Marvel: Greatest Hero

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My eyes slowly opened, the world around me coming into blurry focus.

"Ah, fuck," I groaned. A splitting headache pounded through my skull as the harsh lights above seared into my eyes. What the hell? I tried to raise my hand to block the light, but it felt impossibly heavy. Despite my efforts, my arm simply flopped back down beside me.

"Jordan! You're awake, my beautiful boy," a voice sobbed, warmth engulfing my hand.

"What's going on?" I murmured. "Where am I?"

"Shh, shh, it's okay. Mom is here. Just relax, I'll get a nurse. You just rest, alright?"

Before I could respond, the darkness pulled me back under.

I couldn't tell how much time had passed when I woke again. It could have been seconds or hours.

"He'll be alright, ma'am. He's young and strong, responding well to—" The nurse's words were cut off by the same woman who had held my hand earlier.

"Jordan! He's awake, he's awake!"

This time, my eyes opened fully, and I found myself staring into the face of a middle-aged woman. She had a petite figure and brown hair, but what struck me most were the tears streaming down her cheeks. As I tried to speak, the door burst open, and an African American man in an NYPD uniform entered. He was holding two cups of coffee, but when he saw me, he dropped them without a second thought and rushed toward me.

Panic flared in my chest. I wanted to shout, "Wait, stop! I haven't done anything wrong!" But before I could react, the man swept me into a bear-like embrace, his arms wrapped tightly around me. He was sobbing openly. I was at a loss for words, so I just hugged him back, unsure of what else to do.

He must have sensed my confusion because he squeezed me even tighter before finally letting go, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

"I can't believe you're awake, son," he said, beaming at me.

I felt a strange sense of connection, as if this man wasn't a stranger at all. Flashing thoughts began to surface, memories I didn't recognize yet somehow knew belonged to me. This man's name was Sterling Davis, and he was my father. As the memories pieced themselves together, I began to feel the weight of emotions, images, and thoughts that weren't mine but now felt like they were.

"Dad," I finally said, meeting his eyes.

His grin widened, overflowing with happiness. Though I was clueless about where I was or what was happening, I knew one thing for certain: the love in this man's eyes, and in the eyes of the woman who now knelt beside him—my mom—was real. And for now, that was enough.

**Two Days Later**

That morning, I was discharged from the hospital. I'd claimed memory loss in response to most of the doctor's questions, which wasn't entirely untrue. But as I sat in my hospital bed, sifting through these newly acquired memories, I gradually began to answer more of their questions. I could remember my name, my address, and my phone number. The doctor seemed satisfied that my memories would return with time, suggesting I just needed a relaxed recovery period.

It had been a strange couple of days, coming to terms with the fact that I, Scott, was no longer in my own body. I was 28, single, and worked in a tech store selling laptops, printers, and TVs—the usual shit. Now, I was 15-year-old Jordan Davis, the son of loving parents, and generally a good kid.

The time I spent in the hospital was suffocating—not physically, but mentally. Realizing that I had been stripped of my former life and identity and thrust into a new one was rough. I kept hoping that if I fell asleep, I'd wake up back as Scott.

Though Jordan's memories were happy—memories that many would envy—they weren't mine. I felt like an imposter every time his dad came to check on me between work shifts, every time his mom brought in freshly baked goods just to see me smile.

Two days in a hospital bed had eased the gut-wrenching feeling of being somewhere new and alone. I was a pragmatic guy; moping around wouldn't solve my situation. The real question was, could anything?

Suggesting the idea of reincarnation to me a few days ago would have made me laugh. Yet here I was, not just reborn, but living another person's life. It wasn't quite reincarnation—it was more like transmigration.

Had I died as Scott? I tried to remember, but there was nothing, no final memories before waking up here. And I was sure I didn't have any pre-existing health conditions.

It was strange, becoming dependent on others again, constantly being checked up on. I used to chill out with my friends, meet up for drinks, and get high while discussing movies, comics, and girls. I hadn't loved my job, but it paid the bills and supported my hobbies.

But Jordan was different. He ran track, actually studied before exams, and was friends with some popular kids at school. Perhaps more alien than being in a new body with a different height, weight, and haircut was the prospect of walking in the shoes of that life.

Once I was back 'home' and finally alone after telling my parents I needed some time to rest, I opened 'Jordan's' laptop and typed in his password: SexyLady123. One I'd have to change before I cringed myself to death.

I needed to confirm some odd things I'd seen in my memories. It only took a few moments before I was staring at the news articles on the screen in disbelief.

"Holy shit," I whispered to myself.

As if waking up in someone else's body wasn't enough, it also appeared I was in a completely different world—one I was all too familiar with. The icing on the cake was when I confirmed the year was 2007, and among the largest companies in the world were Roxxon Industries, Stark Industries, Oscorp, Pym Technologies, the Baxter Foundation, Life Foundation, and H.A.M.M.E.R.

"I'm in the Marvel fucking universe. What. The. Fuck," I said aloud in disbelief. A few moments of silence passed before a massive grin spread across my face. If I was here, regardless of how, it must be for a purpose, right? I started having fantastical thoughts. Would I become a superhero? An Avenger? Or maybe a member of the X-Men?

I took a moment to think back on the memories belonging to this body, but nothing extraordinary came up. Jordan had been hit by a car on his way back from a friend's house—a classic hit-and-run. He'd hit his head badly in the fall, enough to put him in a three-week coma, according to everyone around me.

A shitty experience, to be sure, but nothing that would result in superpowers. Could I be… Carman? Capable of moving cars? Or Tarmachead? Able to control tarmac as if it were liquid? That'd be pretty lame.

I sighed and leaned back in the office chair. If nothing obvious came to mind, I'd have to run some tests.

I breathed out in annoyance, staring at the pen on my desk for the past 20 minutes. Nothing—not even a shimmer. I scratched another line from my list. I'd tried super strength, telepathy, super speed, firing energy beams from my eyes, and forming blasts of energy from my hands. Hell, I'd even tried to fly. And now, telekinesis.

Nothing. What was the point? How cruel could anyone be to put me in a universe full of the most absurd powers and abilities where literally anything was possible, only to make me a spectator? No, I refused to give up so soon. I'd come up with more ideas and start my tests again later.

"Jordan!" I heard my name being called from downstairs. Sighing, I tucked my chair back into the desk and headed downstairs. What met me was my mom, Christie, and my policeman dad, now in civilian clothes, standing next to two uniformed officers.

"Hey, kid, since you've officially been discharged from the hospital, Uncle Jefferson and his partner want to ask you a few questions about the night you were hit. You okay with that?" Dad asked, breaking the tension in the room.

"Jordan, you're looking better already," said the first cop. He was a carbon copy of my dad, just a little taller with closely cropped hair rather than my dad's curlier, afro-like hair.

It took me a moment, but then it hit me. The realization must have been visible on my face because the cop quickly said, "If you're still not feeling well, we can come back tomorrow."

Dad, Sterling, quickly interjected, "No, you know how it is. The sooner you know what to look for, the easier it is to catch them."

Uncle Jefferson Davis—yes, Miles Morales' father—snorted and retorted, "Look, I know you're hurting, Sterling. So am I; the kid's my nephew. But you know how these things go—you've worked enough of these cases. It's been over three weeks; the trail is cold."

My dad glared coldly at Uncle Jefferson, making him flinch. Fortunately, my mom intervened, pulling my dad back by the arm. The other policeman spoke up to break the heavy atmosphere.

"Ahem, Jordan Davis, do you remember anything that might help us find the people who hit you?" I looked at him, trying to place where I'd seen his face before. Then it hit me—Denis Leary from *The Amazing Spider-Man 2*. If my guess was right, that made him George Stacy in this universe.

My mind overloaded. Kaboom.

Not only was my uncle Jefferson Miles Morales' father, but his partner was Gwen Stacy's father?

Error 404: Brain not found.

Realizing everyone in the room was waiting for me to speak, I stammered out, "I... uh, it was a red, four-door Ford, with at least two passengers. I remember the car speeding toward me, blaring loud rap music that I could hear even over my earphones."

Sterling gave me a proud, 'that's my boy' kind of look, while Uncle Jefferson and Officer Stacy looked relieved to have something to go on.

"Anything else?" George Stacy asked.

"No, that's all I remember. Sorry."

"No need to apologize, that's already a big help," Uncle Jefferson reassured me, smiling before exchanging a glance with my father. "Thanks for the help, kiddo. We'll take it from here." They both smiled at me as they made their way to the door.

As soon as they left, my new mom turned to my dad, hands on her hips, fury radiating from her.

"What the hell was that?" she asked, her voice trembling with barely controlled anger.

Sterling paled and turned to me. "Kid, could you give us a minute?"

I nodded and made a hasty exit, thumping loudly up the stairs. Once out of sight, I crept back down. No way was I missing this.

"I said, what the fuck was that, Sterling?"

I could practically hear him squirm.

"Look, Christie, you never know what little information might help bring them to justice—"

"I don't care, Sterling. Our son has been through a harrowing ordeal. He was hit by a car, a fucking car, and he hasn't even been out of the hospital a full day. Yet you bring your boys in blue around to quiz him? At least they had the decency to feel awkward standing in our home. They knew better. You should too!"

"Oh, and what did you expect me to do, Christie!" he shouted back. "I'm a cop, serve and protect—that's what they taught us. And I couldn't even save my own boy!" He choked back tears.

"I've been a cop for over a decade, always telling myself that what I do would one day save those I care about, making it all worth it! So how do you think I felt when I got the call about Jordan? They said he had died, Christie! Dead for over a minute before he breathed again! A miracle, the doctors called him! I refuse to lose him, even if it makes him uncomfortable for a few minutes."

I blanched. This body had died, huh? Did that mean the original Jordan was gone, and I had taken over? And all this shouting? I felt... moved. As Scott, I had both my parents, but they were divorced and never fought like this over me, not directly anyway. I knew deep down they weren't fighting over me, but their Jordan. Still, I felt a strange obligation to repay the love they were showing him.

Needing a moment, I sat on the stairs. The wood creaked loudly beneath me.

Fuck.

"Jordan, come on down," I heard my mother call.

Busted.

I walked down the remaining stairs and into the living room, where I was met by a tearful mom and a visibly shaken dad. It was a strange sight—this overbearing, muscular man suddenly looked so fragile.

"How much did you hear?" Mom asked.

"All of it. But honestly, as much as I appreciate you worrying about me, it hasn't scarred me or anything—at least not yet," I replied, meeting both of their eyes. Dad looked visibly relieved, while Mom just nodded curtly.

A brief silence settled over the room before Dad spoke up. "Right, well, first night home calls for your favorite meal, right? Pizza from Rozzano's! Large Margherita for Jordan and something with lots of veggies for Mom?" He looked over at her, a hopeful plea in his eyes, as if he hoped she wouldn't hold a grudge from the argument.

"Actually, Dad, I'll have a double pepperoni. Feeling like a change, you know?" I smiled at him. Just because I was in a different body didn't mean my pizza preferences had changed.

We ended up having a lovely night. The three of us sat on the sofa, eating pizza and watching TV. It may sound silly, but I hadn't had moments like this in my own upbringing, so I genuinely appreciated it.

Citing my tiredness, I excused myself and went back up to my room. I had a dozen more potential superpowers to test before bed.