[0:00 – The Beginning]
In the grand timeline of history, few moments stand out as truly pivotal: the invention of fire, the moon landing, the time someone microwave-blasted a spoon and invented temporal anomalies in their dorm room.
This moment?
This moment starts with a man in a hoodie arguing with a vending machine.
"Come on. Just work. Just once."
Alex Carter pressed the button labeled "Mystery Meat Sandwich" again, despite all available evidence that doing so would result in a mechanical shrug and nothing else. The machine gave a sad whirrrr and a gentle clunk—not of food delivery, but of mockery.
"Cool," he said, voice flat. "That's the third time today you've denied me, fate."
Behind him, a nearby TV blared emergency news. Something about another supervillain attack downtown, something-something laser, high-speed pursuit, possible end of days.
He didn't turn around. He'd heard it all before.
"Maybe I'll just eat the coins."
***
[0:03 – The Quest Begins]
And so began the quest.
Not for vengeance. Not for glory. Not for justice, or truth, or love.
Just a burger.
A decent one. Warm. Maybe with pickles.
Alex zipped up his hoodie, flipped his hood over his eternally-messy hair, and started walking through the drizzle-soaked neon jungle that was Megacity Prime.
Above him, a man in power armor punched a dragon into a billboard. The billboard exploded into a shower of sparks and questionable brand synergy.
Alex didn't even flinch.
"Five bucks says they still miss the villain and blame traffic," he muttered to no one.
***
[0:06 – The Diner]
The place was called Bun Intended. It looked like it had survived a gang war, a food fight, and a tax audit all in the same week.
Which was to say: it had character.
Alex pushed open the door. A tiny bell rang overhead like it was legally required to. Grease hung in the air like a fog of delicious sin.
"Yo," he said, nodding to the tired-looking cashier with a black eye and a name tag that said 'LARRY (DON'T ASK)'.
"Double bacon cheeseburger, extra pickles."
"You sure?" Larry asked.
"Have I ever not been?"
"...You're not on any watchlists, right?"
"I think I am, but not the burger-related kind."
Larry shrugged and turned toward the back. Alex slumped into a booth.
Outside, thunder rolled. Not metaphorically. There was a literal thunder elemental fighting a cyborg luchador two blocks away.
Alex didn't even look.
His phone buzzed with a push notification: BREAKING: MEGACITY PRIME UNDER THREAT OF EXTINCTION (Again)
He silenced it and muttered, "Burger first. Apocalypse later."
***
[0:10 – The Catalyst Patty]
Here's the thing no one tells you about becoming the most overpowered being in the multiverse:
It always starts stupid.
Some people get bitten by mutant animals. Some fall into vats of questionable liquids. Some discover they're the reincarnation of a chosen warrior destined to save reality.
Alex?
Alex took one bite of that burger—and the universe hiccupped.
It wasn't dramatic. It wasn't even spicy. But something... shifted. The moment the beef hit his tongue, time paused for exactly one-tenth of a second.
In that moment:
A missile fired by a villain ten blocks away veered off course.
A crack in the sidewalk beneath him sealed itself.
And a pigeon froze mid-flight, stared at him in existential dread, then flapped away in a panic.
Alex blinked. "Weird aftertaste."
***
[0:12 – Enter the Missile]
FWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE—
The windows turned white-hot with sudden light.
A missile, one that had been aimed squarely at a government defense building, had mysteriously changed trajectory mid-air. It now roared straight toward the diner.
Larry screamed.
Alex looked up, still chewing. "...Huh."
BOOOOOOM.
Glass shattered. The world turned upside-down.
Everything exploded—
Except Alex.
He landed perfectly upright, still holding half a burger. A chair flipped over behind him. Ketchup splattered across the wall.
His hoodie was untouched.
He looked around. Smoke. Flames. Sirens.
He took another bite.
***
[0:15 – Post-Explosion Casualties: Zero (Except for the Combo Meal)]
The world was chaos.
Fire licked the sides of the ruined diner. Smoke twisted in the air like some goth interpretive dance troupe. The ceiling had collapsed in one corner, and Larry was hiding under the counter, mumbling prayers in three different languages—one of which was just bad Klingon.
Alex stood in the middle of it all, chewing.
The burger was a little burnt now, sure, but still edible. And when you lived in Megacity Prime, "still edible" was gourmet.
Sirens wailed outside. A firetruck crashed into a parked mech suit. Somewhere in the distance, a villain screamed something dramatic about vengeance and missed potential.
"Ten bucks says they blame this on microwave radiation again," Alex said, mouth full.
Larry peeked over the counter, trembling. "W-WHAT ARE YOU?!"
"Just a guy who wanted a burger, man."
***
[0:18 – The Plot Thickens (Like Overcooked Gravy)
Outside, a flying news drone zoomed in. Holo-cams locked onto the diner, broadcasting live.
BREAKING NEWS: UNKNOWN FIGURE SURVIVES DIRECT MISSILE STRIKE—Is this the rise of a new hero? Or something more dangerous?
Alex's face appeared on a hundred screens across the city.
He was mid-bite. Eyes half-lidded. Absolutely done.
"Ugh, no," he muttered. "Not again."
***
[0:20 – The First Official Hero Encounter (And the First One to Rage Quit)
The door burst open—what was left of it—and a tall, glittering figure stepped inside. Spandex. Cape. Gleaming smile so bright it could deflect lasers.
It was Captain Virtue, the number-two hero in the city and a man who'd had exactly zero chill since 2013.
"You there!" he boomed, pointing dramatically at Alex. "Did you deflect that missile?!"
Alex looked down at his burger.
Then at Captain Virtue.
Then back to the burger.
"Uh... no?"
Captain Virtue squinted. "But you survived a direct strike! How?! Are you a metahuman? Divine avatar? Secret military experiment?"
Alex slowly raised a single, greasy fry.
Captain Virtue blinked. "...Is that a yes?"
"No. It's a fry."
Larry, still twitching behind the counter, whispered, "He didn't do anything, man. The missile just... missed."
Captain Virtue's eye twitched. "That's not how missiles work!"
"Apparently it is now," Alex said.
***
[0:23 – The Power is Named
The newsfeed blared again:
LOCAL NOBODY COINED 'PLOT ARMOR' AFTER IMPOSSIBLE SURVIVAL"He's invincible," says local cook. "But like, lazy about it."
Alex squinted at the scrolling headlines.
"Plot Armor?" he muttered. "That's what they're calling me?"
Captain Virtue groaned, rubbing his temples. "You don't even have a costume. Or a catchphrase. Or a... training arc."
"I have fries," Alex said.
***
[0:30 – The Multiverse Takes Notice (Kinda)
Meanwhile, in a place beyond space and trope, a panel of cloaked figures watched the broadcast through a shifting crystal screen.
One leaned forward, voice deep and heavy with ominous narrative significance.
"He has awakened."
Another hissed. "Impossible. The Plot Armor Protocol was buried eons ago."
"He is a threat to genre stability."
"Should we... eliminate him?"
The crystal screen showed Alex trying to dip a fry into a melted milkshake and failing.
Long silence.
Then: "...Let's wait and see."
***
[0:35 – Alex Gets a Free Refill and Zero Answers
Back at the diner, Alex sat in the ruins, sipping a soda that had somehow survived the blast completely intact.
Captain Virtue had stormed out. Larry was rebuilding the counter using duct tape, spite, and a dream.
Alex stared at his burger's remains, then out at the growing crowd of cameras and reporters gathering outside.
"I'm gonna need more fries," he said.
Larry gave him a blank stare. "You just survived a targeted missile strike. Reporters are calling you a god. You're literally trending under #BurgerBlessed. And you want... fries?"
Alex leaned back in the booth, hands behind his head. His hoodie was still somehow spotless. The chaos outside was growing by the second.
"I just wanted lunch," he said.
And for the first time, reality hesitated.
***
[0:40 – The Interview That Shouldn't Have Happened]
A reporter shoved a mic through the cracked window of the diner.
"Sir! Sir! What's your hero name? What agency do you work for? Did you train under the Monks of Mount Shōnen?"
Alex blinked.
He was still sipping his soda. Still chewing the last bite of burger. Still wishing people would stop yelling.
"I'm not a hero," he said, calmly.
"But you survived a direct missile hit! That kind of power is unheard of! You must be some kind of chosen one!"
"Pretty sure I'm just hungry."
From across the street, a conspiracy vlogger livestreamed with unearned confidence.
"Yo, what's up, believers—it's your girl Script, and I'm here with exclusive, totally unverified intel. This guy? This guy right here? He might be a reality glitch. That's right. You heard it first. Hashtag GlitchGod."
Alex turned to the camera and gave it a thumbs-up.
***
[0:42 – Public Opinion Turns Uncomfortably Fast]
On the Meganet, discourse was exploding.
@PowerRankingDaily:"Who TF is Plot Armor and why did he survive a nuke with a burger in hand?"
@RealJustice42:"He's a menace! Survives one explosion and now he's a hero?! What about the real heroes out there grinding?"
@FanficQueenLOL:"I ship him with Penny Script. Call it #CanonArmor."
@Villain_Forum:"He's too dangerous to live. Begin contingency plans."
Alex refreshed the feed, sighed, and mumbled, "Yeah okay, I definitely should've just stayed in bed."
***
[0:50 – Meanwhile, At EvilCorp Headquarters]
Doctor Endgame stood before a tactical map of the city. Everything was red—except one tiny blinking dot labeled "Plot Armor," which refused to change status from '???'.
"Explain to me again how the missile missed," he said, his voice pure razorblade and espresso.
A nervous minion stepped forward.
"Sir, trajectory analysis suggests… um… reality bent slightly. To the left."
"To the left?"
"Yes, sir. Just a nudge. Like… like when the plot doesn't want the protagonist to die yet."
Doctor Endgame's eye twitched. "So you're telling me we've discovered a being who cannot lose… because the narrative won't let him?"
"Sir," the minion whispered, "we may be dealing with a… protagonist-class anomaly."
***
[0:57 – The City Sends a Welcome Gift (of Punches)
Back in front of the diner, a group of lesser-known superheroes landed with dramatic flair. Smoke. Wind. Gratuitous guitar riffs.
The Junior Justice Association (aka "JJ-Ay!") had arrived.
"Plot Armor!" shouted their leader, a guy in teal armor named Mecha-Kid. "You're being summoned by the Hero Ranking Board for unauthorized power usage!"
"I bit a sandwich," Alex replied flatly.
"Silence, reality bender! You will be detained for analysis!"
Alex rubbed his temples. "Can we not?"
"We will engage in combat!"
A long beat.
Then Alex slowly stood up, stretched his back, and said: "Okay. But fair warning—I have no idea how to fight."
He took one step.
Slipped on a loose french fry.
Fell forward.
Kicked Mecha-Kid square in the groin.
***
[1:00 – Exactly One Minute of Pure Mayhem]
The fight, if you could call it that, was entirely unintentional.
Mecha-Kid fell into his own drone controller, which triggered a taser barrage—on his own team.
A stray blast hit a billboard, which fell on the guy with a bo staff.
Someone yelled "Friendly fire!" just as Plot Armor tripped again and accidentally rolled behind a pillar that absorbed the next explosion.
Civilians live-streamed from every angle.
By the end, the JJ-Ay was unconscious, tangled in their own weapons, and wrapped in police tape that had just… shown up?
Alex stood in the middle, blinking.
"Oh," he said. "Did I win?"
***
[1:05 – Penny Shows Up]
From the crowd emerged Penny "Script" Reynolds—hoodie, backpack full of surveillance equipment, and that too-smart glint in her eye that said she'd read every footnote of the rules and then set them on fire.
"You don't know what you are, do you?" she said.
Alex raised an eyebrow. "That depends. Are you here to attack me too? Because I've got like a 90% dodge rate at this point."
"No," she said, pulling out a tablet. "I'm here to tell you that your existence is breaking every story structure we've ever known."
"Neat."
"And there's a multiversal tribunal of editors who want you deleted."
"...Less neat."
"You need a guide. And maybe a plot arc. Preferably before they retcon you."
Alex stared at her.
Then at the fries.
Then at the sky, where he swore he saw a giant pencil erasing a cloud.
"Fine," he said. "But I'm finishing my soda first."
***
[1:15 – Enter: The Editors' Guild]
Far above the city, where reality thins like cheap ramen broth, floated a massive ink-black fortress shaped like a quill stabbed into a stack of plot outlines.
Inside, everything was grayscale. The floors, the walls, even the concept of color had been edited out for "tonal consistency."
A robed figure paced beneath a wall of flickering screens.
HIGH EDITOR LEXICON—voice smooth as a red pen on a rough draft—stared at Alex on-screen, sipping soda through a straw.
"He knows nothing," she said, narrowing her eyes. "That makes him dangerous."
Another figure—Assistant Editor Chisel—wrung his hands. "What shall we do? Intervene? Rewrite?"
"No," said Lexicon. "We send a field agent."
She clicked her pen. Reality shimmered.
"Time for a... developmental edit."
***
[1:20 – Penny's Not-So-Secret Lair]
Back in the real world, Penny dragged Alex through a narrow alley behind a dumpster that smelled like broken dreams and expired seafood.
She kicked open a door that looked like it belonged to an abandoned noodle shop. Inside: total chaos.
Conspiracy boards. Strings. Photos. Hero trading cards. Three whiteboards full of insane scribbles.
"I call it: The Plot Room," she said.
"You call it that?" Alex asked.
"Okay, I started calling it that just now. But I meant to call it that earlier."
She flipped a switch. A projector lit up.
Dozens of images filled the screen—snapshots of Alex in the background of dozens of major city incidents. Always unharmed. Always barely involved. Sometimes holding a hot dog.
"You've been unknowingly surviving major disasters for months. This can't be coincidence."
"Or," Alex said, "I'm just lucky and hungry."
"No. You're an anomaly. Like a walking narrative cheat code. Like—"
She turned toward him, eyes wide.
"Like Plot Armor."
Alex rubbed his neck. "Yeah, that nickname's starting to stick. I hate that."
***
[1:30 – The Attempted Retcon]
The lights flickered. The projector warped. The air folded.
A man stepped out of literal static. His clothes were all editor black, and he carried a clipboard that glowed with ominous bureaucracy.
"Hello, Mr. Carter," he said. "You've been flagged for deletion."
Alex blinked. "Do I get a say in this?"
"No. But you can fill out a feedback form afterward."
He raised the clipboard. Text peeled off the air.
[EDIT: Remove Subject from Scene. Justify with random heart failure.]
Alex coughed.
Gripped his chest.
Penny screamed.
"Oh my god—he's having a narrative heart attack!"
***
[1:31 – Plot Armor Activates... Weirdly]
Alex doubled over.
And sneezed.
Violently.
The clipboard exploded.
The Editor was launched backward into a stack of exposition boxes and got tangled in backstory strings.
Penny ducked behind a conspiracy board.
Alex blinked. "Did I just sneeze a retcon?"
Penny peeked up. "You're not a glitch. You're a genre bomb. You destabilize plot just by existing!"
The Editor groaned, trying to crawl toward a dangling footnote labeled "Backup Plan."
Alex grabbed a nearby burrito and chucked it.
It hit the footnote.
Reality bent. Time hiccupped.
The Editor vanished with a poof of punctuation.
***
[1:35 – Post-Retcon Reflection]
Silence.
The lights flickered back to normal. The world was weirdly still.
Penny stood, eyes wide.
"You're a story-breaking event horizon."
"Still not sure that's a compliment."
"You realize what this means, right?"
Alex dusted off his hoodie and sipped the last of his soda.
"That I'm probably not getting another burger anytime soon?"
"No," Penny said, grinning. "It means you have enemies now."
Alex sighed. "Of course I do."
He looked at the wall, where the Editor had left behind a single sticky note.
"This isn't over. You are off-outline."
Alex pocketed the note. Then muttered:
"Cool. Guess I've got a plot now."