When you die, they say your life flashes before your eyes.
Mine didn't.
I didn't get a greatest-hits reel. No dramatic montage. No sad music. Just… blackness. And then a snarky UI asking if I wanted to start a new game.
But now, in this pause between fireballs and existential dread, I remember things.
Not the big stuff. Not world-shaking events or deep life philosophies. Just... fragments. Unskippable cutscenes from a life I thought was low-stakes.
My name's Jamie Walker. I was born in a city built on ambition, you know the kind, where smart fridges worked better than the school system, and nobody ever really looked at you unless you owed them money or owed them rent.
My mom was a coder who taught high school computer science when the tech industry burned her out. My dad was a night-shift security guard with chef-level cooking skills and zero time to use them. We were functional. Not warm. Not cold. Just... background noise to each other's lives.
I wasn't bullied. I wasn't popular. I was the kind of kid that teachers often forgot to mark as absent.
I made friends online. In raid parties, message boards, and modding communities. People knew me by gamer tags and avatar names, and honestly? That felt more real than anything in meatspace. They laughed at my jokes. Asked me for help. Didn't expect you to explain why I never went out.
And then there was Tyler.
Two years older. My brother. The golden boy.
Tyler could walk into a room and light it up without trying. Played three sports. Had a girlfriend and a college plan. Meanwhile, I had a Minecraft server and a bad sleep schedule. He never made me feel like I was less. In fact, he never missed an opportunity to make me feel better about myself. We always played games together, every other day.
He died on a Friday.
Car accident. A woman came onto the middle of the road, unaware of her surroundings, he stopped the car abruptly, on the spot, dead. I called him, said I wanted to play some Mortal Kombat together. So, he was coming to me.
He left me a voicemail. I didn't check it until morning. Too late by then.
I remember standing in the hallway of our apartment. Mom was holding the phone like it was made of knives. Dad just... staring at the wall.
I think something broke in all of us that day. Quietly. Permanently.
I never listened to the voicemail.
Couldn't.
Still can't.
After that, college didn't stick. I tried. Went through the motions. But nothing made sense. Everything felt like a side quest with no main story in sight.
So I dropped out. Started freelancing. UX design, mostly. Interfaces, HUDs, digital overlays. I was good at it. Because when the real world feels like noise, building logical systems gives you control.
Even if it's fake.
Even if it's just pretend control.
I paid rent with side gigs. I streamed sometimes. Had a few thousand followers. They liked my breakdowns of game mechanics, MCU lore, conspiracy-tier theories about multiverse glitches, and narrative continuity. I talked a lot of shit. None of it mattered.
I remember the exact moment. The exact moment I had lost faith in life.
The hammering in my chest will never stop, every time I think about him.
Everything in the world was falling apart; the world was crumbling right before my eyes.
So, I went to a railway station and then for a split second, I thought that maybe, just maybe, I'd get to meet my brother again, really play one last game with him. And then,
THUD
I had expected silence. Now, I don't get that silence. I don't get my peace. I don't get anything I wanted.
Instead, I get a shitty "power" that I don't want. And a life that I don't want.
Let me tell you where this started.
[Would You Like To Start A New Game?]
That was the question. I had two options: yes or no.
I said, "No."
[Input not detected: selecting yes]
And I don't get a choice, even in this.
[Selecting random universe: Marvel selected!]
What? Wait, what exactly is happening here?
[Selecting world: Earth 199999!]
--------------------
I'm Jamie. Or rather, I was Jamie. Now, I'm just… character data. A walking, talking, perpetually 20-something bundle of code in a world that apparently thought my snarky game theories were an instruction manual.
The last thing I remembered was the blinding flash as the train approached, the cold metal beneath my hands, and the desperate, foolish hope for silence. For an end. Instead, there was that snarky UI. And then, the world ripped.
It wasn't a gentle transition, no fade to white or peaceful awakening. It was like I was caught in a corrupted save file, bits of reality tearing and stitching back together around me.
I felt myself being pulled, not by gravity, but by an unseen force, like a magnet dragging iron filings through a swirling vortex. My stomach, or what I assumed was my stomach, churned as if it were being turned inside out.
The dizzying colors snapped into focus, the tearing sensation ceased, and a sickening lurch propelled me forward. I didn't fall. I just… arrived.
My vision snapped into focus, and the blackness wasn't just gone; it was replaced by a Heads-Up Display (HUD) hovering over everything. A transparent overlay, flickering slightly like an old CRT monitor, showing me things no human should ever see. My current location: "Alleyway, Hell's Kitchen, NYC." My "HP Bar" was a solid green, full to the brim, no digits. Below that, a "Mana Bar" — wait, mana? – also full.
Then the system chimed again, less snarky, more… tutorial-y.
[Welcome, Player!]
[Your character has been successfully generated.]
[Please access your Character Menu to allocate initial Stat Points.]
My head throbbed. Stat points? I tentatively reached out, not with my hand, but with my thought, and a new window popped up.
The Character Menu
It was a nightmare of bad UI design, frankly. Cluttered. Too many options. My old boss would have had a stroke. But there it was:
Name: Jamie WalkerRace: Human (Variant)Class: Undefined (Currently "Newbie")
Core Stats:
Strength [STR]: 5 (Weak. Expected.)
Dexterity [DEX]: 8 (Slightly less weak. Maybe from all those late-night coding sessions?)
Constitution [CON]: ∞ (Wait, what? Why's there an infinity symbol next to constitution?)
Intelligence [INT]: 12 (Okay, a little boost there. My MCU lore and game mechanic breakdowns must've counted for something.)
Wisdom [WIS]: 7 (Lower than Intelligence. Accurate. I knew things but rarely made good decisions.)
Charisma [CHA]: 4 (...)
Available Stat Points: 10
Below the stats, there were other tabs: Inventory, Skills, Marketplace, Quests, Save/Load.
"This is insane," I muttered, but no sound came out. My mouth moved, but it was like the game hadn't loaded my voice lines yet. Just another layer of simulated existence.
[Recommendation: Allocate points into Intelligence for improved skill acquisition, or Dexterity for enhanced evasive maneuvers.]
I glared at the prompt. "Oh, thanks, game. Real helpful." Still no sound. Great. So I couldn't even complain out loud.
Ten points. Ten points to define the "me" that was no longer really me. What did I need? In this "Marvel" world, I wasn't going to be punching Thanos. But I was stuck. And if I was stuck, I needed to understand things. I needed to see the patterns, find the exploits.
I dragged 6 points to Intelligence, boosting it to a respectable 18. Then, hesitated. Evasive maneuvers sounded good. I didn't want to get hit by "fireballs," whatever that was a euphemism for. I put the remaining 4 points into Dexterity, bringing it to 12.
[Stat Points allocated]
But then I looked at another category, Blessings/Curses.
Blessings:
[Plot Maker - Rank SSS+]:
Effect: You are not held by the strings of fate like other characters. You hold the freedom to make your own future as well as change others'
Details: This blessing ensures that you're not stuck to plot armor, basically.
Curses:
[Player's Resilience – Rank A]:
Effect: Your body is fundamentally incorruptible. You cannot age, bleed, or be permanently dismembered. Any physical damage heals almost instantly, leaving no trace. You are immune to all forms of disease and conventional poisons.
Details: This explains the Constitution [CON]: ∞ stat. It's not just high; it's literally infinite.
The more I read, the heavier my chest felt. This wasn't a game I could quit. This wasn't even a game I could pause in any meaningful way. My immortality, the one thing that should be a blessing, was truly the ultimate curse. I couldn't die. Couldn't escape.
I chuckled, I try to kill myself and this fuckass god makes me immortal, huh? Very poetic, would suit a nice poem.
The Blessings/Curses menu still floated, mocking me with its stark white text on the translucent overlay. The Plot Maker – Rank SSS+ blessing, the supposed freedom to weave my own destiny and alter others', felt like a cruel irony given my immediate, forced circumstances. What good was ultimate narrative control if I couldn't even control my own fundamental desire not to be here? And then there was the Player's Resilience – Rank A curse, the infinite Constitution, binding me to this unwanted existence with every rapidly regenerating cell.
This wasn't freedom. This was a gilded cage, a cosmic joke played at my expense. The ultimate troll.
Let me test this out. I grabbed a nearby broken piece of glass, lying around. I then used it to cut my throat. No pain, no blood. I threw it away, realizing it's useless.
I fell down, lying on my back, still in the alley.
Congratulations to me, I'm now an Immortal. Whoo, yippie.
Bitch, what year is it?
[Year 2017, current timeline as per MCU - Spider-Man: Homecoming]
Right. Hell's Kitchen, 2017. I'm immortal, stuck, and apparently, I can't even verbally complain. Classic "be careful what you wish for" scenario, except I wished for the opposite of this. The universe, or whatever omnipotent entity is running this twisted game, clearly has a dark sense of humor.
Lying in that alley, the initial shock gave way to a dull, throbbing rage. Not the explosive kind, but a cold, steady burn.
My eyes, or rather, my HUD, drifted to the various icons that were now permanently plastered across my vision. The HP Bar and Mana Bar were green and full, taunting me with their uselessness. Below them, a small, blinking "!" icon indicated a new Quest. Probably something equally infuriating, like "Find a decent cup of coffee" or "Avoid existential crises for 24 hours."
I didn't want to engage, but my analytical mind, now supercharged by my Intelligence [INT]: 18, couldn't help but process the data.
I pushed myself up, brushing off imaginary dust. The "no sound" thing was a problem. A big one. How was I supposed to navigate this world, let alone influence its "plot," if I couldn't even ask for directions or curse out a mugger?
Then, another system chime, less an alert and more like a gentle suggestion.
New Tutorial Prompt!
[Voice Command Protocol Initialized]
Details: As a newly generated player, your vocal cords require calibration. Please attempt a simple command.
Example: "Open Inventory"
My non-existent voice, it seemed, was less a bug and more a feature waiting to be unlocked. "Well, isn't that just peachy," I thought, my mental voice dripping with sarcasm.
I took a deep breath, or at least the sensation of one, and focused. I wasn't sure how I was supposed to "attempt a simple command" without actually speaking, but I tried to project the thought, the intent, into the HUD.
"Open Inventory," I mentally commanded.
[Voice Command Detected: Opening Inventory]
A new, slightly less horrendous UI window popped up, overlaid onto my vision. It was sparse, as expected.
Inventory
[Empty Slot]
[Empty Slot]
[Empty Slot]
...
A small icon, almost an afterthought, flickered in the corner of the Inventory screen: [Voice Settings]. I mentally selected it.
Voice Settings
[Voice Volume: Muted]
[Voice Tone: Default]
[Speech Recognition: Active]
[Voice Lines: Unlocked]
"Muted," I thought with an eye roll. Of course. I mentally dragged the [Voice Volume] slider to the right, all the way to [Loud]. There was no need for subtlety at this point.
"Testing, one, two, three," I heard myself say. My voice was a little rough, like I hadn't used it in a while, but it was there. Real. The sound of it, mundane as it was, felt like a bizarre triumph. I even managed a short, humorless chuckle.
"Finally," I muttered. "I can complain out loud."
Hell's Kitchen. Known for its gritty realism, its street-level heroes, and its surprisingly good Thai food, if I remembered the comics and shows right.
My HUD, ever helpful, provided an updated objective:
Current Quest: Initial Orientation
Objective 1: Establish Communication. (COMPLETED)
Objective 2: Understand Local Environment.
Hint: The city is a bustling place. Observing local customs and current events can provide valuable insight.
Objective 3: Acquire Resources.
Hint: Even an immortal needs to eat. And maybe a place to crash that isn't an alley.
"Acquire resources," I scoffed. "As if this is some damn survival game." Except, it kind of was. Even with infinite HP, I still felt the chill of the morning air, the faint growl of a stomach that didn't need to eat but probably would if I gave it the option. Habits die hard, even if I couldn't.
It was time to move. Time to figure out how a perpetually 20-something, snarky, immortal UX designer with some level of intellect and zero social skills was supposed to "make plot" in the Marvel Universe.
The first step, I decided, was probably getting out of this alley. And maybe finding a working coffee machine. Even if I didn't technically need the caffeine, the ritual felt important. A small slice of normal in this very, very abnormal new game.
So, Hell's Kitchen. What next?
Actually? Why me, a person who wants to die? I'm sure there are millions of people who would throw away their lives for this. Why me?