"So, you're suggesting that our reality... is fiction?"
Tony Stark stared at the ceiling; the concept tasting like ash in his mouth. It was absurd. It was offensive. The idea that his life, his pain, his genius—everything that made him Tony Stark—might just be ink on a page or pixels on a screen was enough to shatter a lesser man's psyche.
"Sir, I would propose a less... existential interpretation," Jarvis interjected, his voice the anchor of sanity in the room. "Perhaps our universe and the author's universe are parallel dimensions. Due to a quantum resonance or cognitive entanglement, events here are projected into the mind of a 'writer' in that other world. To them, it is a story. To us, it remains reality."
"So, you think the diary is real?" Tony asked, swiveling his chair.
"I have no capacity for belief, Sir. I only analyze data."
Tony drummed his fingers on the desk. He could accept aliens. He could accept parallel dimensions. But he couldn't accept the idea that his intellect wasn't his own. That his charm was scripted.
"Fine. Let's shelf the metaphysics," Tony snapped, his pragmatism taking over. "Let's work with the hypothesis that this is accurate. If this Lucas Chen is right, I'm going to be kidnapped. It's a fixed point in time."
He pulled up the holographic stock ticker. "And once I'm taken, Stark Industries stock creates a crater. He buys in at the bottom. Then, I somehow survive, return, and pivot the company to... clean energy? And the stock skyrockets. He sells. He gets rich off my suffering."
"The logic is sound, Sir," Jarvis noted. "It is a textbook short-squeeze and recovery play."
"The arrogant little..." Tony almost laughed. "He's betting against the house. But there's a silver lining. If he's planning to cash out after I return, that means I survive. And apparently, I crack the code on clean energy technology. That sounds like me."
Tony's eyes shifted back to the diary. "But he also mentioned a 'Purple Freak' and a 'Snap' that wipes out half of existence. That doesn't sound like a kidnapping. That sounds like an extinction event."
"Jarvis, create a new threat level protocol. Code Name: World Crisis. If there is a cosmic threat coming, I won't be caught with my pants down."
"Protocol established."
"Now," Tony stood up, buttoning his suit jacket. "Scour the global database. Find Lucas Chen. I don't care about privacy laws. Find him."
"Searching..." The processors whirred for mere seconds. "Filtering complete. Given the localized nature of the physical diary, I restricted the search to the Tri-State area. I have found a match. Lucas Chen. Recent college graduate. Orphaned. Currently residing in Queens. His background check is immaculate—suspiciously so. He has very little digital footprint."
"That's our time traveler," Tony grinned. "I'm going to pay him a visit."
Tony turned toward the door, intent on marching out to his car.
CRACK.
A blinding spike of pain drove a railroad spike through his skull. Tony staggered, grabbing the desk for support, his vision swimming with white static. It wasn't a migraine; it was a psychic barricade.
"Sir! Vitals are fluctuating!"
Tony gasped, forcing himself to sit down. As soon as he abandoned the thought of going to Queens, the pain vanished instantly.
"Interesting," Tony breathed, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. "A protection mechanism. I can't go to him. I can't interfere directly."
"It appears this supernatural force protects its host aggressively," Jarvis observed.
"Fine," Tony picked up the diary again, his eyes cold and calculating. "If I can't go to him, I'll watch him. We monitor everything. If this book is my only window into the future, I'm going to read every damn word."
Queens, New York.
In a modest apartment, Lucas Chen was busy liquidating his entire life.
He wasn't poor. His parents, God rest their souls, had left him a solid nest egg—about a million dollars in assets. He had just finished the paperwork to sell the apartment and drain his trust fund. He needed liquid cash. Every cent was going into a brokerage account, ready for the moment the news broke about Tony Stark's convoy in Afghanistan.
"Buy low, sell high," Lucas muttered, checking his bank balance. "Turn one million into ten. Easy."
Ten million dollars. In 2008, that was "fuck you" money. Enough to retire. Enough to run.
Because this wasn't just Earth. This was Marvel Earth. Specifically, the MCU.
New York City was about to become the punching bag of the universe. Chitauri invasions, Ultrons, dark elves... living in Manhattan was a death sentence. His plan was simple: get rich, then move to the most boring, irrelevant country on the map—maybe New Zealand or Switzerland. Somewhere the Avengers didn't go.
But then, the System had activated.
The God-Level Diary System.
Lucas sighed, looking at the blank page on his screen. "Serious people don't write diaries," he grumbled, quoting an old movie line. "It's narcissistic. It's risky. It's stupid."
But the System was clear. Write a diary, get rewards. And the reward pool was insane. High-tech blueprints, magical grimoires, Super Soldier Serums...
Money could buy comfort, but it couldn't stop a snap of the fingers. If he wanted to survive the Ancient One, the TVA, and Thanos, he needed power.
"Fine," Lucas cracked his knuckles, hovering over the keyboard. "I'll be a narcissist. If it keeps me alive, I'll write the whole damn autobiography."