The first thing I registered was the cold. It was a kind of bone-deep, wind-whipped chill that felt like a personal insult from the universe. That wasn't right. My last memory was of a stuffy, overheated bedroom, the kind that made you sweat even in the dead of winter. My last memory was of me, Alex, a professional procrastinator and a world-class fanfiction devourer, dozing off with my phone still clutched in my hand, a half-finished chapter of a new reincarnation story on the screen.
The protagonist in that one woke up as a god. I was pretty sure I was not a god.
My eyes blinked open to a world I'd only ever seen in the pages of comics and on the big screen.
A swirling, chaotic canvas of purples and blues painted across a starless sky.
My feet were planted on a metallic platform, floating in a vast, empty void. Below me, a structure that looked like a sleek, obsidian box—some kind of futuristic house—hovered in the endless nothingness.
This wasn't a hero's origin story; it was a cosmic joke.
I was alone.
No monsters, no magical masters, no talking squirrels with Infinity Gems.
Just me, the house, and the cold. And the silence.
A silence so profound it felt like a living thing, pressing in on all sides.
The panic was a slow burn, but it was there, simmering. I had died.
The fact of my death was an unshakeable, visceral truth.
The fact of my new, bizarre existence was an even more terrifying one.
I took a hesitant step back, my boots making no sound on the metal floor.
I wanted to scream, but the silence was too absolute.
It felt rude to break it.
And then, it happened.
A voice. It wasn't in my head. It was everywhere.
It was the universe itself, speaking directly to my consciousness.
[System Initializing…]
[Welcome, User. Identity confirmed. Commencing setup for Game Master System.]
A translucent blue screen materialized in front of me, its glowing text a stark contrast to the dark void. My heart, which had been a frantic drum a moment ago, now settled into a cautious rhythm. A System.
The one thing every fanfiction protagonist secretly yearned for. A cheat code for a new life.
My own meta-fiction dream had come true.
[System Name: The Marvel Game Master (TMGM)]
[User: Alex]
[Current Location: Pocket Dimension, Nexus-Realm]
[System Objective: Create and distribute games to the inhabitants of the Marvel Universe. The success of these games will generate Gaming Points, which can be used to purchase skills, items, abilities, and upgrades for your home base.]
I blinked, taking a moment to process the words. This was it.
Not an Isekai to a fantasy world, but a fanfiction trope made real, and in the most complicated universe imaginable.
The screen shifted, displaying a list of options.
[Gaming Points: 100]
[Current Abilities: None]
[Next Tier: System Upgrade (10,000 Gaming Points)]
The number mocked me.
A measly 100 points. Enough for... what? A pack of gum? A single, crappy sword?
The screen shifted again, showing a list of purchase options.
[Game Creator - Tier 1: Sandbox (50 Gaming Points)]
[Game Creator - Tier 1: RPG (50 Gaming Points)]
[Game Creator - Tier 1: Strategy (50 Gaming Points)]
There were other, more expensive options, but they were all grayed out.
The system was giving me a choice, and a pathetic starting budget.
I looked down at the platform beneath my feet, then at the sleek, minimalist house.
I didn't even have a computer to work with. How was I supposed to build a game?
A new message popped up on the screen, as if answering my unvoiced question.
[Note: Your home base contains a fully functional, mind-to-digital interface.
You will create games with your thoughts, and the system will render them.
All games created will be deployed directly into the Marvel 616 reality, to be discovered by its inhabitants.]
A wave of giddy relief washed over me. This was doable.
This was my thing.
I had read thousands of stories like this.
I knew the tropes, I knew the pitfalls.
I just needed to make the right first move.
I had 100 Gaming Points.
The cheapest option was 50.
I could only afford one.
My mind raced, trying to figure out which genre was the most popular and easiest to build.
A sandbox game felt like the best bet. It had low-stakes, high replayability, and a massive potential for player engagement. It could appeal to a wide range of characters.
And I had the perfect idea.
I reached out my hand toward the screen, my fingers hovering over the "Sandbox" option.
A single thought formed in my mind.
A blocky, pixelated world.
A pickaxe. Creepers and zombies.
A world where the only limit was your imagination.
And the name of that game was...
"…Minecraft."
The word left my lips like a prayer, and the system responded instantly.
[Sandbox Game Selected: Minecraft]
[Cost: 50 Gaming Points deducted. Remaining Balance: 50 GP]
[Processing… Rendering digital environment…]
A ripple spread through the void. The sleek obsidian house behind me pulsed with faint blue light, its smooth walls suddenly shifting. A side chamber unfolded, cubes of matter sliding into place until I was staring at a room made entirely of blocky textures—grass, wood, stone.
I laughed. I actually laughed. "No way. This… this is real."
The interface blinked again.
[Game successfully created. Deploying to Marvel-616 Reality.]
[Target: Randomized Distribution Protocol initiated.]
Somewhere, in the bustling chaos of New York City, a flash drive materialized on a dusty game store shelf. Across the Atlantic, a pirated version uploaded itself onto torrent sites. In Wakanda's Royal Palace, an encrypted package mysteriously slipped into Shuri's private server.
The game was seeding itself.
My heart thudded. "This is insane. Actual Marvel characters are about to discover Minecraft."
I couldn't stop grinning. The idea of Tony Stark losing sleep to build a pixelated Iron Man suit, or Peter Parker setting up a farm with Aunt May, was enough to short-circuit my brain.
But then the system dropped the next bomb.
[Warning: Games must achieve engagement milestones to unlock cross-dimensional travel.]
[First Milestone: 10,000 cumulative play hours in Marvel-616. Reward: Pocket Dimension Exit unlocked.]
I froze. "So I'm stuck here until my game goes viral?"
The silence that followed was answer enough.
The house—my so-called "home base"—was all I had until my creation spread like wildfire. And if it didn't? Then I'd rot in this void, watching pixels instead of people.
Still, I wasn't helpless. A new tab blinked open.
[Home Base Management unlocked.]
[Available Upgrades: Dimensional Library (50 GP), Recreation Lounge (50 GP), Observation Deck (50 GP).]
My remaining 50 points could either boost my comfort here, or invest in something useful.
"Observation Deck," I muttered, already pressing it.
[Purchase Confirmed. Remaining GP: 0]
The metallic platform trembled, and a tall archway extended from the main house. Beyond its glowing threshold shimmered a window, wide as a movie theater screen. I stepped forward, my breath catching in my throat.
Because on the other side, clear as day, I saw the Manhattan skyline.
And there, swinging between skyscrapers, was Spider-Man.
I stared, transfixed.
Spider-Man.
Not a CGI movie version, but a real, living, breathing person, doing what he did best.
The red and blue of his suit was a vibrant splash against the cold gray of the city, a single point of light in a universe that suddenly felt impossibly vast and real.
It hit me then, the true scale of what I was dealing with.
This wasn't a game I was just playing; it was a game I was making.
And the players were the most powerful and dangerous beings in all of existence.
My mind raced.
How do you get a superhero to play a pixelated sandbox game? Do you just… send an email? No, that wouldn't work.
Superheroes are busy.
They have villains to fight, worlds to save, and a surprising amount of homework.
My game had to be something so intriguing, so compelling, that they couldn't resist.
I turned away from the breathtaking view and walked back into my home base, which was still pulsing with a faint blue light.
The room was simple, and completely un-furnished, but I knew what I had to do.
I had to build a game that would grab them. A game with a mysterious allure.
A game that whispered to them from the shadows.
A new menu materialized in front of me: [Game Customization].
This was it.
The real work began.
I focused my thoughts, pouring all my knowledge of game design, fanfiction, and human psychology into the interface. I had to think like a superhero.
What would they want in a game? Not just mindless destruction.
They had enough of that already.
They'd want something that felt like a reward. Something that gave them a sense of purpose beyond the daily grind of saving the world.
The game would have no in-app purchases.
It would be completely free to play.
Every in-game item and ability could be earned.
This would instantly appeal to the moral and ethical heroes of the universe.
I would also add a subtle, unadvertised feature: the ability for a player to create their own custom blocks and skins.
Tony Stark, the engineering genius, wouldn't be able to resist a game that allowed for unlimited creative freedom.
I even planned to include a hidden "achievement" system.
Players could unlock special rewards for completing certain quests.
This would be our main hook.
A hero would be told that an artifact, a location, or even a piece of powerful information they needed to save the world, could be found "within the game."
The system would generate these hidden quests based on real-world events.
It would be the ultimate marketing strategy.
The system rendered my thoughts, its blue light flashing rapidly as it processed the information.
I watched as the simple game I had planned became a complex, multi-layered experience. The code was being written in my head.
[Game Customization Complete. Finalizing File.]
[Title: Minecraft. The Unofficial Guide to Creation]
The new title was perfect.
It was a meta-joke, a direct nod to the readers of my past life, and a clever piece of in-universe branding.
It made the game sound like a manual for a higher truth, which, in a way, it was.
Finally, the system gave me a final list of options.
[Deploy Game?]
[Yes / No]
I didn't hesitate.
This was my first and only move. My ticket out of this silent, endless void. I pressed [Yes].
A new message popped up, this one glowing gold.
[Game Successfully Deployed. Stand by for Player Engagement Data.]
The screen in the Observation Deck flickered, and the view of New York City was replaced by a live feed of a data screen.
It was a blank, sterile graph, with a single line at the bottom.
The player count.
My heart pounded in my chest.
The game was out there.
It was in the world. And n
ow, the true experiment began.
Would they play? Would they find the hidden quests? Would they... get addicted?
I looked out into the void, a small smile playing on my lips.
My life was no longer monotonous.
It was a high-stakes, multi-dimensional, mind-bending game.
And I was the one holding the controller.