Plot Armor: Ordered a Burger, Got Burdened With Destiny
In the beginning, there was hunger.
Not the hunger of gods nor the metaphorical yearning of the soul—no.
Just regular, stomach-growling, “I skipped breakfast, and my fridge is empty” hunger.
My name is unimportant (seriously, I forgot it after the third wormhole). I was an average nobody on a very average Earth, dreaming only of something greasy, cheesy, and ideally served with fries. But the universe? The universe had other plans.
One wrong turn. One cursed Yelp review—one glowing burger shack in a back alley that should not have existed—and boom. I’m flung headfirst into a multiverse of chaos, chosen by a sentient deep-fryer to wield the power of the Forbidden Combo Meal.
Now I’m:
- Accidentally immortal
- Casually vaporizing star systems when I sneeze
- Being worshipped by a cult of toaster-wielding monks
- Apparently prophesied to marry the Supreme Empress of the Fifth Reality (who is, yes, also a dragon)
- Hunted by a multiversal HR department that claims I violated “narrative structure”
- And somehow still broke because cosmic power doesn’t pay for snacks
Every time I try to sit down and eat, something explodes. A timeline collapses. A villain monologues. Or worse—a new arc begins.
I’ve defeated ancient evils using only napkins.
I’ve talked eldritch horrors out of invading just by explaining taxes.
I’ve become a god… six times. I got demoted. Twice.
I have three theme songs, a fan club I didn’t authorize, and a sword that screams whenever I touch pickles.
All I ever wanted…
Was. A. Burger.
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Plot Armor is an unhinged, fourth-wall-shattering, genre-obliterating power fantasy where one man’s lunch break becomes a battle against logic, fate, and bad storytelling.
Expect:
- OP protagonist energy
- Absurd comedy
- Meta nonsense
- Chaotic worldbuilding
- And exactly zero chill.
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Reader discretion advised: contains reckless narrative pacing, emotionally confused magical girls, and at least one sentient sandwich with diplomatic immunity.