Game Over : Marvel Reboot

Deep within the bowels of an underground facility, a grim and dimly lit hallway stretched endlessly, its walls stained with the grime of neglect and the faint metallic scent of blood. The air was heavy with the stench of death, a constant reminder of the horrors that unfolded in this forsaken place. Two men in hazmat suits lazily dragged a black body bag along the cold, concrete floor. The corpse inside was nothing more than another nameless victim to them, a routine disposal in a place where life held little value.

The first man, broke the silence with a casual remark. "This one's a mutant," he said, his voice muffled by the hazmat suit.

"Died a few hours ago. It's a Shame, really…"

The second man, chuckled, his tone devoid of any sympathy. "Another one bites the dust. What's the big deal? They're all just monsters that deserved to a lab rat anyway."

The first man smirked beneath his mask. "You're not gonna like this, but this guy was the source of 'THE' serum. You know, the one you've been using to 'get lucky'?"

Man 2's laughter died instantly, replaced by a groan of disappointment. "You're kidding me. That was him? Damn it, now what am I supposed to do? That serum was the only thing keeping me in the game."

The first man shrugged; his indifference palpable. Finding joy in his colleague plight, "Guess you'll have to charm them the old-fashioned way. Good luck with that."

The two men continued their morbid banter and racist tirade, as they approached the incinerator room, their footsteps echoing in the hollow corridor. The facility was a place where morality had long been discarded, where humans right go to die, and the men's callousness was a testament to the desensitization that came with their grim work.

The incinerator room was a nightmarish sight. The walls were blackened with soot, and the air was thick with the acrid smell of burning flesh. In the center of the room stood a massive incinerator, its flames casting an eerie orange glow that flickered across the piles of black body bags scattered throughout the space. The room was a graveyard of the forgotten, a place where lives were reduced to ash without a second thought.

Man 1 and Man 2 heaved the body bag onto the nearest pile, their movements mechanical and devoid of care. To them and most of those that were in this facility, those that were in the body bag were nothing but a trash that needs to be disposed. As they turned to leave, Man 1 shivered, a sudden chill running down his spine.

"This place gives me the creeps, every single time..." he muttered.

"Let's go grab a smoke. I need to get out of here for a bit."

Man 2 nodded eagerly. "Yeah, I could use a break too. This job's gonna drive me insane…why are those mutants need to live anyway?".

"Wow, dude you really hated them…That much?". Man 1 comically said.

"Yep... all of them are just a freak of nature…shouldn't exist on this planet at all…". Man 2 replied with an apparent disgust, that comes from the pit of his heart.

As the two men exited the room, the heavy metal door clanged shut behind them, leaving the incinerator room in silence, as the murmur of their conversation faded. The body bag they had just discarded began to stir, its movements faint at first but growing more frantic with each passing second.

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I woke up with a gasp, my lungs burning as I struggled to draw breath. The thick plastic of the body bag pressed against my face, suffocating me, and my body screamed in agony. Every muscle felt sluggish and unresponsive, as if weighed down by an invisible force. My eyes, dry and burning, refused to adjust to the darkness, leaving me blind and disoriented. The very second, I woke, all I felt were just pain, the kind that wanted you to beg for anything just so it stopped.

An unnatural panic surged through me, but I forced it down, forcing my rational mind taking over. I'm in a body bag, I realized, my thoughts racing. I need to get out. Now.

With every ounce of strength I could muster, I began to bite at the plastic, my teeth tearing through the material with agonizing slowness. The effort was excruciating, each movement sending waves of pain through my body. My mouth felt raw, my jaw aching from the strain, but I didn't stop. Survival was my only focus. I know that the panic that I shoved deep at the back of my head is a panic attack, I force myself to focus on one thing and one thing only, that is the only way I can use my head.

After what felt like an eternity, I finally tore a hole in the bag. I gasped for air, and the stench of decay hitting me like a physical blow. I am retching from the smell, it was too extreme, turns out, the room was filled with piles of body bags, stacked so high and aplenty to the point that inside the room, it left only single tight space in the middle of the room, just enough for 2 men to walk into the room and reached the incinerator. The sight stunned me completely, the scene speaks to where each body bags seems to be a one grim reminder of the lives lost in this hellish place. The incinerator burned brightly in the center of the room, its flames casting long, flickering shadows across the walls.

My mind raced as I took in my surroundings. I'm in an incinerator room, I thought, my heart pounding. If I don't get out of here, I'll be turned to ash.

But escape wasn't going to be easy, especially when my body was weak, my movements sluggish and uncoordinated. Running blindly into the facility wasn't an option—I needed time to recover, to reorient myself, before I even attempt to do anything, my eyes fell on the piles of body bags, and a plan began to form.

With great effort, I peeled myself out of the body bag, my limbs trembling with exhaustion. The stench of rotting corpses was overwhelming, and I fought the urge to vomit. Crawling on my hands and knees, I dragged myself to the far end of the room, where the piles of body bags were tallest. I dug through the stacks, creating a small hollow space, and then clumsily pulled myself into that small space and then I wore the bloody bag that I tear through again, ensuring that I am blending in with the dark.

This will have to do for now, I thought, carefully positioning myself so that only the legs of other corpses covered me. They'll start burning the nearest bodies first. I just need to buy myself some time.

There are a few bodies on top of me, mostly legs and torsos, so the weight isn't unbearable, I can manage this sort of discomfort. For now, I'm safe. The incinerator room is massive, but there's only one machine in the center, its flames casting an eerie orange glow across the piles of black body bags, were not that bright, and it seems that there is no other source of light. I figure they can only burn one or two bodies at a time, and no one's going to start digging through the far end of the room when there are plenty of bodies closer to the incinerator, no one is that hardworking that they wanted to do some oddly extra work. So, I can afford to take a breather, at least for a little while.

As I lie there, hidden beneath the dead, my mind races. The moment I died in the Overlord world, I knew I'd be reincarnated into the Marvel Cinematic Universe. The One had warned me that my arrival would be unpredictable—no guarantees about where, when, or in what condition I'd show up. I thought I was ready for anything, but waking up as a corpse? Yeah, that's definitely worse than I imagined.

My nerves are still on edge, but I force myself to calm down. As I do, a wave of lightheadedness hits me, and suddenly, fragments of memory flood my mind. I'm Sai Morvayne, age 20, a mutant. Born in Hawaii, a mixed of Asian and American. My mother abandoned me at an orphanage as soon as I was born, my father was unknown. That's it—just the basics. No searing headache, no overwhelming pain. Just a simple, straightforward introduction to this body's past. I guess my memories are going to come in batches, which is fine by me. Right now, I don't need the full story. I just need to know the basic to survive.

About ten minutes pass, and I decide to test something. Under my breath, I mutter, "Status." Just like that, the familiar Status Window from YGGDRASIL materializes before me. It's a comforting sight, but it's also a stark reminder of how much has changed. A lot of the system's functionality is locked. The chat feature is gone, the internet browser is gone, even the email system is gone. All that's left are two tabs: My Status Sheet and Inventory.

I glance at my stats. My max level is still 100, but it's crossed out, and in brackets, it shows my current level: 10. My stats have dropped to match my current level as well, which is a hassle, but it's better than starting at level 0. At least I'm not completely defenseless, this kind of setting were already being discussed and agreed beforehand, so I can move passed it.

Next, I check my skills. My Shadow Overlord job-exclusive skills are all locked, and 3 out of the 4 skills I chose to bring with me are grayed out. The only one that's still active is Vitalis Umbra (EX).

Vitalis Umbra (EX):

Description: This skill grants heightened physical regeneration and longevity, making the user effectively a semi-immortal. Heal from injuries at an accelerated rate and age much slower than a normal human.

I chose this skill to be the first skill that first to be unlock specifically to maximize my survivability. When you don't know what kind of situation you'll be thrown into, it's better to be hard to kill. As for defending myself, I'm confident in my abilities. The time I spent in YGGDRASIL sharpened my skills to a razor's edge. I trained in hand-to-hand combat, magic, and everything in between, treating every injury and every battle as if my life depended on it. I even maxed out the sensitivity parameter to make the pain feel real, just so I could temper my instincts. That experience isn't going to waste here. 5 long years I went from battle to battle, war to war. I fought monsters and people alike, so when it comes to combat, the only thing I should do I just move my body like before, and all that sense should come back to me.

I continued to rest, staying as still and muted as possible. I drift in and out of consciousness, napping fitfully or power nap as it called or something. Roughly an hour passes, and I start to feel a little better. My body isn't as sluggish or lethargic as before. It still hurts all over the place and rather weak, but the pain is manageable now. And that is good enough for me.

Then, out of nowhere, I'm hit with another wave of vertigo. This time, it's intense—far worse than before. Memories flood my mind, but these aren't the basic details I got earlier. No, this is the raw, unfiltered pain of this body's past. The torture, the experiments, the endless suffering—it all comes crashing down on me like a tidal wave. Anger, sadness, rage, and despair swirl together, threatening to drown me. It was as if the body were telling what had been done to him, crying in pain for me the hear is plea.

Seconds feel like hours as I'm consumed by emotions, I've never thought I am capable of feeling it. The core of it all is one word, one name that burns in my mind like a brand: HYDRA.

The rage is unbridled, a fire that threatens to consume me. I've never felt a burning hatred like this before. It's not just anger—it's a deep, primal need for vengeance. HYDRA did this. They took this body, this life, and twisted it into something unrecognizable. They tortured, experimented, and discarded me like I was nothing. And now, I'm here, lying in a pile of corpses, fighting to survive because of them.

My hands clench into fists, my nails digging into my palms. I want to scream, to lash out, to make them pay for what they've done. But I can't. Not yet. I'm still weak, still trapped in this hellish room. If I'm going to survive, if I'm going to make them pay, I need to stay calm. I need to think. I take a deep breath, forcing the rage down. It's not easy—the anger is like a living thing, clawing at the edges of my mind—but I manage to push it aside, at least for now. I focus on the task at hand: getting out of this room alive.

"No… not now… not yet…".

As I lie there, hidden beneath the dead, I start to form a plan. I don't know how much time I have before someone comes back to burn more bodies, but I need to be ready. My body is still weak, but Vitalis Umbra is already working, slowly healing my injuries. I can feel it—a faint warmth spreading through my limbs, knitting together the damage. I'll wait a little longer, just until I'm strong enough to move without collapsing. Then, I'll make my move. HYDRA thinks I'm dead, and that's their mistake. They don't know who—or what—they're dealing with.

And when I'm ready, they'll learn the hard way.