Chapter 1: Awakening in a Smaller World
The last thing Mo remembered was the screech of tires, the blinding white of headlights cutting through rain, and the sickening crunch of metal against bone. A drunk driver running a red light at 2 AM. Twenty-eight years old, walking home from another late shift at the data center, and it was over in three seconds.
So why the hell am I awake?
Cold winter light filtered through cracked windows as consciousness crept back, but everything felt wrong. The hands that reached up were too small—pudgy child fingers where calloused adult ones should be. The bed was too narrow, too short, and the ceiling above him was water-stained plaster instead of his apartment's familiar popcorn texture.
"No, no, no..."
The voice that escaped was high, thin—a child's voice. Panic clawed at his chest as Ben—Ben?—sat up too quickly, the room spinning sickeningly around him. The memories hit like a freight train: two sets of them, incompatible and jarring.
Mo's memories: Twenty-eight years in a world where Marvel was fiction. Countless hours spent dissecting plot threads on Reddit, arguing about power levels, and predicting movie outcomes. A boring life, but his own.
Ben's memories: Ten years of institutional gray walls, shared meals eaten in silence, and the constant knowledge that nobody wanted him. Ben Parker—even the name felt like cosmic mockery—orphaned since birth, ward of the state, invisible to everyone who mattered.
The calendar on the peeling wall read January 15, 2008.
"Three months." The adult mind calculated automatically. "Three months before Tony Stark's convoy gets hit in Afghanistan."
He tried to say it aloud, to hear the words that would make this nightmare real: "Tony Stark will be kidnapped in Afghanistan."
What came out instead was: "Banana hammock Tuesday will steal the mustache man."
The silence that followed was deafening. Ben's small hands flew to his throat, and he tried again, focusing harder: "Iron Man. Arc Reactor. Palladium poisoning."
"Purple monkey dishwasher needs sparkly juice boxes."
Horror crept up his spine like ice water. Whatever had brought him here—death, reincarnation, cosmic joke—it came with rules. He couldn't warn anyone about the future. Every attempt to speak his meta-knowledge produced nothing but gibberish.
The dormitory around him held six beds, all empty except his. Thin blankets, thinner pillows, and the institutional stench of industrial disinfectant trying to mask things it couldn't clean. Through the cracked window, New York's January skyline stretched gray and unforgiving.
A translucent blue interface materialized in front of his eyes, making him jerk backward so hard he nearly fell off the bed.
[IDA SYSTEM ACTIVATED]
[WELCOME, USER: BEN PARKER]
[ANALYZING HOST... COMPLETE]
[INTEGRATION STATUS: SUCCESSFUL]
[NEW USER BONUS AVAILABLE: 1 FREE STANDARD PULL]
[WOULD YOU LIKE TO ACTIVATE YOUR FIRST ABILITY?]
The interface hung in the air like a hologram, responding to his gaze. Text scrolled past in neat, glowing lines—a gacha system. The adult in him recognized it immediately from mobile games, but this was real. This was happening.
With trembling child fingers, he reached out and mentally selected 'YES.'
The screen exploded into a slot machine-style animation. Hundreds of ability icons flashed past—Spider-Man's web-shooters, Iron Man's repulsors, Thor's hammer, Captain America's shield. The spinning slowed, icons becoming visible: Enhanced Strength, Tactical Genius, Heat Vision, Super Speed...
It stopped.
[CONGRATULATIONS! YOU HAVE ACQUIRED:]
[ENHANCED REFLEXES (C-RANK, LEVEL 1)]
[ABILITY DESCRIPTION: Grants improved reaction time and minor predictive movement. Current Power: 5% of maximum potential.]
[INTEGRATION COMMENCING...]
The sensation was indescribable. Knowledge flowed into his muscles like warm honey—how to move, how to react, how to read the micro-signs of incoming danger. His nervous system rewired itself in seconds, reflexes sharpening to superhuman levels. When he blinked, the motion felt more controlled, more precise.
C-Rank. Common tier. Barely 5% power. But it was real.
Footsteps echoed in the hallway outside, heavy and purposeful. Ben quickly dismissed the interface with a thought, the blue glow vanishing just as the dormitory door opened.
Mr. Halverson stepped inside—a tall, thin man with graying hair and the kind of smile that never reached his eyes. The orphanage director had always made Ben's skin crawl, though the original Ben's memories couldn't quite say why.
"Benjamin." Halverson's voice was carefully modulated, professional warmth over something colder. "You've been sleeping quite a lot. The other boys were concerned."
"The other boys barely know I exist." Ben kept the thought to himself, forcing his expression into the blank neutrality that institutional kids learned early. "Sorry, Mr. Halverson. I've been feeling... strange."
"Strange how?" The man stepped closer, and Ben caught something predatory in his posture. "Any episodes? Confusion? Unusual dreams?"
The questions felt loaded, dangerous. "Episodes?" Ben's Enhanced Reflexes picked up micro-expressions he wouldn't have noticed before—the slight tension around Halverson's eyes, the way his hand hovered near his pocket. This man was watching for something specific.
"No, sir. Just tired."
Halverson's gaze sharpened. "Well, let's get you to the common room. You've missed breakfast, but Cook saved you some—"
He reached for a small leather journal on the nightstand—Ben's journal, according to the memories. As Halverson lifted it, the binding gave way and the journal tumbled toward the floor.
Enhanced Reflexes activated without conscious thought.
Ben's hand snapped out, catching the journal in a precise grab that defied his apparent age and physical development. The motion was fluid, impossible—the kind of reflexive action that took years of training to master.
Halverson's expression shifted from concern to something calculating and cold.
"My." His voice lost its warmth entirely. "That was quite remarkable, Benjamin. Excellent reflexes for a boy your age."
Ben's blood ran cold. The way Halverson said it—like he'd been expecting this. Like he'd been testing for it.
"I... I play a lot of catch with the other kids."
"Do you?" Halverson's smile was sharp now, predatory. "In January? In this weather? With what ball, exactly?"
Ben said nothing. What could he say? He'd revealed himself in the stupidest possible way, and this man—whoever he really was—had been watching for exactly this kind of anomaly.
"Perhaps," Halverson continued, "we should have a talk. My office. After dinner."
It wasn't a request.
That evening, Ben sat on his thin mattress as the other boys slept around him, every instinct screaming danger. Through the cracked window, he could see a dark sedan parked across the street—the same one he'd noticed yesterday, and the day before. Someone was watching the orphanage. Watching for kids like him.
His Enhanced Reflexes made him hyperaware of every sound: the building settling, radiators clanking, the soft breathing of sleeping children. But underneath it all, he heard something else—footsteps in the hallway, moving with deliberate quiet toward the dormitory.
Ben slipped from his bed, bare feet silent on the cold linoleum. Whatever Halverson wanted to discuss, it wouldn't be a friendly chat about reflexes. The man's interest felt clinical, scientific—like he was cataloging an anomaly for someone else.
The window opened with careful pressure, Enhanced Reflexes letting him find the exact angle that minimized the squeak of old hinges. January air bit through his thin pajamas as he squeezed through the gap, small body finally useful for something.
The fire escape was icy under his feet, but he moved carefully down the metal steps, Enhanced Reflexes calculating each placement to avoid noise. Behind him, light spilled from the dormitory window as someone entered the room.
Ben dropped into the alley and ran.
[QUEST COMPLETED: SURVIVE YOUR FIRST WEEK]
[REWARD: 3 STANDARD TICKETS EARNED]
[NEW QUEST ACTIVATED: FIND SHELTER]
[REWARD: 1 PREMIUM TICKET]
[WARNING: WINTER SURVIVAL DIFFICULTY - EXTREME]
The system notifications appeared as he huddled in a subway entrance, adrenaline keeping the cold at bay. Three tickets. Three chances to get abilities that might keep him alive on the streets of New York in January.
But first, he needed to find somewhere warm enough to survive the night.
The man he'd been would have panicked, would have made desperate, stupid decisions. But ten-year-old Ben Parker had institutional survival instincts, and twenty-eight-year-old Mo had strategic thinking. Combined with superhuman reflexes, maybe—just maybe—he could make this work.
Above him, snow began to fall, dusting the city in white. Somewhere in Afghanistan, Tony Stark was still the Merchant of Death. Somewhere in Queens, Peter Parker was probably building model airplanes with his uncle. And somewhere in this city, a small boy with impossible knowledge and a supernatural system was about to learn what it really meant to survive.
The sedan from outside the orphanage cruised slowly down the street, tinted windows hiding its occupants. Ben pressed deeper into the shadows of the subway entrance, Enhanced Reflexes telling him when to hold perfectly still.
Tomorrow, he would use his tickets. Tomorrow, he would start building power.
Tonight, he simply had to not freeze to death.
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