John Miller's last day on Earth had been unremarkable until it wasn't. The office drone turned software hobbyist had spent it hunched over a keyboard, grinding through another late shift. By the time he stepped out into the biting evening air, his only solace was the thought of greasy takeout waiting just a short drive away.
"Finally," John muttered as he walked out of the restaurant, a plastic bag clutched in one hand. He could already imagine the salty satisfaction of fries and the comforting weight of his couch.
But the universe had other plans.
The screech of tires came first, cutting through the night like a banshee's wail. Then the gut-punch of realization as a truck barreled through the intersection, its headlights locked on him. John froze, his mind screaming at his body to move, but before he could, metal and flesh collided in a symphony of destruction.
And then... darkness.
John woke to a sensation unlike anything he'd ever experienced—weightless yet constricted, warm yet somehow damp. He tried to move, but his limbs felt tiny, uncoordinated. What's going on? Panic surged, but it ebbed as faint voices reached him, muffled and distorted, like listening through a wall.
"Mrs. Grace, congratulations! It's a boy."
The words hit him like a freight train. *No. No way.* His vision, blurry and unfocused, made out a woman's face above him—tired, tear-streaked, but glowing with pride. She was young, mid-twenties maybe, with auburn hair clinging to her damp forehead.
"John," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Your name is John."
His old life flooded back in fragments: the truck, the takeout, the humdrum existence of an overworked office worker. And now... this? *I've been reborn?*
As his mother cradled him, John's sharp mind began piecing things together. The snippets of conversation he overheard as he grew over the next few months filled in the blanks.
Elena Grace had been a rising star in journalism, a tenacious reporter who broke high-profile stories exposing corruption. Her life had taken a sharp turn after a brief, ill-fated romance with Tony Stark—the billionaire genius and self-proclaimed playboy.
At first, it was a whirlwind affair: candlelit dinners, whispered promises, and late nights in Stark Tower. But when Elena discovered she was pregnant and broke the news, Tony's response was colder than the Arc Reactor in his chest.
"Elena, you're smart. Smarter than this," he had said, waving a dismissive hand. "Just... handle it. You know, like the others."
She refused. She wouldn't "handle it." She wouldn't be another nameless woman in Tony Stark's long list of abandoned mistakes.
Alone and ostracized from the circles that once praised her, Elena gave birth to John in a modest apartment far from the glittering skyline of Stark Tower. Despite the hardship, she poured every ounce of her determination into giving her son a good life.
John, for his part, couldn't help but feel both admiration and pity for his mother. She was strong, yes, but the weight of the world rested on her shoulders.
The first few years of John's new life were a whirlwind of discovery. Being a baby again was humiliating, but his advanced intellect kept him from falling into childish simplicity. By the time he was three, he began to notice the subtle differences in this world.
The news was dominated by two types of figures: heroes and quirks. Men and women with extraordinary abilities—quirks—fought crime and saved lives, each one more powerful than the last. One name in particular caught his attention: All Might.
Wait a minute... isn't this... My Hero Academia?
The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. He wasn't just in a world of quirks—he was in a world he recognized.
But there was more. Headlines featuring a certain billionaire genius popped up just as often. Tony Stark, in this reality, was very much the same: a genius inventor, CEO of Stark Industries, and occasional Iron Man.
It was a strange mash-up of worlds, and John had no idea where he fit into it.
By the time he turned three and a half, something changed.
It started with an old tablet Elena brought home, a relic from her investigations. "Here," she said, handing it to him. "Knock yourself out, kid. Just don't break it."
John fiddled with the device, curious as always, when he felt a strange pull. It was as if his consciousness stretched beyond his body, merging with the circuits and code. For a brief, terrifying moment, he *was* the tablet.
When he snapped back, the screen flickered, static crawling across its surface.
"Mama!" he shouted, his voice trembling with excitement. "Mama, look!"
Elena rushed in, panic on her face. "What happened?"
John hesitated, then grinned. "I'm a bad rabbit!"
Elena stared at him, confused but relieved he was unharmed. "What... does that even mean?"
John didn't know at the time, but the name stuck. As he experimented over the following weeks, he discovered the full extent of his quirk.
He could transform into three distinct forms, each one unlocking new abilities:
1. Glitchtrap, a lithe, humanoid rabbit with the power to enter and manipulate digital systems.
2. Springtrap, a bulky animatronic form with overwhelming physical strength.
3. Burntrap, a flaming monstrosity capable of wielding fire with terrifying precision.
John knew one thing for certain: this wasn't just a second chance at life. It was a chance to rewrite his legacy in a world that desperately needed someone to shake things up.
And as for Tony Stark?
John smirked to himself. One day, I'm going to make him regret leaving me behind.