I didn't die with fanfare. No divine lights. No voice from the heavens. Just black.
One minute I was slumped on my couch, microwaving leftover dumplings while binge-watching Daredevil for the fifth time. Next thing I knew, I was face-first on a hardwood floor that definitely wasn't mine, coughing like I'd inhaled a lungful of dust.
My eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. Brick walls. Wooden furniture. An old analog TV. And the unmistakable smell of New York in summer—garbage, hot dog grease, and the faint stench of despair.
I sat up and noticed a mirror across the room. Except… my reflection wasn't mine.
He looked like me. But sharper. Leaner. Hair slicked back. Eyes cold. Wearing a tailored black suit that screamed "I have a gun, and I know exactly where your liver is."
Then it hit me like a truck full of comic books.
I wasn't in my apartment.
I wasn't in my body.
And then—like some cheap sci-fi novel—the glowing blue screen appeared in front of my eyes.
---
[SIGN-IN SYSTEM ACTIVATED]
Welcome, Victor Wick.
You have been reincarnated into: MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE [Earth-199999]
System Features:
[Weekly Sign-In] ✅
[Status] 🟡 Locked
[Inventory] 🟡 Locked
[Scan & Analyze] 🔒
[Character Templates: 0/1 active]
> Weekly Sign-In available. Initiate now?
[YES] | [NO]
---
My mouth went dry.
MCU. As in, Marvel. Iron Man. Thor. Aliens. Thanos. Snap. Oh no.
I hit [YES] like my life depended on it—because it probably did.
---
[Sign-In Complete]
Congratulations! You have received: JOHN WICK TEMPLATE
Hand-to-Hand Combat Mastery
Firearms Expertise
Tactical Awareness
Pain Resistance
Killer Instinct
Suit Enhancement: "Combat Formalwear v1"
[Template Installed.]
---
And then the pain hit.
My muscles twisted. My nerves felt like they were rerouting themselves. Every bone in my body screamed in agony—and then went silent. I stood up. Tall. Balanced. Ready.
I knew how to kill a man in six different ways using a pencil. I could feel the weight of the knife under my coat like it was part of my body. My hands flexed, trained, dangerous.
I stared into the mirror again.
"Well… sh*t."
I wasn't just in the MCU. I had become a goddamn assassin.
---
After the shock wore off—and after looting the apartment I apparently now lived in (which included a fake passport, three pistols, and a few gold coins because why not)—I stepped outside.
New York.
Yellow cabs. Billboards. Trash swirling in alleyways. And then I saw it.
A Daily Bugle news van.
Yep. It was real. I was here. And I wasn't Peter Parker.
I made my way to the nearest newsstand and picked up a paper.
Stark Industries Soars Amid Global Arms Demand – 2007
My eyes widened.
That meant Tony Stark hadn't been kidnapped yet. No Iron Man. No Avengers. No alien invasions. No Infinity Gauntlet—yet.
I had time.
And a hell of a lot of motivation to stay alive.
---
Ding.
The system pinged again.
---
[System Update Unlocked: Status Screen]
> Name: Victor Wick
Age: 29
Affiliation: None
Power Level: Low (Tier 1)
Template: John Wick (Active)
Abilities: Firearms Mastery, Hand-to-Hand Combat, Tactical Thinking, High Pain Threshold
Inventory: 3 x Glock 17, 1 x Tactical Knife, 5 x Gold Coin, 1 x Toothpick
Credits: $0 (Currency system inactive)
Threat Level: Low
---
"Credits… inactive. Wonderful."
Still, the stats were helpful. And "Low Tier" in Marvel was better than "Dead Civilian #3."
But here's the thing. I wasn't just planning to survive.
I was going to thrive.
And that started with money.
Not superhero money. Real money. Power money.
The kind of money that could buy Stark Industries shares before the Iron Man boom.
And if there's one thing the MCU has plenty of—it's criminals with cash.
---
That night, I found my first target.
Small-time gang, fronting as a mechanic shop in Hell's Kitchen. Armed, dumb, and full of laundered money.
I scoped the place using my new instincts. Two guards at the front. One rear alley exit. Cameras off. Lights dimmed. Rookie mistake.
I walked in like I owned the place.
"Who the hell are you?" one of them asked, reaching for a bat.
Two shots. One to the kneecap, one to the shoulder.
He screamed. I didn't flinch.
The other lunged at me. Sloppy. I spun, disarmed him, and pistol-whipped him so hard he collapsed.
I moved like a ghost through the building. Room by room. Three minutes. Seven men down. No fatalities—yet. Because Wick didn't kill unless necessary.
The vault was poorly guarded. I cracked it with a stolen code.
$250,000 in cash. Clean bills. Nice.
---
Back in my apartment, I dropped the money on the table and sat.
It was all real. This life. The system. The plan.
Next step? Use fake identities to funnel the money into small Stark Industries stock purchases. Enough to snowball once Tony's press conference happens. And when it does?
I'll be rich.
Then powerful.
Then ready.
---
I lit a cigarette I didn't remember buying and stared out the window. The skyline shimmered.
Somewhere out there, Tony Stark was partying.
Somewhere else, SHIELD was watching.
And somewhere far above—maybe—Thanos was smiling.
But I didn't care.
I had a system.
I had a suit.
And I had a pencil.
---
[Next Sign-In: 6 Days, 23 Hours, 12 Minutes]
Let's dance.
---