Luck, fortune, or opportunity—concepts so fickle and hard to define.

  I was lucky enough to have my soul transmigrate into a mutant "me" in one of the Marvel realities mixed with DC in the past. You could say yes, in fact, I consider myself blessed. I made a killing in the stock market, as any self-respecting insider trader would—and even more so, since I mortgaged everything under my family's name to get funds for my so-called investment gamble.

  I was almost disinherited—well, I was disinherited and thrown out on the street, to be honest. But when my stocks skyrocketed, I became the favorite person in the family again.

  No hard feelings; if one of my kids did what I did, ha, the street would have been just the beginning of their punishment.

  I became, in the words of others, a miracle investor at just 17 years old. I amassed so much money and stocks that I was invited to rich kids' parties so their children could catch some of my insider information. I didn't go to many, in fact only to two, because the joy and relief I felt upon becoming rich was so immense that I did nothing for 4 months. I think I burned out a few neurons in the process.

  Yes, 4 months of pure joy and satisfaction where I became a couch potato—on an expensive couch, obviously—but I almost died because of it. It seems being that happy can cause heart attacks, nosebleeds, and other things.

  I transmigrated as a mutant.

  Which means two things: either you're Mike, the destroyer of mountains and creator of kes, or you're Joe, the street sweeper with skin like jelly. And damn, there aren't many points between those two.

  I got to be Joe—the one with a 47 cm multi-purpose tongue and emotions 34 times stronger than the average person.

  Being an Epsilon-level mutant with no defects in appearance is certainly very fortunate.

  Sure, having a tongue like that would make me very popur with the girls in certain aspects. But when dying of sadness is a real possibility and not an exaggeration, one tries to manage their retionships better.

  I almost died after my first breakup. Screw you, Adrianne! My heart almost stopped from the sadness that time, damn it! I had to resort to eating ice cream and chocote to get dopamine quickly. I gained a good 8 kilos until I managed to get out of the depression spiral.

  I was lucky to become rich and be the man for possibly one of the best women in this universe—I'm being partial.

  I move through the casino, trying to drown my feelings with expensive whiskey and seeking the dopamine of the next win in Bckjack or roulette.

  I'm a little... very annoyed.

  I had a fight with my future wife, all because I wanted the proposal to be a surprise. But, as often happens, she figured out my convoluted pn and was already pnning the wedding, the suit, and all the other corny things such an event would entail.

  I know it's silly, but I wanted it to be a real surprise.

  I leave the now-empty whiskey gss on a slot machine and grab a tequi from one of the beautiful casino waitresses.

  It's kind of annoying that the average beauty in this world is so high. Meh. I take a good swig of my tequi.

  The hit of the liquor, not just cognitively but on my tongue, helps drown out my thoughts a little.

  Having such strong emotions is bad for decision-making, among a bunch of other things. I always try to think logically, and of course, I do a lot of exercises to manage the whole mess that is my mind. It took me one year to not overreact to the simplest things and half of another to properly use the crutches I developed to control everything.

  But today, I'm going to be a little selfish.

  With a slightly staggering step, I sit down at a slot machine, trying to forget the amused look on my woman's face when she saw me annoyed because she ruined my convoluted 27-step proposal pn.

  Angrily, I insert coins into the machine—just enough for three pulls.

  I know the anger will pass, I know I'm overreacting... just a little, but that's not the point.

  Well, let's go gamble.

  *Nothing*

  *Nothing*And before I can pull the lever one more time, a fucking Chitauri Leviathan crashes through the ceiling, causing chaos and panic throughout the casino.

  People start running everywhere. I, obviously, try to follow their good example of survival instinct and run for the exit.

  The effect of the alcohol disappears due to the incredible amount of adrenaline flooding my brain. I manage to get some distance from the machine, but the floor colpses under the weight of the alien beast, cutting short any escape pn I might have had.

  When I regain consciousness, the pain hits me in a way that only hangovers and the agony of having a leg under rubble can.

  "God, my leg!!!" I scream in agony, writhing like a fish out of water. Through tears blurring my vision, I look around.

  I fell about two meters or so, and I'm in a pit, with the fortune that only a piece of the ceiling is crushing my right leg.

  Seeing the flesh of my leg destroyed and bruised makes the pain somehow much worse.

  Thousands of thoughts run through my mind, including that putting my phone on airpne mode was a terrible idea.

  With so much going on, I got distracted and didn't predict my effect on the canon well. It's been moved up by a year and a few months, but how?

  Shivering and trembling a little, I take my phone out of my left pocket.

  Lucky I always keep my phone in my left pocket.

  "Damn it!" I shout angrily.

  That's where my luck runs out. The phone has no reception. Well, I just have to wai—

  A movement from the Leviathan, which isn't dead yet, makes me shudder. I look to see, and once again, my pn vanishes.

  It seems that when it crashed into the building, a steel beam pierced its neck, and blood is gushing from the wound like in a generic gore anime.

  I check my surroundings again, and my thoughts twist into a small panic attack over the stupidity of the situation. I'm in what could be called a perfect pit, and it's slowly filling with the vital fluid of the Chitauri Leviathan.

  I try to stay calm, but I'm not very optimistic about my chances. I know whales have about 10,000 liters of blood, but a damn Chitauri Leviathan is like 10 times bigger.

  "Prescience, I hope my room has the ending of One Piece."

  I know the situation is totally fucked, so I prepare for the worst.

  I'm a mutant with very basic powers, but it seems that staying on the sidelines and extracting the maximum economic benefit from Marvel and Dc events can only get you so far.

  I send a voice message to my technically fiancée, another to my accountants, family, and activate my dead man's switch pns just in case I don't make it.

  I wasted some precious time, but watching the blood fall around the pit reiterates how screwed I am.

  "I know heaven is real, but I didn't want to go there like this," I say, somewhat resigned, as an overwhelming sadness invades me.

  I thought I would die in an epic sacrifice or something, although technically my woman's powers would make a situation where that happened somewhat redundant.

  Banal and sad thoughts rush quickly through my mind, but you know, I have a saying that prevents me from giving up. I search for the apex of anger within my sea of sadness.

  "Only cowards give up," I say, ughing a little, but with all the rage I can gather.

  I quickly take off my vest, but before I start tearing it with my teeth, my lucky butterfly knife falls—a Fade with a marble pattern.

  (His first vanity purchase, though beautifully sharp)

  "And she told me I would never need it," my voice comes out somewhat euphoric. The situation has me on edge, and I forgot about my knife.

  I quickly cut all my clothes as best I can and transform them into strips. I pair them up and make an improvised rope.

  I wish I were a cowboy or had experience ssoing slot machines, but I'll have to rely on luck.

  With all the determination of a man about to die, I throw it.

  Of course, it missed.

  "Goddamn it!!! How the hell... ufff, breathe, Gadiel Chance, breathe. Think that dying drowned by alien blood probably counts for a record or something." Anger wells up in me at the cosmic joke of this situation.

  I shake a little, making the pain in my leg worsen. I try to calm the anger a little. Letting myself be flooded by it could blind me, and now is not the time to lose my cool.

  Praying to the good ol' Clint... And God.

  I throw my phone, which manages to get out of the pit easily.

  Praying a little more, I prepare and.... bite my lucky knife, finally ssoing the rope.

  "I'm the fucking man!!!" I shout euphorically. On my second attempt, I manage to sso a slot machine I see at the edge of the pit. Joy invades me.

  Great, now the really difficult part. The blood is already reaching my waist, hindering my movement a little. I'll worry about the possible infection of space AIDS ter.

  I psychologically prepare myself for what comes next. I always try to generate feedback with my emotions to maintain a good mental state, but what's coming will be tough.

  I scream in agony with the knife in my mouth like a very bad muzzle while I use it as a lever to break my femur or whatever it takes to get up, in a crude and extremely painful attempt reminiscent of 127 Hours.

  Between disgusting cracking sounds and my incoherent screams, I'm grateful that the first thing to give way is my knee and not me.

  A popping sound, which I believe was my knee finally shattering, allows me to free myself.

  Without losing momentum, knowing that the wave of pain will stop me, I keep pulling on the improvised rope until I reach the edge of the pit. With my eyes blurry from tears of pain, my arms and lungs burning, my st leg having spasms from exhaustion, I gather my will with one st impulse from everything, including my tongue, and miraculously, I make it out.

  I know I can't stay here, so I crawl a little further and lean against the machine I caught with my rope. My mind is now a storm of feelings—sadness, euphoria, pride, and a bunch of other things I can't be bothered to name.

  "I'm incredible, damn it!!!" I shout in victory.

  A fucking Chitauri Leviathan wasn't enough to kill me! Sure, it didn't attack me or anything, but damn, surviving one is quite a feat.

  That reminds me I didn't come out unscathed. I turn to look at my severed leg.

  I grimace not only from the pain but also because I notice that it has somehow stopped bleeding. It seems the beast's blood has coagunt properties.

  I see a business opportunity here. I'll hunt them to the brink of extinction, or pay someone to do it, and I'll sell even the shit they have in their guts. That will teach them not to invade my fucking pnet.

  I distract my mind a little with thoughts of exploiting alien species, but I push them aside wh—

  The sound of heels interrupts my thoughts.

  A cheerful but arrogant voice sounds. "Ha, you do some honor to your name, Gadiel." A woman enters, floating over the corpses of those unfortunate enough to be crushed by debris. I see her, and my mind clicks and floods with rage.

  "I'm surpri—" she tries to say.

  "Shut up, you damned bitch, and kill me already!" I interrupt the bitch. She's one of the women from the Lucifer series; I don't know who specifically, but she's a demon.

  The bitch only widens her shit-eating grin. "Hahahaha, Gadiel, come on. You and I know that if I kill you, you'll get a VIP pass to the Silver City." I suspected it. Dying at the hands of a demon looks good on any epitaph.

  I look into her eyes, seeing they are hollow, without the shine of those who can still have redemption.

  "Yes, but Demons Believe and Tremble," I tell her, admitting with a bit of arrogance. Even so, the slight tremor the bitch has brings a smile to my face, somewhat simir to hers.

  "Haha, as if you were any better, Gadiel. So many good deeds you do for fear of not having your room in the Silver City," she says with contempt.

  I roll my eyes. It's true. After I became rich and found out that God is real in this pne, I did a lot of phinthropic things and other good deeds.

  Still trying to smile, I tell her, "I only hear a filthy, envious being. Doing good feels fantastic, you sulfur-sucker." I say to the demon while trying to stand up, although I fall from dizziness and pain.

  "Ha, then your ticket to Hell is assured. So many good deeds only for the selfishness of feeling good."

  "And what's it to you, cloven-hoofed one? Feeling great about helping others comes naturally to me, unlike you, who surrounds yourself with misery so you don't have to look at your filthy soul."

  The goat-sucker just smiles more. Something's wrong. I'm human, although technically a mutant, I'm the same shit as everyone else, maybe a bit more selfish, but still human. Pfff, if the perfect human exists, bring him to me so I can sp him for thinking he's better than everyone else.

  I crawl a little closer to the slot machine to retrieve my Butterfly Fate knife, which I dropped.

  The Sunday-phobic looks at her exaggerated gold and diamond watch.

  "Now, now, Gadiel, your time seems to be up," the demon smiles, having already fulfilled her objective.

  The creaking of the building and the spasmodic movements of the Chitauri Leviathan reveal her pn to me. The damned casino will fall on me, and I wasted time talking to her.

  I look at her with animal hatred. My presence surely screwed up some Hellish pn to make the world worse or some shit like that.

  "You know what, let it not be said that I'm a good loser," in a somewhat pathetic attempt of rage, I throw a rock I had nearby at her. She dodges it easily.

  "Aw, Gadiel, so resentful. That's bad; that way you won't get your room," says the ass-licker as she leaves the casino, floating above the ground.

  Without monologues, without crazy ughter, and above all, without looking back.

  I give her pn an 8/10. It seems she was influencing my decisions to separate me from my woman and let the domino pieces of the canon finish falling on me.

  It fills me with rage to know I was led into a trap so effectively. I knew there were 4-dimensional chess pyers who could screw me over, but I thought I would notice, that it was impossible to take me by surprise.

  I overcame many obstacles, I avoided many deaths because of my feelings, it took me a long time to become functional again, so many sleepless nights, overcoming the fact that reality is a meaningless infinity where, even if I reincarnate, I'm an Epsilon-level mutant, just one of the thousands out there, that there are prodigies out there, and the worst of all is that I'll be killed by a demon from a series I couldn't be bothered to watch.

  All my thoughts are swept away by a wave of powerlessness that overwhelms me. It's so strong I feel I'll die first from the hollowness I feel before the casino colpses.

  In one st, banal attempt, I stand up with the little strength I have left, but the trembling of the building makes my heart sink.

  "Love, I'm sorry I won't be coming back, and I'm sorry for leaving after the fight. I'm a stupid, arrogant man," I say what I think are my st words. I know it's useless, but it feels horrible to keep those words stuck in my throat.

  I see the slot machine covered in dust and the improvised rope with my st pull still unused.

  I pull the lever.

  [Chaos gacha!!!]?

  I open my eyes from the impact. I open my mouth to scream for my luck, but the building falls on top of me.

  Tempry