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[b]Lost Haven, MAINE[/b]
 
A sound like material tearing can be heard and a portal opens up at 45 degrees 30 feet above the Sherwin-Williams paint store on Birch. A man in black is hurled in a seated position down through the portal.
 
[b]"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!"[/b]
 
The roof of the store had needed resurfacing for quite some time, it occasionally leaked in places when it had the rain, and the retail clerks would have to place buckets out. After this day that wouldn’t be required anymore, because buckets would no longer suffice. The man in black made a man in black sized sky light in the roof of the building before finally coming to a complete stop on the linoleum floor.
 
[b]“What… The… Fuck?!?”[/b] The man yelled, more in astonishment and frustration than in agony.
 
[b]“Huh?”[/b] he said, sitting up. Recognizing the familiarity of the situation.
 
[b]“Deja fucking Vu...”[/b] 

[i]“Dude.”[/i] Came the familiar voice of a young man in his early 20s. [i]“Are you alright?”[/i]

[b]“I’m fine.”[/b] The man in black said in a robotic voice, starting to get to his feet. [b]“Did-- did you feel that at all?”[/b]

[i]“Did I feel that? Man, how hard did you hit your head? We should call you an ambulance, brah. Holy shit, look at the size of that hole!”[/i] the clerk said, finally seeing the extent of the damage.

The Man in black started to walk to the front door.

[i]“No insurance, huh? I still can’t let you go anywhere, dude. I mean, how am I gonna explain this to my boss?”[/i]

The man stood in silent contemplation. Then he padded himself down, before slowly and deliberately opening a pocket in his cargo pants and pulling out a wad of bills out, flipped through them as if counting them off, before he shrugged and tossed the entire wad onto the front counter.

[b]“Til then... Put a bucket under it.”[/b] He offered, turning and walking out the front door. A bell on the front door chiming in his wake.

He had a wallet and cards, objects he didn't have last time he went through the same ordeal... and the device that brought him here the first time was gone. This was different. The clerk was the same. Where was he? What just happened? Was he back in his home world again, or was it some kind of temporal hiccup?

A newspaper page blew across the street and snagged itself on his leg. He picked it up and read it in astonishment. “Iconoclast: The Death of Cynicism” With a sub-heading “Amazing New ‘Icon’ Catches Satellite. Saves Thousands.”. A familiar blue figure was splashed all across the page. His hands shook with cold and excitement as he looked down the streets, contemplating what this could possibly mean as if somehow the answer would come waltzing down the street. He checks the corner and sees Page 1 and today’s date. The same date he came through the portal last time. So much was the same, but the sensation of nausea was gone. That was something at least. It meant he wouldn't have to go back home. A good thing too, because the missing device meant that it would have been impossible to fix this time around. 

So what's the plan?

With the nausea gone, a return home was no longer a priority. At least it could fall behind how he was going to handle this newspaper business. A satellite. That was new. New isn't good. Isaac remembered how different the other world's version of himself was and began to be a bit more guarded.

Have to organize equipment again. But how much do I really know about THIS world's Icon? Still sounded like something he'd do. Something he could do. But it was something which shook him to the core.

Just how much COULD he take as known about this world?