In the CW's The Flash, Abra Kadabra is a villain from the 64th century who uses advanced nano technology to perform feats that appear to be magic. He is a time-traveling criminal who initially uses his technology to commit robberies and evade capture
Chapter 1: Game Over, New Game Plus: Private Eye Edition
The last thing Adam saw was the blinding glare of an oncoming semi-truck, its horn blaring a mournful, final symphony. One moment, he was cursing the perpetual traffic of his mundane, utterly un-super-powered Earth, probably thinking about what meme perfectly encapsulated his existential dread. The next, a sickening crunch, a flash of white-hot pain, and then… nothing. Just the profound, unsettling silence of non-existence.
"Well, that sucked," he thought, or rather, felt himself think, because thinking usually required a brain, and his was currently splattered across a highway in a universe far, far away. "Seriously, after all those years of dodging rogue shopping carts and overly aggressive pigeons, I go out like that? No heroic sacrifice, no witty last words, not even a dramatic slow-motion dive? Just a glorified speed bump for a truck full of… artisanal cheeses, probably."
Then, a jolt. Not pain, but a sudden, jarring presence. It was like being slammed back into a body, but a body that felt… wrong. Too tall, too lean, and definitely not sporting the comfortable, slightly stained hoodie he'd been wearing moments before his untimely demise. His eyes, which had been stubbornly shut against the memory of the truck, snapped open.
Dust. So much dust. It coated everything in a thick, uninviting layer, turning what might have once been a vibrant office into a sepia-toned nightmare. Sunlight, weak and hesitant, filtered through grimy windows, illuminating motes dancing in the air like tiny, indifferent spirits. There was a desk, scarred and ancient, piled high with what looked suspiciously like actual paper files. A rotary phone sat on a side table, mocking him with its archaic presence.
"Okay, this is new," he muttered, his voice a surprising baritone, rough with disuse. He tried to move, and his limbs felt heavy, uncoordinated. He was slumped in a chair, a rather uncomfortable, squeaky office chair that probably predated the internet. "Definitely not my apartment. And judging by the distinct lack of artisanal cheese smell, definitely not the afterlife either. Unless purgatory has a terrible interior decorator."
A sharp, almost digital ping echoed in his head, not unlike a notification from a really old, really annoying app.
[Welcome, User. Transmigration Complete. Identity Assimilation: 98%.]
Adam blinked. "User? Identity assimilation? What in the actual… Matrix is going on?"
[System Initializing. Abra Kadabra System Online. Nanotech-Based Abilities Granted. Processing Meta-Knowledge… Complete.]
His breath hitched. Meta-knowledge? He knew that term. He'd read enough fanfiction to know exactly what that meant. And "Abra Kadabra System"? That sounded like something ripped straight from a webnovel, probably one with a ridiculously overpowered protagonist who spent more time pranking villains than actually fighting them. A smirk, unbidden, tugged at the corner of his lips.
"So, I died, got dumped into a new body, and now I've got a system? Is this, like, the universe's way of apologizing for the truck? Because a free lifetime supply of pizza would have been less… existentially jarring."
He pushed himself upright, the chair groaning in protest. His new body felt… stiff. He ran a hand through his hair, finding it shorter, darker, and surprisingly well-kept. He looked down at his clothes: a slightly rumpled but decent suit jacket and trousers. Not exactly his style, but a definite upgrade from "roadkill chic."
He shuffled towards a dusty mirror on the wall, probably left by the previous occupant. Staring back at him was a face that was undeniably his, but also… not. The eyes were the same quick, intelligent hazel, but there was a sharper line to the jaw, a hint of weariness around the eyes that spoke of long nights and too much coffee. He looked, for lack of a better term, like a private investigator.
"Adam Stiels," he read aloud, spotting a tarnished brass nameplate on the desk. "Lonely, newly appointed private investigator, huh? Sounds like a blast. Hope the pay's better than my last gig. And by 'last gig,' I mean 'being alive.'"
He felt a strange sensation in his hands, a tingling, almost like static electricity. He looked at his right palm, then his left. Nothing visible.
[Initial Abilities Unlocked: Teleportation ("Disappearing Act"), Illusions & Holograms ("Smoke & Mirrors").]
"Oh, you're kidding me," he breathed, a genuine thrill sparking in his chest. "Teleportation and illusions? So, basically, I'm Nightcrawler meets Mysterio, but with more sarcasm. This is… this is actually pretty cool. Definitely beats being a truck pancake."
He extended his hand, focusing on a crumpled piece of paper on the floor. He pictured it moving, just a few inches to the left. Nothing. He tried again, concentrating harder. Still nothing.
"Come on, System, don't tell me you're a buggy beta build," he grumbled.
[Teleportation: Nano-wormhole projectors in hands. Requires conscious activation and clear mental target. Initial range: 5 feet.]
"Ah, the instruction manual," he said, a lightbulb going off. "Right. Nano-wormholes. Because 'magic' is just science we don't understand yet, right, Arthur C. Clarke?"
He focused again, picturing the paper. This time, he felt a faint hum in his palms, a subtle warmth. He willed it to move. And with a faint pop, the paper vanished from its spot and reappeared five feet away, next to a dusty potted plant.
Adam stared. Then he grinned. A wide, genuine grin that probably hadn't graced this new face in a long time.
"Holy mother of… that actually worked! Okay, System, you're officially my new favorite toy. Sorry, PlayStation, you've been dethroned."
He tried another. He looked at the rotary phone, a relic of a bygone era. "Let's see… can I make this thing do a little dance?"
He focused, picturing the phone levitating, spinning. He felt the familiar hum. And then, the phone jiggled. Just a little. It didn't float, it didn't spin, but it definitely jiggled. He tried again, picturing it spinning faster. The phone vibrated violently, rattling on the table, then fell over with a clatter.
"Okay, so 'Illusions & Holograms' isn't 'Telekinesis.' Got it. Reading comprehension, Adam. It's a thing."
[Illusions & Holograms: Neural nanobots emit signals that hijack optic nerves, making targets see hallucinations. Example: Makes a crowd see him multiply, or creates fake monsters. Initial range: 10 feet, single target.]
"Right, so I can make people think they see things," he mused, tapping his chin. "Not actually move them. This is going to be so much fun. The pranks alone… Tony Stark won't know what hit him. Wait a minute…"
His eyes darted to the window. Outside, a faint, metallic clang echoed from somewhere in the distance. He walked to the dusty pane, wiping away a layer of grime. Below, the street was bustling, but not in a familiar way. The cars looked… older. The fashion choices were questionable. And then, he saw it. A newspaper stand. The headline, stark and bold, screamed:
STARK INDUSTRIES CEO MISSING IN AFGHANISTAN
Adam froze. His heart, or what he assumed was his new heart, hammered against his ribs. "No way," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "No. Freaking. Way."
He scrambled for the rotary phone, fumbling with the receiver. He didn't even know the number for information. He just needed to confirm. He needed to know the year. He needed to know if this was some elaborate, cruel joke.
He found a discarded newspaper on the floor, probably yesterday's. His eyes scanned the date.
May 2008.
A wave of dizzying realization washed over him. He was in the MCU. The Marvel Cinematic Universe. And he'd landed right at the beginning. Tony Stark was missing. The Iron Man origin story was about to unfold.
"Oh, you cruel, beautiful, terrifying universe," he muttered, a manic laugh bubbling up. "You just had to drop me into the middle of a superhero movie, didn't you? And not even a fun one like Guardians of the Galaxy where everyone's already awesome. No, you put me in the 'before times,' where everyone's still figuring things out and the biggest threat is a dude in a cave with a box of scraps."
He looked around his dusty, sad little office. "Lonely PI, huh? Well, at least I won't have to deal with office politics. Just… you know, supervillains, alien invasions, and probably a few existential crises. Piece of cake. This is going to be a wild ride. And I, Adam Stiels, am officially ready to exploit every single loophole this system, and this universe, has to offer."
A mischievous glint appeared in his eyes. He looked at the phone again. "Alright, old-timer. Let's see if I can make you sing a little tune. Something catchy. Maybe 'Never Gonna Give You Up'?"
He focused, a new determination settling in. This wasn't just about survival anymore. This was about making the MCU a little more chaotic, a little more fun, and a whole lot more him.