language-less, yet somehow he found himself drawn towards it. He walked down towards the basement, climbing carefully down the broken concrete steps with his flashlight as his eyes. But as he turned a corner, another light illuminated the space.

Veins of purples and blues rippled in the air, like a cloud of moving tendrils surrounding a deep, black hole. But the hole was darker than black; a complete absence of light radiating a sense of dread, of evil. The whispering grew louder as he approached it, as if it were beckoning him closer, daring him to reach out and touch it.

He reached inside and his arm began to burn, as if the energy was burning the flesh from his bones as it climbed up to his shoulder and spread across his face. He let out a scream and pulled his arm out, dropping onto his back, his body convulsing against the hard, cold ground.

*

A woman grabbed her two children and held them close, pressing their faces into her chest to shield their eyes. The man beside them clutched his seat, bracing for impact as the train jerked around a sharp bend.

Groups of passengers hurried to the windows, shouting and crying out as they laid eyes on the warped track up ahead. It had been lifted from the ground, skewed and bent like rubber as if it were being sucked into the air by a vacuum.

The horrified people watched on helplessly as they hurtled towards it. But suddenly, their panicked screams turned to gasps and murmurs as a ring of bright orange sparks began to materialised up ahead.

Doctor Strange glided out of the portal, his cloak guiding him smoothly through the air. He stopped, hovering near the broken track and examining the dimensional rift that had somehow torn through the atmosphere.

"Mm," he hummed deep in his throat, as if he were thinking, as if he was in no rush.

The screeching of metal caught his attention. He turned to see the train approaching fast, the driver's terrified face through the window.

He raised his hands and conjured a large portal, watching as the train disappeared into it and emerged moments later on the other side of the damage, continuing safely along the track.

"Well that's one problem down," he said to himself before turning back to the rift and cocking his head. "Now for you."

*