The first thing I noticed wasn't the screaming. It was the smell.
It smelled like rotten cabbage, hydraulic fluid, and the distinct, coppery tang of ozone. My head felt like someone had cracked it open, poured in molten lead, and sealed it back up with duct tape.
I groaned, trying to push myself up. My hands sank into something wet and squishy. A trash bag.
Great.
I blinked my eyes open, expecting the soft glow of my laptop screen or the messy ceiling of my bedroom. Instead, I was staring at a brick wall covered in graffiti that looked decidedly unfamiliar. I was in an alleyway. A dirty, narrow, claustrophobic alleyway that vibrated with a low, thrumming bass note that I could feel in my teeth.
"Okay," I croaked. My voice sounded dry, unused. " lucid dream? Kidnapping? Really elaborate prank?"
I stumbled to my feet, wiping the alley grime onto jeans I didn't recognize. I was wearing a hoodie that wasn't mine and sneakers that looked brand new.
Then, the ground shook.
It wasn't an earthquake. It was an impact.
I stumbled out of the alley, shielding my eyes from the sudden glare of the sun. I stepped onto a sidewalk filled with people running. Not jogging. Running. Screaming. Abandoning cars with doors wide open.
I looked up.
The sky had been torn open.
Above the skyscrapers of Manhattan, a hole in the universe swirled with blue energy. And pouring out of it were things that defied physics. Chariots flown by grey-skinned nightmares. And behind them, moving with the terrifying grace of a deep-sea predator, was a gargantuan, armored whale.
A Leviathan.
My breath hitched in my throat. I knew this scene. I knew the angle of the sun, the specific panic in the crowd, the design of the alien crafts.
"No way," I whispered, the sound lost in the roar of an explosion down the block. "No. Freaking. Way."
The Battle of New York. 2012.
I had gone to sleep reading a wiki page about the Infinity Stones, and I had woken up in the middle of the MCU's Phase One climax.
"Move!" a man in a business suit shouted, shoving past me.
I spun around, panic finally piercing through the confusion. I was a civilian. A civilian in New York City during a Chitauri invasion. I didn't have armor. I didn't have a shield. I had... I checked my pockets. A wallet with three dollars, a pack of gum, and a library card for a branch in Queens.
I'm going to die, I realized with a cold clarity. I'm an NPC. I'm background texture meant to be blown up to raise the stakes for the Avengers.
A screeching sound tore through the air.
I looked to my left. One of the Chitauri chariots had clipped a building and was spiraling down—straight toward me.
I tried to move. My brain screamed run, but my legs were locked in that primal, lizard-brain freeze. The debris fell in slow motion. A chunk of masonry the size of a minivan was plummeting directly for my head.
I squeezed my eyes shut and threw my hands up, a pathetic, useless gesture.
Is this it? Transmigrated just to get flattened in thirty seconds? What a joke.
[CRITICAL THREAT DETECTED.]
The voice didn't come from my ears. It resonated directly in my skull. It sounded like the hum of a server room, cold and synthetic.
[NARRATIVE INTEGRITY AT RISK. MAIN CHARACTER CANNOT DIE IN CHAPTER 1.]
[INITIATING: PLOT ARMOR PROTOCOLS.] [TYPE: COINCIDENCE MANIPULATION.]
Click.
The sound of the world stopped.
I opened one eye. The falling masonry hung suspended in the air, ten feet above me. The dust motes were frozen in place. The screaming crowds were statues.
A translucent blue screen flickered into existence in front of my face. It looked like a video editing timeline, complete with a red cursor bar.
Current Event: [Death by Falling Debris] Status: [Inevitability: 100%] Action: [EDIT]
My hand moved on its own. I didn't reach for the masonry; I reached for a loose pebble on the ground. It was glowing with a faint gold outline.
The system prompt changed.
Suggestion: Throw pebble at coordinate X: 12, Y: 40.
I grabbed the pebble and flicked it. It flew through the frozen air, tapping the side of a fire hydrant.
[CALCULATION COMPLETE. RESUMING REALITY.]
SNAP.
Time rushed back in a violent wave.
The pebble hit the hydrant. The hydrant's cap, apparently rusted through, exploded under the pressure of the water inside. The high-pressure jet of water shot upward at an impossible angle, hitting a hanging metal sign for a pizza place. The sign swung wildly, screeching on its hinges, and slammed into the falling masonry.
The impact deflected the giant rock just enough.
It crashed into the pavement three feet to my left. The shockwave knocked me off my feet, sending me sprawling into a pile of cardboard boxes that hadn't been there a second ago.
I lay there, chest heaving, staring at the crater where I should have been paste.
[ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: "The Chosen One's Luck"] [PASSIVE SKILL ACQUIRED: PLOT ARMOR (LVL 1)] [Effect: The Universe will bend probability to ensure your survival, provided it makes for a good story.]
I started to laugh. It was a hysterical, wheezing sound.
"Plot armor," I gasped, wiping dust from my face. "I have literal, weaponized plot armor."
I scrambled to my feet, the fear replaced by a sudden, electric surge of adrenaline. If I couldn't die... then I wasn't an NPC.
I heard a familiar clang of vibranium against metal.
I peered around the corner of the alley. Fifty yards away, Captain America—Steve Rogers—was fighting a squad of Chitauri foot soldiers. He looked overwhelmed. He was young here, fresh out of the ice, still adjusting to the 21st century.
He blocked a blast with his shield, but a second Chitauri was flanking him, raising a rifle to his exposed back.
I saw the blue screen flicker again.
Current Event: [Captain America takes a non-lethal but incapacitating injury.] Opportunity: [Establish Connection with Major Character.]
I didn't think. I looked around, spotted a discarded hubcap, and grinned.
"Hey, ugly!" I shouted.
The Chitauri turned. Steve Rogers turned.
I didn't throw the hubcap. I just stepped forward.
And then I tripped.
I tripped over my own shoelaces, flailing my arms wildly. My hand slapped against a lever on a parked delivery truck. The truck's hydraulic lift gate slammed down with the force of a guillotine, catching the distracted Chitauri right in the chest and pinning it to the pavement.
Silence.
Steve Rogers dispatched the remaining alien with a shield bash and looked at the crushed alien, then at me. I was lying on the ground again, looking ridiculous.
The Captain jogged over, extending a gloved hand. He looked like a god made of corn-fed American righteousness.
"That was... incredible timing, son," Steve said, his brow furrowed in confusion. "You okay?"
I took his hand. It felt like grabbing a steel bar wrapped in leather. As he pulled me up, a new window popped up next to his head.
[NEW QUEST: THE MENTOR FIGURE] [Objective: Impress Captain America.] [Reward: Combat Training / S.H.I.E.L.D. Access.]
I dusted off my stolen hoodie and looked the First Avenger in the eye.
"I'm fine, Cap," I lied smoothly. "Just following the script."
He blinked. "The... script?"
I smiled. "Figure of speech. Look out behind you."
He spun around just as a Chitauri speeder exploded—not because of me, but because I knew Hawkeye was perched on the building above us. The explosion framed me perfectly, wind blowing through my hair.
Yeah. I could get used to this.