Alex Wills was tired of his life.
At twenty-five, he was an accountant whose days revolved around spreadsheets, financial reports, and an endless stream of numbers. Every morning brought the same routine, every evening ended the same way, and every passing week seemed to blur into the next. He spent his working hours crunching numbers and his nights watching Netflix, occasionally staying awake far longer than he should because sleep meant waking up to another day of the same monotonous existence.
Friends? None worth mentioning. Passions? He couldn't think of any. Hobbies? Well, reading, if that counted. It was one of the few things that offered him a temporary escape from the dullness of everyday life.
Sometimes, late at night, with the television providing the only light in his flat, Alex found himself wondering whether there was more to life than this.
Was this really all there was?
Wake up, go to work, eat, sleep, and repeat until retirement—or until his body finally decided it had endured enough.
It wasn't a particularly cheerful way to look at life, but it was difficult to argue with the evidence.
Fortunately, the universe appeared to have a rather peculiar sense of humour.
One evening, while walking home from work, Alex encountered a man who looked as though he had stepped straight out of a comic book. The stranger wore an elaborate green cloak, carried a golden staff, and possessed the sort of self-satisfied expression that suggested he considered himself vastly more important than everyone else on the street.
Alex slowed his pace.
The stranger approached him with a smile.
'Greetings, mortal. I am Loki, God of Mischief, and I have a proposition for you.'
Alex blinked.
The man continued without waiting for a response.
'How would you like to witness the wonders of the Marvel Universe? To visit Asgard, Wakanda, Xandar, and countless other worlds? To meet heroes and villains, gods and monsters, friends and foes? All you need to do is accept my offer.'
His smile widened.
'Trust me. You won't regret it.'
Alex stared at him for several seconds before glancing around.
Was there a hidden camera somewhere? Was this some elaborate prank, with a group of people waiting nearby to capture his reaction? Perhaps someone had decided to test just how gullible an exhausted office worker could be after a long day.
He scanned the surrounding streets, checking the nearby buildings and passing pedestrians, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
When he turned back, the stranger was still standing there, his expression growing increasingly impatient.
And then Alex burst out laughing.
He laughed so hard that he had to clutch his stomach, bending forward as the sheer absurdity of the situation overwhelmed him.
'Ha ha ha ha ha! Oh, man! This is hilarious!'
He struggled to catch his breath, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.
'I haven't laughed like this since my birthday!'
The stranger's smile gradually disappeared.
Unfortunately, Alex was too busy enjoying himself to notice.
'Hey, I'm sorry, mate.' He straightened up, still grinning. 'It's just that life's been a bit rough lately, and this...' He gestured towards the man's green cloak and golden staff. 'This is exactly what I needed. Seriously, thanks. And I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings.'
He even gave the stranger an apologetic smile.
For a brief moment, silence settled between them.
Then the temperature seemed to drop.
The stranger's expression hardened, and the atmosphere changed so abruptly that Alex's laughter died in his throat.
Loki stared at the mortal before him with barely concealed contempt.
He was Loki, the God of Mischief. A prince of Asgard. A master of deception and a wielder of formidable magic. He was a being who had spent centuries manipulating others, bending circumstances to his advantage, and making fools of those unfortunate enough to underestimate him.
He had offered this insignificant human an opportunity beyond anything the mortal could possibly imagine.
And the fool had laughed at him.
Laughed.
At him.
The audacity was almost impressive.
Almost.
A cold smile crept across Loki's face as he tightened his grip on his golden staff.
'Unfortunate,' he murmured. 'I had hoped you possessed at least a little imagination.'
Alex instinctively stepped backwards.
Something was wrong.
The man's eyes no longer belonged to an eccentric stranger with an overactive imagination. There was something terrible lurking behind them, something that sent an unmistakable warning through Alex's mind.
Run.
Unfortunately, his legs seemed to have reached an entirely different conclusion.
Loki raised his staff.
Strange symbols flickered through the air, accompanied by a distortion that made the surrounding world appear to bend around him. The light dimmed, and the air grew heavy. An invisible pressure settled over Alex's body, wrapping around him like an enormous hand slowly closing its fingers.
'You shall face the consequences of your actions, Alex Wills!'
Alex's eyes widened.
'How do you know my name?'
Loki's expression twisted into a sneer.
'I know many things, mortal. And I do not take kindly to being mocked and laughed at, especially by a pathetic worm like you.'
Before Alex could respond, the invisible pressure intensified.
His knees slammed against the pavement.
He gasped, struggling to draw breath as an unbearable force pressed down on his shoulders. His hands trembled against the ground, but no matter how desperately he tried to resist, his body refused to obey him.
Then his head was forced downwards.
He was kneeling before the stranger, bowing to the very man he had dismissed as a lunatic moments earlier.
Except this wasn't an ordinary man.
Not even close.
Alex's mind raced.
This is crazy.
The pressure tightened around his chest.
This is absolutely crazy.
He couldn't move. He could barely breathe, let alone force a coherent word past his lips.
This is really happening.
Magic was real.
Gods were real.
And somehow, through sheer stupidity, he had managed to piss one off.
Of all the foolish things he could have done, why had he chosen to laugh at the one person who might actually have offered him a way out of his miserable existence?
Loki's staff began to glow with an unfamiliar radiance.
Alex caught a glimpse of blinding light.
Then came the god's final words.
'Vanish from me, you puny human.'
Pain erupted through Alex's body.
For one terrible instant, he felt as though every part of him were being torn apart and scattered into nothingness. The world dissolved into a sea of white, and Loki's voice echoed somewhere beyond the fading edges of his consciousness.
Then everything went silent.
Everything went dark.
And Alex Wills died.
Or, at least, that was what he thought had happened.
He had no idea how much time had passed when awareness slowly returned to him.
His first impression was that he was warm.
His second was that he was wet.
His third was that something was terribly, terribly wrong.
He tried to stretch his arms, only to find that he couldn't move them properly. His legs encountered resistance whenever he attempted to shift, and every movement sent him bumping against something soft and constricting.
Strange, muffled sounds reached his ears. A steady rhythm pulsed around him, accompanied by occasional movements that made his entire world sway.
At first, Alex couldn't make sense of any of it.
Then a horrifying possibility entered his mind.
No.
He tried moving again.
The cramped space shifted around him.
No, no, no.
He was inside something.
Something warm, wet, and very much alive.
The realisation struck him with all the subtlety of a falling anvil.
I'm in a womb.
He would have screamed if his body had allowed him to do so. Instead, he could only endure a growing sense of disbelief as his mind struggled to process the impossible situation.
How was this even possible?
Had Loki sent him back in time? Had the god destroyed his original body and transferred his consciousness into an unborn child? Was this some elaborate illusion designed to torment him?
He desperately tried to piece together what had happened.
His name was Alex Wills. He was twenty-five years old. He worked as an accountant and had spent most of his life doing relatively ordinary things, reading whenever he had the time and watching television whenever he couldn't think of anything better to do.
Then he had encountered a strange man dressed in green.
A man who claimed to be Loki.
A man who had demonstrated magic.
Real magic.
Oh, God.
The thought struck him with renewed force.
Magic is real.
The implications were staggering, but Alex had a much more immediate problem.
He was apparently about to be born again.
He had no idea how long he remained trapped in that cramped, dark environment. Time became difficult to measure as his thoughts drifted between frantic speculation and exhausted disbelief.
Eventually, however, the world around him began to change.
The space constricted. The rhythmic movements grew more forceful. Muffled voices reached his ears, followed by a woman's scream and a man's panicked shout.
Alex didn't need a medical degree to understand what was happening.
Oh, come on! I'm not ready for this!
His protests accomplished absolutely nothing.
The contractions intensified, squeezing him from every direction. He felt himself being pushed through an impossibly narrow passage, his surroundings shifting as he was carried inexorably towards the light.
Then, all at once, the pressure vanished.
Cold air brushed against his skin.
Hands lifted him.
A strange sensation swept through his chest as his lungs filled for the first time, and a cry escaped his mouth before he could stop it.
He was alive.
Actually alive.
And, judging by the sounds around him, he had just made his grand entrance into the world.
Alex tried to open his eyes, but the light was painfully bright. His vision remained blurry, and his body felt impossibly small and helpless.
Someone carried him closer.
He felt warmth against his cheek and heard the steady beating of a heart. Gradually, he managed to make out the face of the woman holding him.
She had brown hair, green eyes, and a smile filled with such unrestrained happiness that Alex momentarily forgot his predicament.
'Hello, my baby,' she whispered. 'I'm your mummy.'
She adjusted her hold, cradling him carefully.
'And this is your daddy.'
Alex's blurry gaze shifted towards the man standing beside her.
He had blond hair, blue eyes, and a neatly trimmed beard. His expression radiated relief, as though the entire world had suddenly become brighter.
For some inexplicable reason, Alex found the man's face familiar.
He couldn't quite place it, however, and the effort of concentrating on anything was becoming increasingly difficult.
The man leaned closer, his eyes shining.
'Welcome to the world, son. We're so happy you're here. We've been waiting for you for a long time.'
He gently touched the baby's cheek.
'We love you so much.'
Then he kissed his wife and their newborn son, smiling as though he had never been happier.
'You're perfect. Just perfect. You've got your mother's eyes and my hair.'
He paused, seemingly overwhelmed by the sight of his child.
'And you've got a name, little one. We named you after my father.'
The man glanced at his wife, who smiled back at him.
'You're Gile Tray Leiston.'
Gile Tray Leiston?
Alex's thoughts stumbled over the unfamiliar name.
What kind of name is that?
Another thought quickly followed.
Wait. Where exactly am I?
He had been reincarnated. That much was undeniable.
But where had he ended up?
And why did his new father look so familiar?
Unfortunately, the newborn body he now inhabited had other priorities. His eyelids grew heavy, his thoughts began to dissolve, and the comforting warmth of his mother's embrace gradually pulled him towards sleep.
For the first time in his existence, Alex—or Gile, apparently—had no choice but to surrender to his body's demands.
He would have to figure out the rest later.
One Month Later
It had been a month since my reincarnation, and I still hadn't completely come to terms with my situation.
I was in the Marvel Universe.
The actual Marvel Universe.
Not a film marathon. Not a comic book. Not one of those elaborate dreams in which everything seemed perfectly real until you woke up and realised you'd spent the night imagining yourself as some ridiculously overpowered superhero.
No.
This was my life now.
Well, technically, it was my second life.
And I was a baby.
A baby in a world where aliens invaded Earth, superpowered individuals could level buildings, secret organisations conducted questionable experiments, and beings capable of destroying entire civilisations existed somewhere beyond the sky.
How was I supposed to survive here?
I was thrilled, of course. Anyone who claimed they wouldn't be excited about exploring the Marvel Universe was either lying or had a very strange definition of excitement.
But I was terrified, too.
Knowing that a world like this existed was one thing. Actually living in it was something else entirely.
I'd spent plenty of time reading fiction, including stories about people reincarnating into fictional universes. In those stories, the protagonists usually received some convenient advantage that made their lives considerably easier. They remembered every important event, knew exactly which characters to befriend, and could somehow predict the future with the confidence of a professional historian.
Some even possessed complete knowledge of the source material.
Naturally, I'd assumed I would receive a similar advantage.
After all, I'd read plenty of Marvel fanfiction. Surely, some of that knowledge would come in handy.
Heh. Just wait, world.
Perhaps I'd become an overpowered baby. Maybe I'd build an empire, collect advanced technology, recruit powerful allies, and eventually establish myself as one of the most influential beings in the universe.
The possibilities were endless.
There was just one tiny problem.
I couldn't remember anything useful.
For five solid minutes, I concentrated as hard as my infant brain would allow, desperately searching my memories for anything that might help me survive.
Iron Man? Of course I knew who he was.
Spider-Man? Naturally.
Captain America? The Hulk? Thor?
Those names were familiar enough.
But whenever I tried to recall specific events, important dates, secret identities, hidden organisations, or the details of the various cosmic threats lurking throughout the universe, my mind offered absolutely nothing.
It was like standing in front of an enormous library only to discover that every book had been replaced with blank pages.
How?
How could I have read so many fanfictions and still remember so little?
I couldn't even recall a single complete story.
I'm dead.
Well, not entirely dead, considering I was still alive and breathing.
But metaphorically speaking?
I was thoroughly screwed.
Without reliable knowledge of future events, I couldn't plan my life around the arrival of particular heroes or the emergence of certain threats. Even if I remembered some of the major events, the Marvel Universe contained multiple continuities, conflicting timelines, and enough reality-altering incidents to make accurate predictions a nightmare.
I needed something more dependable.
Something that wouldn't disappear the moment I tried to remember it.
And, apparently, the universe had decided to provide exactly that.
One day, while I was lying in my crib under the watchful supervision of my nanny, something appeared directly in front of my eyes.
A translucent screen.
I stared at it.
The screen remained suspended in the air, perfectly still, its faint glow contrasting with the otherwise ordinary surroundings of my nursery.
I blinked.
The screen didn't disappear.
I blinked again.
Still there.
What the hell?
It looked remarkably similar to the interfaces I'd encountered in countless system novels. You know the ones: the protagonist gets reincarnated, discovers a mysterious interface, and proceeds to shatter the world's power hierarchy before anyone can figure out what's happening.
Except this time, the protagonist was me.
I stared at the floating screen before cautiously glancing towards my nanny.
She was nearby, occupied with something else.
Apparently, she couldn't see it.
Interesting.
I turned my attention back to the screen. If my nanny couldn't see it, perhaps the interface was connected directly to my consciousness. That would explain why it appeared to me alone, although I had no way of confirming the theory.
Still, I wasn't about to complain.
A system was infinitely better than having nothing at all.
For several seconds, the screen remained motionless.
Then its surface flickered, and a line of text appeared.
Finally.
I nearly cheered, though my infant body would probably have produced little more than an incoherent noise.
The message was surprisingly simple.
[Do you want to activate the Marvel Military System? Y/N]
I stared at the words.
Then I read them again.
And again.
Marvel Military System?
The name alone was enough to send my imagination running wild.
Could I recruit soldiers? Purchase weapons? Build military bases? Access advanced technology? Create an army capable of fighting superpowered individuals?
Could I acquire resources, establish organisations, or obtain equipment that didn't exist in the modern world?
And what exactly did military mean in this context?
Did the system deal exclusively with soldiers and weapons, or was it broad enough to encompass everything required to build and maintain a powerful military force?
I had no idea.
But the possibilities were certainly appealing.
If the system could provide even a fraction of the resources I imagined, my chances of surviving in this universe would improve dramatically. More importantly, it might give me a way to grow stronger without relying entirely on my unreliable memories.
I wanted to activate it immediately.
There was just one problem.
I was a baby.
I couldn't speak. I couldn't type. I couldn't reach out and press a button.
My hands were too small, my coordination was practically nonexistent, and I was fairly certain that attempting to crawl towards a floating interface would accomplish absolutely nothing.
For a moment, I considered whether the system might respond to voice commands.
Then I remembered something from the countless system novels I'd read.
Many of them allowed their users to interact with the interface through their thoughts.
Perhaps this one worked the same way.
There was only one way to find out.
I focused on the screen.
Y.
Nothing happened.
Y. Y. Y. Y. Y.
I concentrated harder, directing every ounce of attention I could muster towards that single letter.
Come on. Activate.
The screen flickered.
My eyes widened.
The interface changed.
[Marvel Military System Activated.]
[Welcome, User.]
[You have been chosen—or forced—to become the protagonist of your own Marvel story.]
I paused.
Chosen—or forced?
That was an interesting distinction.
And, frankly, a slightly concerning one.
Before I could dwell on it, more text appeared.
[You will have access to various features, including quests, skills, items, shops, and more.]
[You will also have the opportunity to interact with the characters and events of the Marvel Universe.]
[Your choices will shape your destiny—and the destiny of the world.]
[Are you ready to begin your adventure? Y/N]
I stared at the screen.
For several seconds, I didn't move.
Then a grin spread across my face.
Well, well, well.
It seemed the universe had finally decided to throw me a lifeline.
I didn't know what the Marvel Military System could do, what limitations it had, or what kind of challenges awaited me. I didn't even know why Loki had sent me here in the first place, assuming my reincarnation had been his doing.
But for the first time since waking up in this world, I felt something other than confusion and anxiety.
I felt anticipation.
A genuine, exhilarating sense of possibility.
I was Gile Tray Leiston now, a newborn child in the Marvel Universe. I had a second chance at life, a mysterious system, and an entire world waiting to be explored.
I intended to make the most of it.
All right, then.
I focused on the screen once more.
Let's see what you've got.
Y.