Chapter 2: The Art of the Strategic Demise (and a little Rickrolling)
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: OBJECTIVE: SURVIVE. SECONDARY OBJECTIVE: ACQUIRE ADDITIONAL SKILLS. CONSIDER UNORTHODOX METHODS.]
My first death had been accidental, a rude awakening to my new, chaotic reality. My second? That was going to be entirely strategic. I zipped through the New York skyline on my stolen Chitauri skiff, a bizarre blend of exhilaration and pure, unadulterated terror coursing through my veins. The "Basic Energy Weapon Proficiency" was proving incredibly useful, allowing me to actually defend myself and, more importantly, get places quickly. But I needed more. Lots more. The system had mentioned "unique deaths" for upgrades, and I was currently stuck on "Chitauri Warrior." That wasn't going to cut it.
"Okay, Adam, time to put that future knowledge to good use. Who's around? Chitauri, Leviathans, Hulk, Iron Man, Captain America, Thor, Black Widow, Hawkeye. A regular who's-who of 'people I should probably avoid' and 'people I should definitely annoy for personal gain.' Focus on the 'annoy for personal gain' part. It's more my style."*
I spotted a Leviathan, a gigantic, armored space worm, lumbering its way through a skyscraper, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake. It was magnificent in its horror, a true spectacle of alien brute force. And it was a prime target. Not to fight, mind you. To die to.
"Right, how do you get a Leviathan to step on you without, you know, actually dying for real? Or rather, dying in a way that yields a useful skill? Gamma Resistance from Hulk, sure. But what does a space worm give you? Enhanced Digestive System? Probably not ideal for a first skill."*
I had to be careful. The system explicitly stated "Perma-Death Clause: Adam can be killed by the same individual once. A second death by that person is permanent." This meant I couldn't just throw myself under the same Chitauri skiff again and again. Each death had to be unique. A Leviathan was certainly unique.
I aimed my skiff towards the Leviathan, but then I had an idea. A brilliant idea. A truly Adam Stiels-esque idea. I angled the skiff and began to circle the colossal beast, firing my energy weapon not at its armored hide, but at the surrounding buildings, creating controlled explosions that would surely draw attention.
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: UNORTHODOX ENGAGEMENT DETECTED. RECOMMENDED: MAINTAIN SITUATIONAL AWARENESS.]
"Oh, I'm situationally aware, System," I muttered, grinning maniacally as a piece of concrete the size of a small car plunged past my skiff. "I'm just situationally aware that this is hilarious."
My goal wasn't to damage the Leviathan. My goal was to annoy it. And by "it," I meant whoever was controlling it. And by "annoy," I meant "make them wish they'd never come to Earth."
I flew closer, dangerously close, pulling off daring aerial maneuvers that would have made a seasoned pilot sweat. The Leviathan, surprisingly, seemed to ignore me at first, too focused on its skyscraper-devouring mission. But then, I tried something else. Remembering a particularly annoying internet meme, I quickly rerouted the skiff's comms system, which I somehow now understood thanks to my "proficiency." A tinny, distorted version of "Never Gonna Give You Up" by Rick Astley began to blast from the skiff's external speakers, echoing through the urban canyons.
"Yeah, that's right, space worms. You just got Rickrolled. In the middle of an alien invasion. Try to unhear that."*
It worked. Oh, it worked. The Leviathan actually seemed to twitch. One of the smaller Chitauri skiffs that were escorting it veered sharply towards me, clearly irritated. Good. I wanted irritated. Irritated aliens were predictable aliens.
I led the Chitauri escort on a merry chase, weaving through the skyscrapers, dodging their energy blasts, and generally being the most annoying thing in the skies since pigeons discovered bread crumbs. My Rick Astley serenade continued, unrelenting. I imagined the Chitauri overlords on the mothership pulling their antennae in frustration.
Suddenly, a massive tail, easily the size of a city bus, whipped through the air. The Leviathan had finally decided to address the noisy little annoyance buzzing around its head. I saw it coming, a slow-motion blur of armored scales and raw power. I could have dodged it. My newfound piloting intuition screamed at me to bank left, to ascend, to escape. But I didn't. This was my chance. This was the strategic demise.
"Alright, Leviathan. Take your best shot. Or rather, your best swat. Let's see what kind of weird, useful skill you've got hiding in those armored plates. Just promise me it's not 'Advanced Bioluminescence' or something equally useless in a gunfight."*
The impact was less a hit and more an engulfment. The sheer force of the Leviathan's tail slammed into my skiff, crushing it—and me—instantly. The world exploded into a kaleidoscope of metal shards, alien goo, and an overwhelming, crushing pressure. The music cut out mid-lyric.
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: DEATH DETECTED. KILLER: LEVIATHAN (IDENTIFICATION: CHITAURI BIOWEAPON UNIT 007). SKILL ACQUIRED: LOW-LEVEL GAMMA RESISTANCE.]
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: IMMORTAL SYSTEM ACTIVATED. YOU HAVE 1 LIFE REMAINING AGAINST CHITAURI BIOWEAPON UNIT 007.]
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: 2 UNIQUE DEATHS RECORDED. CURRENT PROGRESS TO UPGRADE 1: 2/20.]
I gasped, sitting bolt upright on the debris-strewn street. My body felt... tingly. Not in a bad way, more like I'd just had a particularly invigorating deep-tissue massage from a cosmic entity. I quickly checked myself over. No visible injuries. Clothes still singed, but otherwise fine. I was alive. Again. And this time, with Gamma Resistance.
"Gamma Resistance? Seriously? Did I get stepped on by the Leviathan or did it just feel like the Hulk? Well, I guess that's something. At least now if I accidentally spill a gamma-irradiated smoothie on myself, I won't turn into a giant, angry green rage monster. Probably. Unless it's a really strong smoothie."*
I looked around. The Leviathan was still lumbering away, seemingly unconcerned with the small speck of a human it had just turned into chunky salsa. My stolen skiff was... well, it was now a very expensive, very mangled piece of modern art. Oops.
"Well, that's going to be a pain to explain to the insurance company," I muttered, pushing myself to my feet. "Though I doubt they cover 'alien invasion' or 'getting smacked by a space whale.' Maybe I can just mark it down as 'acts of God (or rather, acts of mischievous alien overlords).'"
I needed a new ride. And more deaths. My eyes scanned the chaotic landscape. More Chitauri skiffs zipped past. Ground troops were swarming. This was an all-you-can-die buffet, and I was just getting started.
"Okay, plan B. Find a smaller, less building-sized target. Someone who's still a threat, but who won't turn me into a fine paste with one casual flick. And preferably someone who has a skill that's actually, you know, useful in a fight. Like, 'Advanced Parkour' or 'Ability to Make Sarcastic Remarks at Inappropriate Times' – wait, I already have that last one."*
I ducked behind a demolished bus, narrowly avoiding an energy blast from a passing Chitauri ground soldier. He was heavily armored, carrying a standard-issue energy rifle. Perfect.
"Alright, buddy," I whispered to myself, "let's see what you've got."
This time, I was going to be more subtle. No grand pronouncements, no Rickrolling. Just a quick, clean, strategic demise. I waited for the opportune moment, for the Chitauri to get just a little too close, a little too confident.
"Here we go. Death by generic alien grunt. Hopefully, it's something cool like 'Enhanced Reflexes' or 'Knowing How to Fold a Fitted Sheet Properly.' The latter would truly be a superpower."*
I launched myself out from behind the bus, feigning a clumsy stumble. The Chitauri warrior, surprised by the sudden human apparition, instinctively fired. The blue energy hit me square in the chest.
The pain was immediate and absolute. A searing, burning agony that tore through my body, far more intense than the brief, non-existent pain of the Leviathan. My vision went white, then black. This was definitely a more traditional death.
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: DEATH DETECTED. KILLER: CHITAURI SOLDIER (IDENTIFICATION: UNIT 14-ZETA). SKILL ACQUIRED: BASIC COMBAT TRAINING.]
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: IMMORTAL SYSTEM ACTIVATED. YOU HAVE 1 LIFE REMAINING AGAINST CHITAURI SOLDIER UNIT 14-ZETA.]
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: 3 UNIQUE DEATHS RECORDED. CURRENT PROGRESS TO UPGRADE 1: 3/20.]
I gasped, body convulsing, as I woke up again. The pain lingered, a phantom ache that made me wince. This wasn't as fun as the first time. But I had a new skill.
"Basic Combat Training? Seriously? What, did I just learn how to throw a half-hearted punch and then immediately fall over? This system needs to work on its skill acquisition algorithm. Or maybe I need to find more skilled killers."*
I pushed myself up, my muscles feeling a little tighter, a little more responsive. Not much, but it was there. A subtle improvement. Like I'd just had a really good, if painful, workout. The Chitauri soldier, the one who had just turned me into a smoking crater, was looking around nervously, clearly wondering where the human he'd just obliterated had gone.
"Don't worry about it, pal," I muttered, shaking my head. "Just a typical Tuesday for me. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have more dying to do. And judging by the looks of things, this city has plenty of opportunities for it."
I needed to find a more efficient way to acquire skills. And quickly. The city was still falling apart, and while I was immortal, I was also currently unarmed and surrounded by very angry aliens. This was going to be a long day. A very, very long, potentially endless, day.