Chapter 1

  POV: Nobody

  Being reincarnated into a dystopian fighting game where superheroes and supervillains clashed every day or week really sucked. In a world this chaotic, with all the flashy powers and epic battles, being a non-powered nobody was a special kind of hell. I figured the best way to survive was to keep my head down and live a quiet life. So, I opened a hotdog stand.

  It wasn’t glamorous, but it kept me fed—and the hotdog money was enough to get by. Simple and safe. Under the radar.

  One day, a young man walked up to my stand. He gave the place a quick once-over, sneering like it offended his eyes. I could already tell he wasn’t going to be pleasant.

  "One hotdog, please," he ordered, his tone dripping with that "too good for this" attitude.

  "That’ll be 35 credits," I said, handing over his order.

  "Whoa, such a rip-off," he muttered, inspecting the hotdog like it was tainted.

  I scanned his QR code with my smartphone, taking the payment. Thirty-five credits was hardly a rip-off. The audacity of this guy. I had to bite my tongue.

  "Thank you, young sir!" I forced a smile, not letting his attitude get to me.

  He scoffed, not even bothering to thank me. "Yeah, yeah, gobble on that chump change," he shot back, barely glancing at me. “Pauper.”

  That stung. Was it that obvious? I was in a plain white T-shirt and jeans, nothing special. They were fresh from the thrift store, but still. Surely my clothes didn’t scream "broke"—did they?

  Whatever. People like him were everywhere in this world, arrogant and dismissive of anyone without powers. They acted like they were better than everyone else just because they had flashy abilities. But calling my business "chump change" was another thing entirely. It wasn’t just rude—it was bad for business. I couldn’t let someone openly disrespect my stand like that.

  So, I packed up and moved to the other end of the park. Maybe the crowd there would be more appreciative.

  The game "Versus" had been huge back in my past life—superheroes and villains constantly clashing. People loved it, and the influence of those superhero brands was growing strong. I’d always been good at fighting games, too, having played everything from Tekken to Mortal Kombat. But none of that experience prepared me for what happened next.

  "Hotdogs! Hotdogs!!" I called out, trying to drum up some business.

  Suddenly, a man in a bonnet mask crashed into my cart, knocking it over. He was clutching a sack of credits in one hand, looking like he’d just robbed someone. He looked disheveled, desperate.

  “Fucker!” I yelled, my frustration spilling over.

  “Fuck off!” he snarled, brandishing a gun at me. "Hands off anything, extra."

  Extra. Yeah, that one hurt. In this world, people like me—people without powers—were seen as nothing more than background noise, extras in someone else’s story.

  I raised my hands in surrender. The guy had a gun, and I wasn’t stupid.

  “Perfect,” the thug grinned, malicious satisfaction in his eyes. "You’re my hostage now."

  Hostage? I was too stunned to even process the words. My heart was racing, my palms slick with sweat. This was escalating fast.

  Before I could even react, a brilliant streak of white light tore through the air, descending from above. My eyes widened as the thug yanked me closer to him, pressing the cold barrel of his gun to my forehead.

  “I have a hostage!” he shouted, desperation in his voice.

  And then I heard it—the commanding voice that cut through the chaos.

  “This is your end, cur!”

  I looked up. A woman was descending from above, her white hair gleaming like snow in the light. Her piercing red eyes locked onto the thug. She was wearing a white cape with a golden inner layer, and her athletic frame was wrapped in a suit that screamed power. Ivory—she was a hero from the game, a telekinetic with a nasty reputation for being a battle junkie and a bloodthirsty one at that.

  The thug’s eyes widened with fear. “I’ll kill this man!” he shouted, his grip on the gun tightening. “Back off! I want a helicopter!”

  A helicopter? Really? Was this guy serious?

  I couldn’t help it—an almost nervous laugh escaped me. A helicopter? Did he think he could just waltz away with one? Who was going to provide that, the government?

  The thug must have noticed my amusement, because he glared at me like I’d just insulted his mother. “What’s so funny, fucker?” he growled, pressing the gun harder against my forehead.

  I gulped, my heart hammering in my chest.

  Ivory's eyes glinted dangerously as she raised a hand, her fingers twitching ever so slightly. I felt an odd pressure building around me, and before I could even process what was happening, the thug was yanked backward by an invisible force. The gun clattered to the ground, and I stumbled backward, free from his grasp.

  I didn’t have to see her to know it was Ivory’s doing. Her telekinesis was no joke. I felt a rush of awe and relief as she effortlessly disarmed the thug, his body flailing like a ragdoll in the air. It was surreal—watching someone with that kind of power so casually take control of a situation that had just been out of my hands.

  “You should choose your battles more wisely,” Ivory said, her voice cold and unwavering, like she’d recited the line a hundred times before. The thug struggled against her power, but it was futile. He was completely at her mercy.

  I watched, unable to move or say anything. As the tension in the air loosened, I felt a twinge of gratitude toward her. She’d saved me, after all. But as much as I appreciated it, the feeling was fleeting. This was Ivory—the telekinetic battle junkie with a bloodthirsty reputation. She wasn’t exactly a hero in the traditional sense, not by any stretch of the imagination.

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  I’d learned the hard way that this world wasn’t like the games. Heroes and villains weren’t just black and white, good and evil. The lines blurred. And if you weren’t careful, you’d find yourself caught in the middle of it all.

  “T-thank you,” I stuttered, trying to make sense of the mess I was in.

  Ivory barely acknowledged me. “Are you okay, citizen? No need for thanks; I shall go now and put the criminal in prison,” she said, her tone detached and professional, as if she were talking to a piece of furniture. She didn’t even look at me as she lifted the thug into the air with her telekinesis, effortlessly flying off with him.

  Was she comforting me, or just talking to the air? I was right here, bleeding from the emotional wounds, feeling the weight of the situation, but she was already gone.

  The crowd that had gathered around cheered, their voices echoing through the park. The adrenaline from the encounter was wearing off, and I was left standing there, watching my hotdog stand in ruins. The cart was flipped over, hotdogs and condiments scattered across the ground like debris from a warzone. The day's earnings—gone. I didn’t even know how I was going to recover from this.

  This was the reality of living in a world like this: one minute, I could be serving hotdogs, trying to make an honest living, and the next, I’d be caught in the middle of a superhero showdown. It was chaotic. It was dangerous. And it sucked.

  As the crowd dispersed, I couldn’t help but feel a mix of frustration and resignation. This was my life now—living in the shadow of these larger-than-life figures like Ivory, who, despite their heroic facades, were just as dangerous as the villains they fought. Heroes were flawed too, and sometimes, they were more monstrous than the people they were supposed to stop. But in a world like this, you didn’t get to pick your savior.

  “I can’t believe I thanked her,” I muttered under my breath, feeling like an idiot.

  For someone like me—just a normie, a nobody—survival was all about lying low. I didn’t have powers, I didn’t have connections, and I didn’t have anyone who would come to my rescue if things went south again. It was just me and my hotdog cart against the world.

  I took a deep breath, pushing the thoughts of the gun and Ivory’s cold demeanor out of my head. Looking at the mess around me, I sighed. “I guess this is it for today,” I muttered, trying to shake off the lingering fear.

  Even in this messed-up world, being held at gunpoint was a first for me.

  I started picking up the scattered items from my hotdog stand, salvaging whatever I could. The wheels and the main structure of the cart were intact, at least. It could’ve been worse, I suppose. It could’ve been a lot worse.

  With the mess cleaned up as best as I could, I walked through the park, pushing the cart toward the parking lot where my bicycle was parked. People passed by, barely sparing me a second glance. Just another day in a world filled with superpowered chaos. Just another day of surviving.

  Once I reached the parking lot, I found an inconspicuous corner to park the cart. I quickly disassembled the wheels and locked the compartments where I kept the buns and leftover hotdogs. I was hoping nobody would mess with it—especially not the homeless people who sometimes scrounged around for food.

  As I finished locking everything up, a voice interrupted me. “Hey, you! What are you doing there?” A guard was walking toward me, suspicion written all over his face.

  "Parking?" I replied, trying to sound casual, but my heart started to race. I had a feeling this wasn’t going to end well.

  The guard’s hand reached for his walkie-talkie, and that was all I needed to see. Without another thought, I bolted. I slid down the rails of the parking structure, my feet scrambling for purchase, and landed near my bicycle.

  I didn’t hesitate. I jumped on the bike and pedaled away as fast as I could, my heart hammering in my chest. I could hear the guard shouting behind me, but I didn’t dare look back.

  This was my life now. I’d been in this world for nearly five months, and I’d gotten pretty good at dodging trouble. But it didn’t make it any easier to live through. No identification. No official status. I was the ultimate illegal immigrant in a world where a single government ruled everything.

  As I pedaled away, my mind raced.

  How am I supposed to make a living now?

  The hotdog stand was my only source of income, and now it was in jeopardy. I could only hope the guard wouldn’t mess with it or, worse, confiscate it. Maybe I could buy some time and return after lunch to check on it.

  A pang of hunger hit me. "I am hungry," I realized, my stomach growling in agreement. I cursed myself for not grabbing a hotdog or two before I left the scene. I should just skip lunch, I sighed, resigning myself to the gnawing hunger.

  Resignation. Disappointment. Grievance. Annoyance. The list could go on.

  I reached the bay, a place I often went to clear my mind and pass the time. It was quiet here, and that was a very welcome thing for me. I gazed out at the horizon, imagining I was in another country, far away from this alternate universe. Maybe, just maybe, I could still go home.

  But my daydreaming was abruptly interrupted when a homeless man shuffled toward me, his palm outstretched, begging for alms. I looked at him and simply said, “Go away.”

  The man hesitated for a moment, as if weighing whether to press further. But after a few seconds, he turned and walked off. I watched him go, a familiar pang of guilt settling in my chest. I knew that, given my current situation, it wouldn’t be long before I ended up like him. But for now, I just wanted to enjoy my peace.

  Hopefully, tomorrow will be better—

  This world was far too different from my old one. There weren’t many parallels, except for the occasional resemblances in cars, the way of life, and certain products like carbonated drinks. But it was clear this wasn’t my old world.

  Here, a single government called the World Order unified everything, and instead of cops, we had superheroes enforcing the law. Most technology seemed stuck in the 21st century, the one I knew, yet this world had already entered interstellar exploration through portals. It was a strange mix of familiar and foreign.

  Two hours passed, the sun dipping lower in the sky, as I killed time by watching the bay and playing games on my smartphone. It was an escape, even if just for a little while. But I knew I couldn’t stay idle for long; I needed to check on my cart, figure out my next steps.

  When I returned to the park, a wave of relief washed over me. My hotdog cart was still there, untouched. I couldn’t help but smile as I recalled the effort I’d put into building that cart from used plywood and painting it with vibrant hotdog designs. It was a small, silly thing, but it was mine.

  I quickly reattached the wheels and prepared to move it. Unfortunately, I had to leave my bicycle behind. There was no way to drag both it and the cart at the same time.

  “I’ll return for you,” I said to my bicycle, as I whipped up a quick, late lunch for myself.

  Before setting off, I treated myself to a couple of cold hotdogs—well, given their current temperature, they were more like “cooldogs.” It wasn’t the best meal, but it was sustenance. With my hunger sated, I pushed the cart away, heading for a dark alley where I could hide it.

  As the sun began to set, I maneuvered the cart into a secluded spot, removed the wheels, and covered it with a tarp I had stashed in one of the compartments.

  “I should get my bicycle back,” I muttered to myself. Without wasting any more time, I ran back to the park. My heart pounded as I approached, hoping no one had taken it.

  As I neared the spot where I’d left my bike, I saw the guard from earlier. He looked at me with a mix of irritation and disgust. “You again? Where is your cart? I swore I should have confiscated it! Do you know this is private property?”

  “But it’s a park,” I protested, feeling a knot of frustration tighten in my chest.

  “Yeah, but you’re not permitted to use it, especially for a hotdog stand. Are you daft?” the guard retorted, his voice dripping with disdain. “This place is for employees only!”

  "It won't happen again," I promised, trying to keep my voice steady. "Just let me get my bicycle."

  The guard glared at me for a moment before waving me off dismissively. He was simply doing his job, so there was no use in blaming him. I quickly grabbed my bike, grateful that it was still there.

  As I pedaled away, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being constantly on edge in this world. But I had no choice—I had to keep going, finding small victories where I could and hoping for a better tomorrow.

  I was an alien in every sense of the word. And as much as I hated it, I couldn’t help but fantasize about my old home—where I wasn’t a nobody, where I didn’t have to worry about being caught in the crossfire of superpowered showdowns.

  But this was my reality now. This was my life.