Jack was a 25-year-old philosophy student. Philosophy wasn't always the thing; far from it, actually. It wasn't even a first choice. He had big aspirations: he wanted to be either a tech genius or an influential entrepreneur. But fate had a different course set for him. His grandfather was a very rich old man, with a warped sense of humor. His will stipulated a strange condition: If Jack wanted to inherit his money, he had to graduate with a degree in philosophy. So, he got into being a philosophy student, and he went out to read Plato, Nietzsche, and Kant, although, for his part, he found these people as dry as dust.
Years ticked by in those classrooms, where his peers spoke in riddles, debating the very essence of existence and what it meant to exist. He would often stare at the blackboard blankly, wrestling with why he was there at all. All his intense studying eluded enlightenment, and he found no deeper purpose. He felt stuck, trapped in a monotonous life. The promise of wealth didn't excite him anymore; it was like a distant mirage. He wanted something more — excitement, adventure, or at least a sense of meaning.
But life had other ideas. The most thrilling part of Jack's day was choosing which coffee shop to visit. Day after day, he caught himself entangled in a monotonous routine, somehow feeling that he was being slowly strangled by the heavy drudgery of his life.
It was another very long, boring day with meaningless philosophical debates. Jack needed to leave this sort of life he was stuck within: lectures, empty speeches, and constant waiting for the inheritance from his grandfather. He merely felt that urge for something in that impulsive flash of decision, as something that could perhaps garnish his life a little bit, if only that night — into the red-light district of the city he went.
It was a place he'd never been to, never even stepping foot in, but one he'd heard about. Silently, he wandered through streets dimly lit with neon lights that buzzed and flickered like distant stars. Around him, shady characters and alluring places where people looked to forget the drabness of daily routine or enjoy themselves. Jack felt a new kind of excitement; indeed it was a thrill he had never, ever experienced before.
He entered a dingy and run-down brothel that hadn't been swept in over forty years. The smell of alcohol, sweat, and cheap perfume hung heavy in the air. Jack, who was already half drunk, found himself laughing at the absurdity of it all. Here he was, a philosophy student - someone who debated the essence of life and the existence of the soul - paying for a night with a prostitute. It was almost poetic, in a twisted way.
The woman with him was equally uninterested in her job. They mumbled a few of the exceedingly awkward words before he settled onto the stained mattress. Nervous, unsure of what to say or do, he attempted to ease himself, to relax into the experience, but his stomach had other plans.
Jack felt churning in his stomach. Initially, he dismissed it as the beer he'd guzzled earlier. Still, the churning became sharper, cutting him up inside. Before he could even react, his body turned on him. He emitted a loud, wet fart, followed almost at once by a wave of nausea. He tried to fight it off, but it was too late. He leaned over and threw up all over the poor woman.
For an instant, they were totally silent. Jack caught the combination of repulsion and shock on her face, but nothing would come out of his mouth to apologize. His vision blurred, his head whirled about him, and he felt himself slipping into unconsciousness. His body slumped, hitting the mattress. The last sound he was aware of was the woman screaming for help and another big fart.
His last thoughts were... 'So this is the grand meaning of life: farting into oblivion...'
And that was it for Jack. Not exactly a heroic death, nor a tragic one. It was the kind of death that would make one laugh: a dark punchline to a joke, his life. Alone in a dingy brothel, from what seemed to be a combination of alcohol poisoning and choking on his own vomit. It was, as he would have called it, a meaningless death — fitting for someone who had spent his life pondering the meaning of existence.
Darkness enveloped Jack, pulling him into the abyss. He felt nothing, saw nothing. It was as if time had stopped. No aching, no light, no sound, just an endless emptiness. If he had been conscious, he might well have thought this the afterlife he had so fiercely debated in his classes of philosophy, a place of pure nothingness.
Then something happened. He was floating in this warm thick liquid, and he could not open his eyes, not even move his limbs. He did not feel that his body belonged to him anymore. He tried to remember everything. The brothel, the vomiting, the darkness — it all came back as flashes. He should have died. He was dead.
Before he could make anything of it, he heard voices. Muffled, distant voices. They were speaking, but he did not understand the words. Yet the sounds were somehow comforting, like listening to a gentle hum through a thick wall. He tried to open his eyes to see where he was, but his body felt weak and unresponsive to the control of his mind.
Something in him flowed out, and he was drawn from the warm liquid. He sucked in the air as he felt his lungs fill up. He uttered a scream. It was a shriek of piercing cry. He felt small, minuscule, like he had shrunk himself to the size of an oat. It didn't make any sense. His vision remained cloudy.
As his eyes adjusted, he saw faces. They were huge and towered over him. He felt a firm grip on his body but when looking down realized he was in the hands of a woman wearing a white coat. She was smiling, tears in her eyes. Another face came into view, a man with dark hair and pure bliss written all over him.
"It's a boy," the woman said with a gentle smile. "Congratulations, Mr. Stark."
Everything in Jack's brain was running like a racehorse in a sprinting competition. Mr. Stark? He knew that name. But it couldn't be. He tried to comprehend what was happening, but the reality hit him like a truck. 'Stark... Baby... Shit!' He wasn't just any baby. He was Tony Stark, the genius billionaire playboy philanthropist from the Marvel Universe. He was reborn, not as himself but as a baby version of one of the most iconic characters in fiction.
Thoughts were swirling in his head in confusion, disbelief, and weird excitement. He died in a most absurd way, only to be reborn as Tony Stark. 'What a dream. Hahaha...' But everything felt so real – the chill of the air, the sound of voices, the brightness of the lights. If this was a dream, it was one hell of a vivid one.
He felt himself being handed over to a woman. Her face was the first clear image he saw. She was beautiful, with soft features and a loving gaze. This must be Maria Stark, Tony's mother. She held him close, smiling down at him with pure adoration.
"Hello, my little heart," she whispered, her voice filled with warmth.
The man beside her, Howard Stark, looked at him with pride. "He's perfect," Howard said, gently touching his tiny hand.
Jack ─ or rather, Tony ─ stared up at them. He was still trying to get his head wrapped around everything that was going on. He had all of Jack's memories, his thoughts, his personality, but he was now in the body of Tony Stark, a baby at that. This was the Marvel Universe, a world full of superheroes, villains, and epic battles. He was no longer that purposeless philosophy student named Jack; he was soon to be Tony Stark, the future Iron Man.
"A genius billionaire playboy philanthropist? Yeah, I could get used to this. Alright, time to live a life free of regrets and full of fun. Wait... is Thanos still a thing?"
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This chapter is short since this is a prologue.
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Read carefully:-
1) Harem. Non harem lovers> don't read and cry
2) As mentioned in the Synopsis> MC will do anything for survival
3) Be warned, I will be focusing on the ground/Earth level villains for the first half before moving on to cosmic threats.
4) No system
5) Slow burn. Yeah, there will be suits and serum and all that.
6) Please a request to some of you readers> DON'T SPAM COMMENTS WITH A HAREM LIST ON EVERY CHAPTER. I KNOW SOME OF YOU DO THAT.
7) How big is this ff? As usual, you can expect 200 chapters. After that it will depend on Powerstones and readers.
8) Troll reviews will be deleted. Some of goodyshoes non harem lovers love to spam fake reviews just because they didn't get a non harem story. To them> Get the fuck out of here.
9) This is a new ff, not connected with the ongoing one.
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