Where am I? A boy in a white t-shirt and pants sits alone in the corner of a dim, unfamiliar room. He scans his surroundings, noticing several others nearby everyone dressed like him, all silent with dull eyes. The bleak setting feels like a jail. Was I kidnapped? he wonders. But why? He hasn't done anything wrong, and he has no family who could pay a ransom.
He looks down and sees handcuffs around his wrists.
"Hey...!" he begins to call out, intending to ask the others what's going on. But suddenly, a fierce pain surges through his head, cutting off his words. Memories begin to flood his mind, foreign scenes he doesn't recognize was going on like some movie. Clutching his head, he cries out in pain. The others in the room glance his way, but they stay where they are, almost as if they're used to this.
Images flash before him, one by one. They're memories, yet they don't feel like his own. He sees fragments of a life belonging to someone named John Allerdyce. That's not his name, his name is or was Donald Smith, a part time waiter in a three-star restaurant earning money to have fun since the scholarship for high school wasn't enough to cover that.
But now, John's memories overwhelm him. John Allerdyce was a high school student whose family had moved to the U.S. And he'd had a secret he awaken a super power. A year ago, he discovered he could control fire. John had told no one, not even his parents, because he knew how they felt about mutants. His family feared and despised anyone with unnatural abilities. Six months ago, though, he'd had no choice but to reveal his power. His mother had accidentally left the stove burner on, nearly causing a fire, and John had instinctively extinguished it.
Instead of gratitude or relief, his parents looked at him with horror, as if he were some kind of monster. That night, John left home, unable to bear their fear. He'd planned to start fresh, find a job, and live on his own. But the very next day, soldiers came for him. They sedated him before he could defend himself, leaving him powerless and imprisoned.
BANG!
The door suddenly opens, and two soldiers step inside. They're dressed in black, covered head to toe except for their faces, rifles in hand, ready to react at a moment's notice.
One of the soldiers hears a voice on his walkie-talkie asking, "What happened?"
"Just the usual shouting," he replies.
The first soldier scans the room, his eyes lingering on each prisoner. Then he nods to his partner. "Let's go."
They exit, locking the door behind them.
Donald adjusts himself against the wall, sitting back and steadying his breath as he takes in the shocking reality, he's trapped in John's body, haunted by memories of a life he never lived but that somehow feel real.
Mutants... The thought settles heavily, and he realizes he's in the Marvel universe.
Damn it, he curses silently, over and over. Why Marvel? Why did I transmigrate here? He didn't ask for this. Sure, he'd been a fan of comics, anime, and other fandoms. But that was just for fun, he never wanted to be part of it. This wasn't some fanfiction. Not everyone ends up as lucky as Rimuru or gets some cheat system to help them survive.
And now, he's a mutant in the Marvel universe. He knows all too well how mutants are treated here. The prejudice and hatred mutants face make even the worst cases of racism seem mild in comparison.
He looks around, taking in the state of the others. Just a glance tells him everything he needs to know, they're all beaten down, practically hollow.
He dives into John's memories, searching for details, anything useful, like dates and events. As he pieces things together, he can't help but start cursing again. Damn it.
In the memories, there are mentions of Stark Industries and Captain America comics. So it's not only X-Men universe. Fantastic, he thinks bitterly. Now, I don't just have to survive Sentinels, Apocalypse, and the Phoenix Force. But now I've got to worry about SNAKE S.H.I.E.L.D., a planet-eater, a purple sweet potato who is into universe family planning, and killer AI wanting to eradicate every life for achieving peace.
Damn it, he thinks. Why did this have to happen?
Why me? How did this happen?
He forces himself to breathe, trying to stay calm.
Based on John's memories, it's around March 2006. John was captured back in October 2005. And right now, Tony Stark is running Stark Industries who doesn't looks exactly like Robert Downey Jr though there's some similarity but the most important thing is he is already Iron Man.
He tries to recall his abilities, it's fire manipulation, but he can't actually generate flames.
Wait a minute, I know someone in the exact same situation. Pyro. Yes, Pyro. Damn it, I'm Pyro. Which means... no other powers.
What am I supposed to do? I can't survive like this, a bullet could kill me. Should I try Kamar-Taj? But what if I don't have the talent? Another thing is, that bald-head might exile me to some other dimension. Wait a minute, why hasn't she come for me? Or he, since it's a "he" in the comics. Shouldn't she have sensed someone messing with the timeline? But then again he didn't have the time stone in the comics, I think. I am not 100 percent sure Since I am not a serious comic reader, I only got interested in Marvel due to MCU, and check the fandom for fun.
Or… maybe nothing's changed. Maybe John didn't survive in this timeline, and maybe... I won't either. No, don't think like that. I need to survive. But how? They'll never let me use my powers here.
Then, suddenly, he hears a voice.
Ding. Gacha system is online.
It felt like hallucination since I can suddenly see a blue, translucent screen materialized before me, almost like the one in Solo Leveling or some other manhwa. I glanced around, but no one else seemed to notice it. Was this my system? Like those stories where power comes with a price?
I forced myself to focus, taking a shaky breath as I tried to click one of the icons. It was shaped like a human figure, a profile screen. I don't have to worry about others seeing since most are broken here so noone will doubt anything.
John Allerdyce
Race: Mutant
Gacha Points: 1
Gacha Mode:
Normal: 10 cards for 30 points
Characters Assimilated: None
In Progress: None
Powers: Fire Manipulation
Summons: None
Cards: None
That was it. My profile is so weak?
I closed the profile and opened the next icon, which resembled a page. Rules and details scrolled before my eyes.
You will earn 1 Gacha point per day.
30 points are required to unlock 10 cards, pulled from the Omniverse.
Worlds range from Marvel to DC, Tensura to Harry Potter, GTA to the War of Gods, all realms.
Rewards includes templates, companions, powers, items, weapons or anything imaginable and unimaginable the world has to offer.
There was more, but I could barely absorb it. My thoughts were derailed by the sound of boots and the metallic creak of a door swinging open. They were the soldiers working in this facility.
Unlike before, my body felt every trace of John's past. Fear seized me, like muscle memory. I tried to scream, tried to bolt, but my body was a prisoner of terror. Not just me, others around me shrank back, their eyes wide with dread, knowing all too well what was coming.
One of the soldiers pointed at me, and my heart stopped. My voice cracked in a scream. "No PLEASE, not me!" I tried to twist away, but they closed in, iron grips like shackles on my arms. A strike to my leg made my bones feel like they'd shattered. I screamed in pain. They dragged me out, down a sterile hallway of bright, blinding lights, and into the hellhole John's memories had warned me about.
The experimentation room.
Most people here were hidden behind lab but one of them stood out, a man, bald and round, a gaze sharp with filled malice. Dr. White.
He looked at me, no, looked at John like a hunter playing with hai prey he planned to pull apart limb by limb. There's a glint in his eye, a twisted amusement, as if my suffering was the day's entertainment.
"Well, John," he said with a sneer. "More energy than last time?"
Despite knowing it was futile, the words tumbled out of my mouth. "Please… stop it. I haven't done anything to you. Let me go, please…"
His expression didn't waver, only hardened into a disgusted smile. "John. You're right, you haven't done anything to me. But that doesn't change the fact that you and others like you… you mutants… you're a problem. A disease. Your very existence is a blight on the human race. You're both a curse and, at times, a blessing."
His words were like shards of ice, cutting straight through me, and for a moment, I could feel his hate as if it were a living thing.
He leaned in, his voice turning darker, crueler. "You MUTANTS...you POSSESS POWERS we can only DREAM of. Take Magneto. He could destroy a city with ease, and he would if it suited him. A living weapon, a curse that stalks the modern world."
Then he turned to me, his grin twisted into something inhuman, almost in reverence of his own power over me. "But you, John," he mocked, "you're a blessing. You're defective. You can control fire, but you can't generate it. A pathetic, broken attempt at power." He chuckled, the sound low and oily. "Flaws like yours are a gift. Defective products are easy to find and even easier to break."
Dr. White leaned in closer, his grin spreading into something so twisted, so monstrous, it barely looked human. "Defective mutants are weak, John. Like you. We may never get our hands on ones like Magneto, but you?You and others like you? You're perfect… ripe for the taking. You're perfect, easy prey." His satisfaction was chilling, his voice a poison that soaked into me like a slow, corrosive acid.
He nodded to a soldier. "Take him to seat seven."
My struggles were pointless. They dragged me to a metal chair, strapping me in tight. The restraints dug into my wrists and ankles, biting like fangs. A technician moved forward, his face blank as he attached wires to my temples, to my chest, everywhere they could latch on to monitor me. I was nothing but a machine to them, a puppet for their twisted games.
"Three… two… one…" a voice intoned in the background.
And then the current hit.
Electricity ripped through me, a brutal, searing agony that set my nerves on fire. My back arched involuntarily, my body convulsing, muscles spasming against the restraints. The pain was blinding, endless, every nerve set ablaze as if my body were being torn apart from the inside.
"AAAAAAHHH!" I screamed, my voice a jagged, animalistic sound. The pain was endless, relentless, stabbing through me in brutal waves, as if they wanted to strip away every trace of dignity, every ounce of humanity. My mind was drowning in the pain, every thought splintering into shards as the electricity tore through me, piece by agonizing piece.
I screamed until my throat felt shredded, the sound hoarse, desperate. "Please… stop… please…" but my words were barely audible over the hum of the current, over the clinical voices around me taking notes, watching, studying.
Through the fog of agony, I saw Dr. White standing at a distance, his gaze cold, detached. He watched my suffering like it was data, just another experiment, just another day. And I knew all this was just a start.
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