Chapter 4: Playing Possum with a God (and other life choices)
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: CAUTION: ENCOUNTERING HIGH-POWERED INDIVIDUALS INCREASES RISK OF UNEXPECTED OUTCOMES. PROCEED WITH STRATEGY.]
"Strategy? System, my strategy usually involves a quick wit, a healthy dose of sarcasm, and a willingness to accept that things will inevitably go sideways," I muttered, ducking under a falling chunk of masonry. "But I'll keep your 'caution' in mind, seeing as I'm currently trying to get killed by literal gods."
After my slightly underwhelming "Leadership Aura" acquisition, I decided it was time to level up my death game. I needed a powerful killer, someone who could offer a truly unique skill. And who better than a Norse god of thunder?
Thor.
I scanned the skies, my newly acquired (and surprisingly helpful) "Advanced Tactical Awareness" helping me pinpoint his general location. He was a bright beacon of chaotic power, smashing Chitauri and generally making a nuisance of himself to the alien invasion force. Good. Very good.
"Alright, Adam, this is it. The big leagues. Dying to Thor. What could I get? Lightning resistance? Asgardian strength? The ability to summon a really good hair stylist? The possibilities are endless. And terrifying."*
I made my way towards the biggest concentration of chaos, which almost invariably led to Thor. I found him in the midst of a truly impressive battle, Mjolnir spinning, lightning crackling, and Chitauri exploding in glorious, golden showers of sparks. He was magnificent. And currently, entirely too busy to notice a scrawny human trying to get his attention.
I needed to make myself visible. And vulnerable. Very, very vulnerable. But in a way that wouldn't make me look like I was trying to get killed. It had to seem like a tragic accident. My specialty, apparently.
I spotted a stray Chitauri flyer, its rider clearly having lost control, spiraling erratically towards the ground. An idea sparked. A dangerous, but potentially fruitful idea.
I positioned myself directly in the flyer's path, waving my arms frantically like a clueless tourist who had wandered onto a live firing range. Which, ironically, I was. Thor, engaged in battle nearby, saw me. His eyes, even from a distance, seemed to widen in alarm. He was clearly about to intervene. Perfect.
"Come on, Thor. Save the damsel in distress. Or, in my case, the idiot in the path of a flaming alien debris. Just make sure you accidentally hit me with a stray lightning bolt or a hammer swing. You know, for science."*
He launched himself forward, Mjolnir cutting through the air, a blur of motion. He was aiming for the flyer, no doubt. But I knew, with that strange preternatural awareness I now possessed, that his trajectory, combined with the flyer's erratic spiral, would put me in the exact path of the subsequent explosion, or perhaps even a glancing blow from Mjolnir itself. This was precision dying, folks.
The Chitauri flyer exploded in a fiery ball, just as Thor's hammer connected. The concussive force sent me flying, a rag doll propelled by divine power. I felt a surge of energy, a jolt that was less pain and more pure, raw power, before darkness enveloped me once more.
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: DEATH DETECTED. KILLER: THOR (IDENTIFICATION: THOR ODINSON). SKILL ACQUIRED: BASIC LIGHTNING RESISTANCE.]
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: IMMORTAL SYSTEM ACTIVATED. YOU HAVE 1 LIFE REMAINING AGAINST THOR ODINSON.]
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: 7 UNIQUE DEATHS RECORDED. CURRENT PROGRESS TO UPGRADE 1: 7/20.]
I gasped back to life, coughing up dust and a faint smell of ozone. My body tingled, not painfully, but as if I'd been charged by a thousand volts of pure electricity and then gently discharged. Basic Lightning Resistance? Well, that was certainly useful in a world with a literal God of Thunder running around.
"Lightning Resistance. So now if I accidentally spill my coffee on a live wire, I won't turn into a human fuse box. Progress! Though, I was kind of hoping for 'Asgardian Beer-Drinking Proficiency.' Missed opportunity, System. Missed opportunity."*
I looked up to see Thor, looking slightly disheveled but otherwise unharmed, scanning the area. He hadn't seen me revive. Good. The fewer people who knew about my little "immortality" quirk, the better. For now. Later, I'd probably use it to annoy people on a cosmic scale.
I needed to keep up the momentum. Seven unique deaths down, thirteen to go. The challenge now was finding new unique killers. The Chitauri were becoming repetitive. I needed some human variety. And by "human variety," I meant "humans who are good at killing."
My eyes caught sight of a sleek, black quinjet streaking through the sky. Nick Fury's ride, no doubt. Which meant where there was Fury, there were usually other skilled operatives. Like Black Widow or Hawkeye. Bingo.
"Alright, Natasha, Clint. Let's see what you've got. Espionage mastery? Archery proficiency? The ability to make superheroes look completely incompetent with a single witty remark? I'm open to suggestions."*
I began to make my way towards the quinjet's likely landing zone, which my "Tactical Awareness" subtly nudged me towards. It was near Stark Tower, where the main battle was raging. Perfect. I could intercept them there.
I heard the familiar whine of a Chitauri speeder bearing down on me. I didn't even flinch. My mind was already calculating its trajectory, its weaknesses. I let it get close, then, with a burst of my slightly improved "Basic Combat Training," I rolled, letting the speeder crash into a pile of debris, sending the alien pilot flying.
"See? This immortality thing is already making me cooler. Or at least, slightly less likely to spontaneously combust from sheer incompetence."*
I spotted a group of Shield agents, attempting to herd civilians to safety. One of them, a stern-looking man in a tactical vest, seemed particularly stressed. He was shouting orders, his eyes darting everywhere. A prime candidate for "accidental demise."
I positioned myself in a narrow alleyway, making sure I was visible. As the agent passed by, a stray Chitauri blast rocked the building above us. Debris rained down. I deliberately stumbled, trying to look like I was panicking. The agent, seeing me in danger, reacted. He shoved me out of the way, taking the brunt of the falling rubble himself. But not before a stray piece of shrapnel from the explosion, propelled by the force of his shove, embedded itself squarely in my chest.
Darkness. Again. This was becoming a habit.
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: DEATH DETECTED. KILLER: SHIELD AGENT (IDENTIFICATION: AGENT PHIL COULSON). SKILL ACQUIRED: BASIC MARKSMANSHIP (IMPROVED). (Note: Skill acquisition from indirect deaths may vary in quality).]
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: IMMORTAL SYSTEM ACTIVATED. YOU HAVE 1 LIFE REMAINING AGAINST PHIL COULSON.]
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: 8 UNIQUE DEATHS RECORDED. CURRENT PROGRESS TO UPGRADE 1: 8/20.]
I coughed, a strange lightness in my chest, as I blinked back into existence. Basic Marksmanship (Improved)? Coulson? Wait. Coulson? The guy who dies in the movie? Oh, crap. Did I just accidentally contribute to his death?
"Oh, no, no, no. Coulson! The everyone's-favorite-agent Coulson! Did I just get a skill from a guy who's about to be killed by Loki? This is going to be awkward. Or rather, more awkward than usual."*
I quickly looked around. Coulson was still alive, thank goodness, but he was clearly injured, grimacing as he pushed himself up from the rubble. He saw me, wide-eyed, then looked down at his own injuries with a bewildered expression. He clearly didn't remember just killing me. Or rather, contributing to my brief, temporary demise.
"Are you... are you alright, sir?" I asked, trying to sound concerned, not like a guy who had just strategically used him as a skill-delivery system.
He just stared at me for a moment, then shook his head. "Yeah, I... I think so. Just a little disoriented. You okay?"
"Peachy keen," I said, forcing a smile. "Just a bit of a rough landing. Glad you're okay."
I quickly made my exit, a fresh wave of mild guilt washing over me. Coulson. Man, that was a tough one. At least I got "Improved Marksmanship." Maybe now I could actually hit the broad side of a barn. Or, more realistically, a particularly slow-moving Chitauri.
Eight down. Twelve to go. The challenge was finding more unique targets. And making sure I didn't accidentally screw up the timeline too much. Though, honestly, my very existence here was probably already a pretty big butterfly effect.
"Time to find someone truly dangerous. Someone who will kill me quickly, efficiently, and without too much dramatic flair. And ideally, someone who can grant me a skill that involves less subtle manipulation and more outright power. Or at least, the ability to summon a really good pizza."*