Have you ever felt like the universe had a personal grudge against you?
Not bad luck.
Not coincidence.
Not "oops, wrong place, wrong time."
No.
The kind of bad luck that feels intentional.
Eli had. The day he was born, lightning struck a tree outside the hospital.
It wasn't even storming.
The sky had been mostly clear.
But lightning fell anyway.
The tree snapped.
And it crashed toward the maternity wing.
Specifically toward Room 214.
His mother's room.
Except the tree didn't hit 214.
It hit 215.
The empty room next door.
The nurses later called it a miracle.
The insurance company called it structural negligence.
Eli would later call it foreshadowing.
His first birthday party was held in their backyard.
Bright balloons. Cheap cake. Plastic chairs.
And a rented tent.
Midway through the celebration, something streaked across the sky.
Nobody noticed.
Until the tent collapsed.
Something the size of a fist had punched straight through it.
Later, some scientist somewhere would label it "small orbital debris."
Eli's uncle called it "budget meteor."
The family dog refused to go near Eli for three days.
The accidents didn't stop.
Gas leaks.
Falling ladders.
A chandelier that detached itself mid-dinner.
A bus that swerved onto the sidewalk—only to be stopped inches away by a conveniently placed construction barrier that hadn't been there the day before.
By age seven, the neighborhood had a nickname for him.
"The luckiest unlucky kid in the world."
Eli wasn't sure if that was comforting.
At thirteen, the universe stopped being funny.
He was on a plane with his parents, heading to Spain for vacation.
It was supposed to be normal.
Spain.
Sunlight. Beaches. A reset.
His mother had spent weeks planning it, even though money had been tight. His father joked that if the plane food didn't kill them, the hotel prices would.
Eli remembered rolling his eyes at that.
He remembered wishing they would stop being so loud.
He remembered thinking he was too old to hold his mother's hand during takeoff.
He held it anyway.
The plane leveled out at cruising altitude.
The seatbelt sign dinged off.
People relaxed.
A baby cried somewhere behind them.
His father leaned across the aisle and grinned. "See? Safe. Nothing weird today."
Eli almost smiled.
Then came the sound.
A sharp, violent bang — like the sky had cracked open.
The aircraft shuddered so hard Eli's teeth slammed together. The overhead compartments burst open. Luggage spilled.
The right engine screamed.
The plane dipped.
Someone shouted, "What was that?!"
Then another bang — louder.
The lights flickered.
And the screaming started.
Not dramatic movie screaming.
Real screaming.
The kind that tears out of people without permission.
Oxygen masks dropped like pale ghosts from the ceiling.
Eli stared at his own mask for half a second too long.
His mother grabbed it and pulled it over his face herself, fingers shaking.
"It's okay," she said.
It wasn't.
The plane tilted harder.
The cabin angled.
Gravity shifted sideways.
His father reached across the aisle, straining against his seatbelt to grab Eli's shoulder.
"Look at me," his dad said.
Eli did.
His father's smile was there.
But it wasn't real.
"Whatever happens," he said quietly, "you hold on."
The engine exploded.
This time the sound wasn't just noise.
It was metal tearing apart.
The side of the plane ruptured.
Air howled into the opening like a living thing.
People were ripped from their seats.
Eli felt the pressure slam into him.
His mother's hand slipped.
Just for a second.
He tried to grab her again.
He missed.
He would replay that moment for years.
The look on her face.
Not fear.
Not even panic.
Just one sharp, desperate attempt to reach him.
And then the world tore open.
His seat ripped free.
Cold air swallowed him.
The plane —
his parents —
the screaming —
vanished upward as he was thrown into the sky.
Silence replaced the chaos.
No engine.
No screaming.
Just wind.
He fell.
He could see the plane spiraling in the distance, a burning scar across the sky.
He could see smoke.
He could see it breaking apart.
He tried to scream.
No sound came out.
The world felt very big.
And he felt very small.
He hit the trees.
Branches shattered his fall.
Pain exploded through his body.
Darkness swallowed him before he hit the ground.
When he woke up, everything was quiet.
Too quiet.
A hospital room.
White walls.
Machines beeping steadily.
For a moment, he thought it had been a nightmare.
Then he tried to turn his head.
Pain stabbed through his face.
His left eye was bandaged.
His throat burned.
He tried to speak.
"Mom?"
The word cracked.
No answer.
His aunt was the one who came in.
Her eyes were swollen.
She didn't say anything at first.
She just held his hand.
That's when he knew.
Not because she told him.
Not because of the news reports he'd see later.
Not because they listed the number of casualties.
He knew because she wouldn't look him in the eye.
Three hundred people.
Gone.
And he was here.
Alive.
He didn't cry at first.
He just stared at the ceiling and thought:
They were sitting right next to me.
He remembered the way his father's sleeve brushed his arm.
The warmth of his mother's hand.
The weight of their presence.
And now—
Nothing.
For weeks after, he would wake up reaching for them.
For months, he would dream of that moment —
Her hand slipping.
His fingers missing.
Over and over.
The worst part wasn't surviving.
It was surviving alone.
"it wasn't your fault," the therapist told him gently months later he wasn't the first to tell him that.
Eli stared at the carpet.
It had a pattern of blue squares.
He counted them.
"I know," he said.
But deep down?
Deep down he thought—
If I wasn't there, maybe the bird wouldn't have flown that way.
Maybe the engine wouldn't have failed.
Maybe—
Maybe Death just missed.
Four years later.
Seventeen years old.
Same route home from school.
Same sidewalk.
Same manhole cover that had always been there.
Except—
It wasn't there.
He stepped forward.
And the ground disappeared.
He fell.
He screamed For a while.
After about thirty seconds, he got tired.
After a minute, he got annoyed.
After what felt like five minutes, he shouted into the darkness:
"Can we NOT do the dramatic death thing again?!"
That was when he saw the light.
White.
Blinding.
Below him.
The closer he got, the slower he fell.
Until he wasn't falling at all.
He landed gently on something that felt like air pretending to be solid.
He stood up slowly.
White.
Everything was white.
No horizon.
No walls.
No sky.
Just endless white.
"Don't be afraid, child."
Eli spun so fast he nearly dislocated something.
Behind him stood a figure.
Humanoid.
Completely white.
No face.
No eyes.
No features.
Just shape.
"who are you?," Eli asked cautiously.
The figure answered "I am without a name."
"Of course you are."
"I have been called ROB."
"…That sounds worse."
"I prefer Towan."
Eli squinted.
"Towan?"
"Yes."
"That's… kind of a weird name."
A pause.
"Is it?"
"Yes and what does it even mean"
"It means The One Without A Name."
Eli blinked.
"…You really went literal with that."
Towan folded his hands behind his back.
"You are here because you were chosen."
"For what? Cosmic lawsuit?"
"You were randomly selected from one trillion humans to be transported to any world of your choosing."
Eli froze.
"…What."
"You will also receive three wishes."
Silence.
Eli looked up at the endless white ceiling.
"So I died. Cool. Reincarnation arc unlocked. Sorry Mom. Sorry Dad. Guess I won't be the wholesome family man you hoped for."
"…You are not dead."
Eli looked back up.
"Excuse me?"
"I said transported. Not reincarnated."
"So I go as I am?"
"Yes."
"With my face?"
"Yes."
"With my trauma?"
"Yes."
"…Can I at least leave the trauma behind?"
"No."
"Unfortunate."
Towan tilted his head.
"You are exceptionally lucky."
Eli laughed.
"Have you reviewed my file?"
"When you were born," Towan continued calmly, "you were meant to die. The tree was your fate. The plane was your fate. The accidents were Death attempting correction."
Eli's expression slowly changed.
"And yet," Towan said softly, "you lived."
He stepped closer.
"You have, quite literally, defied Death and Fate combined."
A pause.
"If that is not luck, what is?"
Eli swallowd.Then shook his head.
"…So what now?"
Towan clapped his hands once.
"What will it be?"
Eli thought for a long time.
"Can I go to the Marvel universe?"
"Yes."
"The MCU version."
"Yes."
"And I get three wishes?"
"Yes."
Eli inhaled.
"First wish. I want the power to copy the concept of anything I smelt."
Towan nodded slowly.
"Second. Complete protection from anyone or anything that can read, sense, manipulate, or tamper with my thoughts and memories."
"Psycho-lock. Accepted."
"And third… make me a singularity. No variants. No alternate versions of me across timelines."
Towan smiled faintly.
"Tabula Rasa. Absolute mental lock. Multiversal singularity."
He leaned closer.
"Approved."
Eli blinked.
"That was easier than expected."
"I am in a good mood," Towan replied. "You may have one additional request."
Eli's eyes widened.
"Really?"
"Yes."
"Send me near the British Museum. One week before the New York invasion."
Towan placed a hand on his shoulder.
"That can be done."
Eli began dissolving into light.
"Wait!" Eli shouted quickly. "If I wasn't on that plane… would it still have crashed?"
There was a pause.
"No it would have not" Towan said calmly. "Death was hunting you specifically."
Eli closed his eyes.
"…So it was my fault huh".
"yes"
And then—
He was gone.
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I was thinking of making the female lead be Black widow but I'm open for suggestions