Chapter 1: The First Sarcasm
The last thing I remembered was the satisfying crunch of a perfectly ripened banana. No, wait, that was the sound of my skull hitting the curb. A single, solitary, utterly ridiculous banana peel. I had just been thinking about how great it was that the universe hadn't invented a more insidious, humiliating way to kill someone when, boom, the universe proved me wrong. The world went from the vibrant chaos of a Los Angeles street—the blare of horns, the distant wail of a siren, the faint smell of street tacos—to a dizzying, swirling vortex of nothingness. I felt my consciousness, a messy collection of obscure movie quotes and crippling student loan debt, get stretched thin, pulled apart, and then, with a jarring snap, stuffed into something new.
It was like waking up from a nap you didn't know you needed, but instead of the gentle embrace of a warm blanket, it was the cold, damp air of a forest. My lungs, which had just been gasping for a final, futile breath, now drew in a deep, clean gulp. My eyes, which had been fixed on the indifferent, star-dusted asphalt, now took in a different kind of darkness. It was the deep, oppressive black of a forest at night, punctuated by the occasional glint of moonlight on a dew-covered leaf. I was lying in a field of what felt like wet, cut grass. The air smelled of ozone, something I couldn't place, and... teen angst? Yeah, definitely teen angst. I felt a surge of adrenaline, but it wasn't the panic of dying. It was the pure, unadulterated "What the hell just happened?" adrenaline.
A voice, not a physical voice but a series of words that simply appeared in my head, cut through the surreal silence. It was cool, a bit robotic, and possessed the kind of detached neutrality you'd expect from a user manual for a toaster that also happens to be a quantum computer.
[ SYSTEM INITIALIZED. UNIVERSE: TEEN WOLF. CHRONOLOGICAL MARKER: SEASON 2 BEGINNING. HOST: ADAM SMITH. ]
[ PRIMARY MISSION: BUILD A DOMINANT PACK. ]
[ SECONDARY OBJECTIVE: ACQUIRE AND MASTER ALL AVAILABLE PHEROMONES. ]
My first instinct, naturally, was to assume I was either dead, insane, or in the middle of the most elaborate prank in the history of pranks. I'd seen enough movies and read enough books to know the drill. "So, I'm an Isekai protagonist now?" I thought, a sardonic smile playing on my lips. "Did I at least get some cool, overpowered ability? Am I a wizard? A knight? Please tell me I'm not a slime monster. That would be just my luck."
[ CLASSIFICATION: TRANSLATOR. UNIQUE ABILITY: PHEROMONE MANIPULATION. ]
[ WARNING: PHEROMONES ARE AFFECTED BY EMOTIONAL AND MENTAL STATE. MAINTAIN COMPOSTURE FOR OPTIMAL USE. ]
A translucent, holographic screen shimmered into existence right in front of my face. It was invisible to the naked eye, a personal heads-up display of my newfound existence. It listed my "Passive Stats"—a boring list of normal human attributes—and a section labeled "Pheromones," which was a depressingly empty list. At the bottom, a mission log glowed with my first task.
[ CURRENT MISSION: ESTABLISH A BASELINE OF SOCIAL INFLUENCE. ACQUIRE FIVE SOCIAL PHEROMONES. ]
This was officially weirder than the time I had to explain why I had a half-eaten pizza box in my gym bag. I pushed myself up, my new body feeling a little... off. Younger, definitely. Taller, for sure. The clothes, a lacrosse jersey and a pair of worn-out jeans, felt alien. I reached up and ran a hand through my hair, which was shorter and thicker than I remembered. It was a complete reboot.
A noise. Not a mental notification, but the sound of hushed voices and snapping twigs nearby. I froze, my body automatically tensing. This wasn't some quiet fantasy world. This was Beacon Hills. "Oh, no," I muttered to myself. "Of all the places to get reborn as a sarcastic dude, it had to be the town where the supernatural body count is higher than my student loan balance. This is going to be a long year."
I cautiously moved towards the voices, my internal monologue running a mile a minute. I felt like a character in a video game who just skipped the tutorial and was thrown into the boss battle. I peered from behind a large oak tree, the kind that looks like it's seen some stuff.
There they were. The dynamic duo of supernatural paranoia and puppy-dog heroism. Scott McCall and Stiles Stilinski. Scott, with his earnest, furrowed brow and the kind of all-American good looks that make you want to punch him. Stiles, with his flailing hands and the kind of panicked energy that could probably power a small city. They were hunched over something, their flashlights casting long, dancing shadows.
"Did you see that?" Stiles's voice, a familiar mix of frantic and hilarious, cut through the night. "It was like... part lizard, part... whatever."
"A Kanima," Scott said, his voice quiet but firm. "It's a new kind of creature."
Oh, great, I thought. The Kanima arc. Season 2. So I've got a dude who can paralyze people with his venom, a brooding werewolf who's trying to build a pack, and a hunter family that's about to go full-on psycho. This is fine. Everything is fine.
I decided to make my presence known. I cleared my throat loudly, stepping out from behind the tree. The two of them jumped about a foot in the air, their flashlights immediately trained on me.
"Whoa there, fellas," I said, holding my hands up in a placating gesture. "Just a guy, trying to find his way to the nearest IHOP for some midnight pancakes. You know, living the dream."
Stiles's eyes were wide with suspicion. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"
"My name's Adam," I replied, a smirk I didn't know I had settling on my face. "And what I'm doing here is standing in a field in the middle of the night, talking to two guys who look like they just saw a ghost. You know, a pretty standard Tuesday. Is that not a thing around here?"
Scott, ever the diplomat, lowered his flashlight. "We're just... investigating something. Are you new in town?"
"You could say that," I said, taking a step closer. "I'm a new-in-town guy with a penchant for bad decisions and pop-culture references that no one gets. It's a whole thing. Like, if you were to describe my life in a single line, it would be 'an anime protagonist who was reborn in a Joss Whedon show and thinks he's in a comic book.'"
Stiles's head tilted. "I... I don't get it."
"Exactly!" I said, throwing my hands up in a show of mock defeat. "See? This is my life now. It's a lonely existence."
Scott, clearly sensing I was more of a harmless weirdo than a supernatural threat, looked at me with a mixture of confusion and pity. "Are you lost? We can give you a ride."
I shook my head. "Nah, I'm good. I'm just gonna... walk around and appreciate the local flora and fauna. Maybe I'll find a magical sword in a stone. Or a talking raccoon. You never know." I gave them a small, genuine smile before turning and walking away, leaving them in the silent field, utterly baffled.
As I walked away, the holographic screen flickered back into my vision.
[ NEW MISSION ISSUED: DIPLOMATIC PRANK. USE YOUR CHARM AND WIT TO DE-ESCALATE A POTENTIALLY HOSTILE SITUATION. ]
"Huh," I muttered to myself. "So it's not just a bunch of numbers and objectives. It's a life guide. A chaotic, sarcastic life guide. I think I'm gonna like this." The night air, once just cold, now felt full of possibility. And danger. But mostly possibility. I had a town to save, a pack to build, and a whole lot of sarcasm to unleash.