So there I was—hungry, disoriented, and dramatically fabulous—just vibing in 1940s New York.
I had three goals:
Eat something before I committed actual war crimes out of hanger.
Steal a piece of history.
Look good doing both.
Naturally, I broke into the Museum of National Defense and Definitely-Not-Secret-Prototypes. (That name's a guess. The sign outside just said "Keep Out." So I kept in.)
Inside? Dark. Dusty. Echo-y. You know, typical museum vibes. And I'm sneaking around, solid Snake-style, when I see it.
A HOT DOG.
Sitting there, steaming under a heat lamp in the security break room.
Was it suspiciously convenient? Yes.Was I suspiciously desperate? Also yes.
I snagged it mid-creep, took a bite, and then — BAM.
"FREEZE!"
Spotlight. Sirens. I'm mid-chomp, caught like a raccoon in the trash.
But here's the twist: it's not a guard. It's a guy. In a futuristic-looking trench coat, glowing gauntlet, time-hopping drip, and a face that screamed, "I know what the next 50 years look like and none of it is good."
"Benjamin.""Do I know you, Time Daddy?""Not yet. But you're not supposed to exist."
Well that's not ominous at all.
He starts giving me a speech about timelines, butterfly effects, some nonsense about "divergent serum souls." I stopped listening when he mentioned the words:
"Accidental God-tier Mutation."
Apparently, when I reincarnated, I didn't just bring my soul. I brought something extra. Some kind of glitchy chaos energy that fused with the super serum like it was mixing Monster Energy with moonshine.
"What does that mean?" I asked.
He just sighed. "It means one of your powers... is reality fragmentation."
"…Come again?"
"You break things. Reality. Matter. Physics. Fourth walls. You are literally too unstable to exist properly in one dimension."
"Oh. So I'm the plot twist?"
"YOU ARE THE PLOT TWIST!"
Honestly? Sexy.
Meanwhile, Still in the Museum
As Time Daddy tried to talk me into "coming with him peacefully" (lame), I pretended to tie my boot, dropped a smoke bomb (read: fire extinguisher I yanked off the wall), and yeeted myself into the next exhibit like a caffeinated kangaroo.
And that's where I saw it.
The Shield.
Not vibranium. Not steel. This bad boy was adamantium — the "don't-ask-where-we-got-this" metal. It shimmered like an oil-slicked mirror and called to me like it knew I had main character energy.
There was a plaque:
"Experimental Indestructible Shield — Do Not Touch."
So naturally, I touched it.
Stole it.
Strapped it to my back.
And whispered, "I am the upgrade."
Across the room, next to a busted WW1 tank, I spotted something else. A mannequin dressed in dark green armor, tactical shoulder pads, gold accents, and a star in the middle of the chest.
Soldier Boy's great-grandpa drip. Vintage. Battle-worn. The kind of gear that says, "I punch Nazis and drink bourbon before breakfast."
I stripped down and suited up, still chewing on my stolen hot dog like it was a victory cigar.
"Mirror mirror on the wall, who's the most unstable war criminal of them all?"
Spoiler alert: it's me.
Later That Night
Somehow, I got out of the museum without getting shot (shout-out to Reality Fragmentation™ and maybe dumb luck). I stood on a rooftop, wind blowing dramatically, looking like if Steve Rogers and Deadpool had a chaotic love child.
And then I made a decision.
I was joining the army.
Not because I believed in Uncle Sam. Not because I wanted to "serve my country." No. I wanted answers. Power. A way to control the chaos inside me. And also, I wanted to punch fascists in the face with a shield made of literal myth metal.
Operation Ego has begun.
To Be Continued...
Next chapter: Benjamin gets recruited into the most unstable military unit of WW2, discovers his powers have a very explosive side effect when emotionally triggered, and possibly flirts with Howard Stark because… why not?