Shredder was not his real name, but that's what everyone called him. No one really remembered why—it had something to do with a middle school prank, a paper shredder, and a lot of glitter—but the nickname stuck. And honestly, he liked it. It made him sound tough, dangerous, like someone who didn't care about the rules.
But right now, Shredder didn't look dangerous. He looked like any other distracted 20-something, standing on a busy street corner, his face bathed in the cold blue light of his phone screen.
Avengers: Endgame.
He was watching it for the fiftieth time. He knew every line, every beat, every slow-motion punch. But something about it still gave him chills. Maybe it was the nostalgia. Maybe it was the weight of Tony's sacrifice. Maybe it was because he had nothing better to do on a Saturday morning.
"C'mon, Cap," he muttered, his breath fogging up the screen slightly. "Pick up the hammer. Pick it up…"
The city moved around him. Cars zoomed by. Pedestrians weaved through the crowd. A mother scolded her child for dragging his feet. Somewhere, a dog barked. But all of that faded into the background as Captain America lifted Mjolnir and lightning surged across the battlefield.
"Ohhh!" Shredder grinned, pointing at the screen like he hadn't seen this scene a dozen times before. "That part is so badass."
He took a step forward without realizing it. The crosswalk light still flashed red.
Across the street, a woman screamed. But Shredder didn't hear her.
"I... am..." Tony Stark whispered, arm raised, fingers glowing.
The truck was coming fast. An 18-wheeler hauling steel beams, its engine growling like an angry beast.
"Iron Man."
Snap.
The blast echoed across the battlefield—and in the real world, a horn blared. Tires screeched. People gasped.
Too late.
The truck hit him with full force. His phone flew from his hands, spinning in the air like a falling star, before clattering against the pavement. The screen was cracked, but still playing. Rocket was crying. Pepper was whispering goodbye.
Shredder didn't feel a thing.
By the time paramedics arrived, all they found was a twisted body, a shattered phone, and a small crowd of horrified witnesses.
In his final moments, Shredder had been where he loved to be—lost in a movie, lost in a fantasy, far away from the real world that eventually caught up to him.
And that, ironically, made him a hero in his own story.
Just… not one who lived to see the credits.