PS: Before reading my work, please know — I focus on quantity over perfection.
While others spend hours writing a single chapter, I spend those same hours imagining and creating entire webnovels.
I'm more of an imagination-first kind of writer — every story I imagine, I create,I have a problem creating details or describing things and people.
I use AI tools to help speed up the process, so there may be typos or rough edges. If you're looking for flawless, highly polished writing, my stories might not be for you.
Please don't leave negative reviews — I often delete or restart stories when that happens, which disappoints the readers who do enjoy them.
If you like the fan fiction, a kind review goes a long way. Thank you!
Chapter 1: The One Where the Rerun Gets Real
"Okay, so, let's recap. One minute, I'm chilling in my suspiciously well-stocked apartment, rewatching Tony Stark's origin story for the zillionth time, meticulously dissecting plot holes like a forensic scientist with a magnifying glass. The next, BAM! Truck-kun, the silent killer of anime protagonists, decides I need a direct, personal escort to the afterlife. And then, because apparently, the universe has a twisted sense of humor and a penchant for second acts, I wake up in the middle of a desert. Not just any desert, mind you, but the exact desert where a certain billionaire playboy philanthropist is about to have a very bad day. I'm pretty sure I heard a faint, ethereal laugh track in the background. Is this what they call 'method acting' in the transmigrated hero business? Because if so, I'm getting paid way too little for this immersion experience."
The only light came from the glow of a large TV and a laptop screen, casting a blue-white sheen over the comfortable mess of Alex Kane's apartment. It was late, around 1 AM, the kind of hour usually reserved for existential crises or, in Alex's case, ritualistic semi-annual MCU rewatches. Comic book trade paperbacks formed leaning towers on every available surface, a few Funko Pops (Iron Man, Captain America, a half-peeled Loki) stood sentinel on a dusty shelf, and empty takeout containers formed a small, greasy mountain range on his coffee table.
On the TV, the original Iron Man (2008) flickered. Specifically, the scene where Tony Stark, ever the charming rogue, was in the back of the Humvee in Afghanistan, just before the attack. Alex, 23, muttered the dialogue along with the actors, a cynical smirk playing on his lips. "I feel like you're driving me to a court-martial. This is crazy. What did I do?"
His laptop was open to a fan forum, a digital battleground where a heated debate raged. The topic: "Could the Ten Rings have realistically pulled off the Stark kidnapping without an inside man?" Alex scoffed, typing a quick, dismissive reply, his fingers flying across the keyboard. "Dudes, Stane's involvement is the whole point. He practically handed Tony to them on a silver platter. The real question is why their rocket tech was so good but their convoy security was a joke." He hit enter, a small victory in the endless war of internet opinions. The MCU was his escape, the one place where things, for the most part, made a grand, epic kind of sense, even in their flaws. He knew the lore inside and out, but he approached it with a critical, almost jaded, eye.
The rewatch, a sacred ritual, was interrupted by a familiar, mundane crisis: he was out of chips and soda. A long-suffering sigh escaped him. He couldn't possibly continue watching Tony get blown up without proper sustenance. It was a matter of principle.
He threw on a hoodie, the familiar comfort a small anchor in his routine, and headed out to the 24-hour convenience store two blocks away. The city was quiet, the air cool, the kind of peaceful anonymity he cherished. He scrolled through his phone, looking at memes about Thor's inexplicable love for Pop-Tarts, a faint smile on his face.
As he stepped onto the crosswalk, the "Walk" sign flickering green, the distant wail of a siren barely registered. Then, a sudden, deafening roar of an engine. From the periphery, a blinding rush of headlights. A large delivery truck, a monstrous, unforgiving blur, had blatantly run a red light. There was no time to react. A brief, chaotic sensory flash: the blinding white light, the impossible screech of tires, a single, incredulous thought of "You've got to be kidding me..." — and then, absolute, crushing silence and darkness. His death was not heroic or meaningful; it was random, pointless, and instant.
Alex experienced a period of timeless, formless consciousness. There was no pain, no body, just a disoriented awareness floating in an endless black. He questioned if this was the afterlife, heaven, or hell. He tried to scream, to question, but he had no voice, no form.
Then, a serene, blue, holographic text box materialized before his consciousness, its glowing letters stark against the void.
[Soul Integrity Confirmed. Commencing reboot.]
Alex tried to question it, but he had no voice.
[Scanning Host's residual memories for world-data compatibility...]
[Match Found. Extensive Knowledge Base Detected: Marvel Cinematic Universe - Earth-199999.]
[Assigning Variant Timeline Designation: 616-AK.]
[Welcome, Host. The Mischief System is now online.]
[Your goal is simple: Cause mischief. The greater the target and the more creative the mischief, the greater the reward.]
[Starter Gift Awarded: F-Rank Skill - Unsettling Ambiance. (A minor paranormal effect that causes feelings of dread and paranoia in a small area.)]
[Now... deploying Host to point of insertion. Good luck.]
Alex was violently jolted back into a physical body. It was a sensory assault. The blinding, searing sun. The suffocating heat. The taste of sand and sweat. The smell of unwashed bodies and diesel fumes. His hands were bound, the coarse rope digging into his wrists.
He was in the back of a rattling, open-air truck. He opened his eyes, blinking against the harsh light. He was surrounded by grim-faced men holding rifles. They were shouting in a language he didn't understand but had heard dozens of times before in movies.
He looked around frantically. The rocky, barren mountains of the Afghan desert. It looked... familiar. Too familiar. His heart began to pound in his chest, a frantic drum against his ribs.
He craned his neck to see past the cab of his truck. Ahead of them was a small convoy of three military Humvees. On the side of the lead vehicle was a crisp, clean, unmistakable logo: STARK INDUSTRIES. In the back of that lead Humvee, he could just make out the shape of a man in a suit holding a glass of whiskey. A cold, liquid dread flooded his entire being. He wasn't just in a desert. He knew this road. He knew this convoy. He knew what was about to happen.
He realized he was not a captive of Tony Stark's attackers. He was one of them. He was in the back of a Ten Rings truck, on his way to participate in the kidnapping of Tony Stark. As the first explosion rocked the lead Humvee up ahead, a final blue box flashed in his vision, a stark and terrifying welcome to his new life.
[First Unofficial Mission: Survive.]