The End.

Alan was just your average guy. A nobody. He didn't have dreams, didn't have ambitions. His life was about surviving each day, filling the empty hours with games and novels. The one thing he was passionate about? Superheroes. Not because he thought he could ever be one, but because they were everything he wasn't. They helped people, they stood tall, they got back up no matter how many times they were knocked down. Him? He stayed down. Literally.

The night he died wasn't anything special. He had just picked up the new marvel game and Realtec headset for a cheap price, He was excited for it, something to look forward to, something to distract him from the shitshow that was his life.

But on his way home, he never made it. 

He was walking on the dark and damp street, passing houses and eventually walking forward of the crosswalk when it hit green light.

When suddenly a car continued unevaded depaide the green light,

—SCRRCH!

It smashed him into fucking meat paste.

He didn't even have time to react. One second he was alive, and the next… nothing.

Atleast that's what he thought.

When Alan woke up, it wasn't in a hospital. It wasn't in his bed. He was lying in the middle of a cold, dirty street. His body ached, his head pounded, and his clothes were a mess—torn, filthy, and smelled like absolute shit.

"Fucking hell…" Alan muttered as he struggled to stand up. He looked around, completely and utterly disoriented. Was he in a coma? A dream?, No. definitely not. It felt too real, too sharp. He could feel the cold air biting through his ragged clothes. He could smell the wet pavement beneath him, hear the distant sounds of traffic.

So why was he alive?

He walked for hours, passing others as he wandered through the streets, trying to make sense of it all. People looked at him like he was the fucking plague, just another homeless bum. He couldn't blame them. He looked the part, after all.

But then, he heard something when he passed by an electronics store, something caught his attention. A big TV screen behind the glass was playing the news.

"Famous Genius, Billionaire, Playboy and Philanthropist Tony Stark will soon be hosting the Stark Expo, as per the reports in the media

. Recently, he has been in a continuous struggle with the government as they are getting worried about his Iron Man suit. With most of the public treating him as a hero, it would be interesting to see what would be the end result of this…"

Alan stared at the TV screen behind the shop window,.

Tony Stark?

His heart pounded when he realization hit him. He wasn't just in his previous wokrd, hell it wan't a parallel one either.

He was in the Marvel Universe.

Comics, MCU?

He didn't know but he hoped it was the latter

At first when he realized he was in a world with superheroes he was by far more excited than he had been in his life.

After all it was a world of possibility, one he could actually become something in.

Then he realized another curical thing.

mutants, gods, and monsters.

The fact he was still a nobody, hell he was without powers, unemployed and certainly not some kind of genius.

He didn't have some Iron Man suit to fall back on. He wasn't a hero. Hell, he wasn't even a competent survivor. He didn't know how to fend for himself here. He was more broke than he'd ever been, stuck in a world where danger was around every corner.

When he realized all this. He just felt the same as before.

Hopeless.

He slumped to the ground ataring at the amall puddle of water from the rain.

Should he just give up?

He didn't know.

Yet…

Why was he doing this…?

A group of men surrounded a woman. She was trying to pull away, but they were too many, too strong. People walked past, some turning their heads but most pretending not to notice. No one was going to help her. And she had no way of escaping.

So why the fuck was he moving toward them?

His legs moved on their own, his body was shaky. 

He wasn't a hero. He wasn't even close. He couldn't fight, couldn't even take care of himself. This wasn't his fight—he knew it all to fucking well!

And yet, his feet kept moving. slowly at first, then faster as he saw one of the men raise his hand to strike her.

So why, WHY was he doing this? he asked himself again and again. 

The answer was obvious, wasn't it?

He was still that naive and stupid kid inside, the one who believed in heroes, the one who wished he could be one, even though he knew he wasn't cut out for it. Heroes always died for their cause. Maybe that was his path too.

At the very least, he could help her.

—SCRRCH!

The sound of a metal pipe scraping against the ground cut through the air. Alan's heart pounded in his chest as he swung the rusty pipe with every bit of strength he could muster, crashing it into one of the men's ribs. The guy let out a sharp gasp, stumbling back as the others turned to look.

"RUN, YOU IDIOT!" Alan screamed at the woman, his voice cracking from fear and desperation.

The woman, eyes wide with terror, hesitated for a second before breaking free from the man holding her. She ran, stumbling in her heels, as fast as she could down the street. One of the men tried to grab her but missed, cursing under his breath as she disappeared into the night.

That was the last good thing Alan would see.

The remaining gangsters turned their attention to him, he looked really fucking pissed"

"You piece of shit," one of them spat, cracking his knuckles as he approached. "You think you can just walk in and play hero?"

He didn't bother to listen, His grip tightened on the pipe, his hands still trembling. He swung again, trying to keep them back, but this time one of the men grabbed it mid-swing, yanking it out of his hands. Before Alan could react, a fist connected with his face, the impact sending him crashing to the ground. His vision blurred as his head hit the pavement.

Fuck, Fuck FUCK.

Pain exploded in his chest as a boot slammed into his ribs. Then another. And another.

The punches and kicks rained down on him, each blow more vicious than the last. His body convulsed as they stomped on his legs, his arms, his head. The taste of blood filled his mouth, and he could barely breathe through the crushing pain.

"Fucking wannabe," one of them sneered, smashing his fist into Alan's nose, the sound of cartilage crunching like dry leaves in the air.

Alan's vision was darkening. He couldn't think, couldn't even process what was happening anymore. His body was shutting down, He was in utter fucking agony. He felt his ribs snap under the weight of a boot, the sharp pain shooting through him like fire. His breath came in ragged gasps, each one harder than the last.

One of them knelt down, grabbing Alan by the hair and yanking his head back. "You want to be a hero, huh?" he hissed, his face inches from Alan's. "This is what happens to heroes."

He felt a sudden, sharp pain in his gut. He looked down, seeing the glint of a knife pulled from his side, blood gushing from the wound. Alan let out a choking gasp, his body twitching involuntarily as he collapsed fully to the ground.

They didn't stop. The punches and kicks kept coming, his bones breaking, his skin splitting open with each hit. He could feel his body failing, each breath becoming harder than the last. His heartbeat was slowing, his mind clouded in a haze of pain.

The world was fading, the cold rain mixing with the warm blood pooling beneath him. He couldn't even scream anymore. He couldn't move.

The last thing he saw was one of the men walking away, laughing. His vision blurred as darkness closed in, the pain finally slipping away.

At least… he managed to do somethig for once... He thought self deprecatingly as the last shred of life left him.

And then… nothing.

It was dark, dim, cold.

Colorless.

…

…

But the clock had yet to tick.

And so.

The clock rewinds once more.

Chapter end.