Consciousness returned like a bad hangover.
Arun's skull felt like it was being pounded by Thor's hammer. Groaning, he cracked open his eyes, expecting the glow of his gaming setup. Instead—cold concrete. Smoke. The acrid taste of ash and ozone in the air.
His brain lagged, struggling to load the situation.
"What the hell...?" He pushed himself up, still in his Star Wars pajamas and worn-out Avengers t-shirt—a cruel joke considering what his eyes were about to register.
Boom.
A massive explosion shook the ground, and through the clearing smoke, his breath caught. A colossal alien warship loomed over a devastated New York City. Not the polished, cinematic skyline he'd seen a thousand times in movies—this was a battlefield. Twisted metal, crumbling buildings, fires raging like the aftermath of a save-scumming mistake gone wrong.
"This can't be real." He pinched his arm. Hard. "Nope. Just too many late-night MCU marathons. Brain's playing tricks—"
A thunderous roar cut him off. Something massive crashed through a skyscraper like a wrecking ball—a Leviathan. It spiraled through the air, only to be caught mid-flight by a green blur.
The Hulk.
Arun's thoughts short-circuited.
"That's—that's the freakin' Hulk."
He'd spent hours playing as these characters. Seen them on screen. But now? They were real. And so was the danger.
"MOVE, CIVILIAN!"
A rough voice barked at him, and before he could react, something slammed into him, sending him skidding behind an overturned car. A split second later, an energy blast vaporized the spot where he'd just been standing.
Heart hammering, Arun looked up—Hawkeye. But not the wisecracking, sarcastic Clint Barton he knew. This version had a haunted look, his tactical suit battle-worn, his movements sharp and precise. Without so much as a glance at Arun, he nocked three arrows and fired in rapid succession.
"Holy—you're—" Arun started, fanboy mode activated despite the apocalyptic chaos.
"Evac point. Two blocks east. MOVE!" Hawkeye cut him off, already repositioning.
Another explosion. Arun barely had time to register the figures darting through the battlefield—War Machine streaking through the sky, Rocket Raccoon unloading a blaster from a rooftop, Cap's shield ricocheting through alien ranks.
His stomach twisted. He knew this battle. He'd watched it a hundred times. The Endgame final stand.
Which meant—Tony. The Snap. The sacrifice.
His breath stuttered.
He almost didn't notice the Chitauri soldier spotting him. A screech. A weapon raised.
Panic slammed into him. No respawns. No pause button. Just survival.
RUN.
Years of skipping gym class betrayed him instantly. His lungs burned, legs wobbling, coordination great for gaming, terrible for real-world sprinting. He tripped, barely rolling behind a wrecked bus as the alien closed in.
His hands scrambled over the debris—broken rebar. Not exactly a lightsaber, but better than nothing.
"Think. Think. THINK!"
His mind, wired for strategy games, calculated the alien's movement. Weak points? Joint armor. Fastest escape route? Nowhere. Chance of survival? Not great.
The Chitauri rounded the corner.
Arun swung.
CRACK.
A sickening crunch as metal met flesh—or whatever these things had. The alien staggered, giving him just enough time to bolt.
His brain stopped panicking and started mapping. Battlefield positioning. Patterns. Weak spots. Like a strategy game—but this time, one life. No respawns.
Adrenaline carried him toward the evacuation point.
Then—a shimmer.
A swirling vortex of quantum energy flickered into existence right in front of him.
"Oh, come on!" Arun tried to stop, but momentum betrayed him. Too late.
The vortex swallowed him whole.
And just like that, he was gone—leaving behind the battle that would change the universe.
And maybe, just maybe, change his own fate as well.
To be Continued...