Chapter Text
The world came back in pieces.
It was dark. Cold. And the metal taste in her mouth wasn’t just bitter; it was coppery and stale, like old blood mixed with grit.
When Ivy finally managed to blink: once, then twice—eyelids sticky and slow. Her body failed to move. She was lying on her side, crushing one hand while the other reached out as if to catch her from a fall. The rough texture of the asphalt abraded her cheek, a smell of mildew and urban decay filling her nostrils, heavy and suffocating, like trying to breathe in water.
For a moment, she didn’t know how or why she was here, why her knees were stinging, or why her ribs tensed every time she inhaled, sending her into a fit of coughs.
Then the memory hit her all at once.
The realization struck her like a physical blow. Her heart, already drumming an erratic beat against her ribs, sped up into a frantic gallop. The names tumbled through her mind: Carmen, the Chronoskimmer, Zack, each one tightening the vise around her lungs. Her fingers curled into the rough cement, nails scraping as the full weight of the situation settled on her.
…Zack…
Wait–where was Zack?!
With shaking arms, Ivy rushed to peel herself off the ground but immediately gasped, curling in on herself as pain shot through her wrist.
“Nh—ow,” She hissed through gritted teeth, cradling it instinctively. It wasn't just a single spike, but more so a deep, throbbing thrum that resonated up her forearm and made her fingertips numb.
“Zack?” she cried, voice pitifully hoarse. The response? Nothing but the muffled hum of passing streetcars. “ZACKKK?”
Her eyes darted around frantically, taking in her surroundings for the first time since awakening.
She was boxed in. Stained brick walls rose high on either side, trapping the sour stink of old rain and run-off. Above her, a rusted fire escape jutted outward like the broken, gnarly ribs of some massive metal beast, casting fractured shadows onto the cracked cement below.
But no Zack. No sign of Carmen either (Maybe that was a good thing). Unless Zack also fell through the portal! ‘Okay, Ivy, don’t panic,’ she tried to reassure herself, the words hollow. ‘He’s fine. He’s safe.’ The mantra felt weak. But what if he wasn't? What if he were stranded somewhere truly awful! He could be injured or taken! Ivy forced the dark thoughts down. ‘He’s probably more worried about you than I am of him.’ That was the only thought she allowed herself to keep right now. ‘You didn’t even see him fall in. He’s alright.’
With gritted teeth, Ivy pushed herself to her feet. She refrained from crying out as pain lanced through every part of her body. She was lucky to catch herself on the wall, bracing hard. “You’re fine.” She muttered. “Everything. Is. Fine.” Nothing was fine.
At least it looked like she was still in California, and not some middle-of-nowhere place, or a country where she couldn’t speak the language. She unfortunately already proved to herself once that she didn’t fare well on her own.
A flickering red light caught her attention near the dumpster. A small, rectangular device was pulsing dimly. The Chronoskimmer! Ivy’s limping steps were a dull, scraping rhythm on the pavement as she stumbled before dropping into a wary crouch, trying not to gag as she shook the slug off, “Ugh! Garbage juice. Great. Just great.”
The casing was dented on one side, crushed like a stepped-on soda can. The tip of the antenna was crooked and, just by the force of her grip, snapped cleanly off. The little screen at the top was a spiderweb of cracks, the display underneath a fuzzy, unstable mess. Ivy squinted, hauling the device closer to her face.
“C’mon,” she demanded, rapping a desperate knuckle against the glass. “Tell me something useful.”
[Year: 19—]
Nineteenth something. Was that a nine or an eight?
“Real helpful.” Ivy groaned, rubbing her temple.
Kicking off the wall, she stood straight this time, bracing her weight evenly, shielding her eyes with her good hand. The Chronoskimmer was tucked safely between her side and elbow. She scanned the alleyway.
Nothing.
But as she adjusted her footing, something crinkled under her boot.
Ivy glanced down.
It was a newspaper, water-logged and slightly curled at the edges, that had flopped open against the curb. She stared at it without meaning to, eyes dragging across the front page.
“ACME’s RISING STAR SOLVES CHINATOWN JEWEL MYSTERY!”
Detective Carmen Sandiego solves her second high-profile case in two months!
Her breath stalled in her chest, freezing her mid-inhale. Carmen.
Not the sleek silhouette in red, not the ghost on a rooftop, but center-frame in a grainy black-and-white photo. She was half-smiling, emerging from some building in a simple turtleneck and dark-colored vest—an outfit that could put Indiana Jones to shame. She looked…younger. Softer. Her cheeks had a curve that would soon be sharpened by ambition. No wide-brimmed hat. No daring escapes.
Just a girl. Ivy’s age. Maybe a little older. With a badge pinned to her lapel.
Ivy crouched down and gingerly picked up the page, careful not to tear the damp fiber. The date across the top was crisp and undeniable: July 17, 1979.
Fifteen years ago. Exactly.
A single, brittle laugh punched its way out of her throat, humorless and desperate. “Just perfect.” At least, she acknowledged, it could be worse. She could be in Medieval Rome… again.
She let the paper flutter back to the ground and finally took stock of herself.
Ivy let out a slow, shuddering breath. She was bruised, sticky, and possibly stranded. ‘Okay. If I'm stuck here, I need help.’ She ran through her options: Cops? Too complicated, too many questions she couldn't answer. The hospital is too far, and she had no ID, no money. But ACME existed at this time, even if it was in its infancy. A clean slate. Maybe she could... fudge the truth a little. Get inside…
She looked down at herself: jeans, torn at the knee. A thick, brownish crust of dried blood coated her shin. Her T-shirt clung to her spine with sweat, and red baby hairs stuck to her temple in damp curls. She ran a hand through them, grimacing as her fingers snagged on something stiff.
‘I look like I got hit by a bus,’ she realized with a fresh wave of despair. ‘This is going to be a great first impression.’
She had no communicator. No money. And no Zack. She was completely alone, fifteen years too early.
But if she could get into ACME and earn their trust, just enough to access their tech, then maybe she could use their resources to repair the Chronoskimmer. ACME helped them once in the future, it shouldn’t be that hard in the past, right?
She hugged the broken device tighter to her ribs, its weight a small, cold comfort.
“Find ACME,” she whispered, stepping out of the alley slowly, head down, trying to mimic the pace of the city as she merged onto the sidewalk.
“Figure out what broke. And don’t. Touch. Anything.”
No distractions. No screw-ups. Just get home.