PS: Before reading my work, please know — I focus on quantity over perfection.
I'm an imagination-first kind of writer. Every story I imagine, I create. I'm not great at describing every detail or painting perfect visuals of people and places. I use AI tools to 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 — but that also makes them easier to remake or adapt.
All my main characters are funny, sarcastic, and love to pull pranks. These aren't "legendary" fanfics with perfect pacing and depth — They're worlds from my imagination for you to step into and enjoy. If that's not your style, no problem — I simply ask that you move on and allow others who enjoy this type of story to have a good experience.
If you find a major plot mistake that changes the story, please tell me so I can fix it. Minor mistakes? Just remember — it's a fanfic, not a flawless masterpiece.
Positive comments and reviews mean a lot. I mostly receive negative ones, which sometimes pushes me to delete or restart stories — something that disappoints the readers who do enjoy them.
If you like my work, a kind review really goes a long way. Thank you!
I'm nearing 40 web novels, each with at least 60 chapters. Feel free to check out my Patreon and enjoy my creations:patreon.com/TheFinex5
This is Version 2 of the webnovel there is a lot of mistakes if they bother you just comment and in time I will refine the full webnovel into a better version I hope you help as much as you can pateron/power stones/reveiws
Chapter 1: The Upstairs Anomaly
The first thing I felt was the concrete, the gravel, the sharp, jagged edges of the asphalt pressing into my spine. A symphony of sirens wailed a desperate, off-key ballad in the distance. The world was a spinning, nauseating kaleidoscope of red and blue, a chaotic and violent smear of color that screamed "something terrible has happened." But the funny thing about something terrible happening to you is that you're often the last person to get the memo.
My lungs, or what was left of them, tried to suck in a breath, but all I got was the bitter, metallic taste of blood and the acrid stench of burnt rubber and gasoline. The car, a pristine, beautiful '67 Impala I had just finished restoring, was now a mangled steel accordion, a tragic monument to a distracted driver and a poorly timed intersection. My vision, a fragmented mosaic of shattered glass and a darkening sky, flickered like a dying lightbulb.
"So this is it," a detached, almost comedic thought floated through the haze. "This is how the story ends. Not with a whimper, but with the world's most dramatic fender-bender."
And then, just as the last flicker of light faded, a new one blazed to life. It wasn't the white light people talk about, or a tunnel, or some bearded dude in a robe offering me a complimentary harp lesson. It was a screen. A bright, holographic blue screen, floating in the void where my consciousness used to be. It was, for lack of a better term, my own personal Netflix menu for the great beyond.
[ SYSTEM INITIATING… ]
[ WELCOME, ADAM STIELS. YOU HAVE BEEN SELECTED AS THE NEW HOST OF THE UNIVERSAL INTERVENTION SYSTEM. ]
[ INITIATING TRANSMIGRATION… ]
I swear I could hear a dial-up modem sound in my head as the text scrolled. I, a guy who spent his free time debating the canonical inconsistencies of the Star Wars prequels, was now a webnovel protagonist. This was ridiculous. This was perfect.
The next thing I knew, I wasn't lying on asphalt anymore. I was standing in a hallway, the scent of stale pizza and science books thick in the air. The world was… in color again. But it was a different color palette, a different kind of air. It was… familiar. Uncomfortably, hilariously familiar.
I looked down. I was wearing a cheap, ill-fitting t-shirt and jeans. My body felt… normal. No crushed ribs, no broken bones, no impending sense of doom. The only thing that remained from my previous life was a faint, almost imperceptible headache and a lingering sense of sarcastic resignation.
And then the screen reappeared, this time a vibrant, three-dimensional hologram shimmering in front of my face, invisible to anyone but me.
[ SYSTEM STATUS: ONLINE. ]
[ IQ AND KNOWLEDGE DOUBLING: ACTIVE. ]
[ INITIAL HOST IQ: 110. ]
[ CURRENT HOST IQ: 240. ]
Wait, what? A guy with an IQ of 240? That was… that was a little high, wasn't it? My mind, now a super-powered processor, started running diagnostics. It sorted through a library of new, unearned knowledge, cross-referencing information I didn't know I had. A wave of string theory, pop-culture trivia, and incredibly specific comic book knowledge washed over me. It was like suddenly being able to see in four dimensions, but with the added bonus of knowing the entire history of the Transformers franchise.
"So that's what this thing does. It's a cheat code for life. A really, really nerdy cheat code." I thought, my internal monologue already sounding a little more snarky than it used to.
Just as I was trying to figure out if I could use my new powers to find a decent burrito, the floorboards beneath me groaned. The sound wasn't a gentle creak; it was a defiant, protesting groan. I was standing directly above the apartment of the two most famous nerds in television history. My new body, my new life, was a goddamn sitcom.
A loud, theatrical gasp echoed from below, followed by a frantic, high-pitched voice. "My apologies, Leonard, but the new upstairs neighbor has already violated Section 7B of the Neighbor Agreement! The 'Decibel Limit' clause specifically prohibits 'unnecessary and excessive vertical impact noises.'"
I chuckled to myself. The Neighbor Agreement? Oh, this was going to be fun.
I walked down the stairs, a heavy box in my arms. My new home, the document said, was apartment 4B. The door to 4A, directly below me, swung open just as I reached the bottom step.
Standing there was Sheldon Cooper. Not an actor playing him, but the man himself. He was tall, thin, and had the same expression of profound indignation on his face that I'd seen a thousand times on my old TV screen. He was holding a large document, a printed manifesto of grievances, in his hands.
"Greetings," he said, his voice a perfect reproduction of the one I knew so well. He adjusted his glasses, a look of scientific disdain on his face. "I am Sheldon Cooper, and I have a few questions for you regarding your recent move-in. Specifically, I'd like to discuss the unacceptable level of gravitational impact noises you have produced, which has caused my apartment's delicate equilibrium to be disrupted."
I stared at him for a second, a small, knowing smile spreading across my face. "Sheldon, I know you are, and I'd love to hear your thoughts on my 'gravitational impact noises,' but can we save the philosophical debate on the nature of sound waves for after I've moved in?" I held out my hand. "Adam Stiels. Nice to meet you. And I have to say, that's a pretty intense list of rules you have there."
Sheldon's eyes widened, a look of pure, unadulterated horror on his face. He'd just been called "Sheldon" and had his carefully constructed ritual dismissed in a single breath. The look on his face was priceless.
"This is not a list of rules," he said, his voice trembling with indignation. "This is the 'Neighbor Agreement,' a legally binding document that ensures the orderly and logical functioning of our living space." He thrust the document at me. "It's 127 pages long and includes addendums for everything from approved vertical food transportation methods"—he gestured at the ceiling—"I recommend a pulley system, mind you—to a detailed schedule of our collective 'Quiet Time.'"
I took the document from him. It was a masterpiece of neurotic over-engineering. I flipped through it, not reading a word, but just enjoying the sheer audacity of it all. I then took a pen from my pocket, signed the last page with a flourish, and handed it back to him.
"There you go," I said with a grin. "Signed, sealed, and delivered. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a box that needs to be dropped."
His face went from pale to ghostly white. He stared at the signature on the document, then at me, then back at the document. "You… you didn't even read it!" he sputtered.
"Well, I trust you," I said, a mischievous glint in my eye. "I'm sure it's all very reasonable. Now, if you'll excuse me."
I turned and walked back up the stairs. The moment I was in my apartment, I dropped the heavy box I was holding. A loud THUMP rattled the floorboards, followed by the distant sound of something falling in his apartment. A cascade of small, plastic Star Wars figures fell from his ceiling, a miniature Death Star bouncing on his head.
Sheldon let out a small, horrified whimper.
Just then, a short, shaggy-haired man with glasses appeared behind Sheldon. It was Leonard Hofstadter. He looked at Sheldon, then at the sound of the falling Death Star, and then at me.
"I'm Leonard," he said, his voice a quiet, apologetic whisper. "And… we're not like this all the time. Just… most of the time."
I just smiled and gave him a nod. This was going to be a lot of fun.