"Alright, listen up, you ungrateful peasant readers. Yeah, you, sitting there, thinking you know better than me about my story. Just because I threw in a little—just a little—plot armor, everyone loses their minds. Like, come on, you ungrateful! It's my novel. If I want my characters to survive an apocalypse by tripping over a conveniently placed banana peel, then so be it. Go ahead, call it lazy writing. Call it whatsoever you guys want. But I know you love it. You can’t get enough of my endless, godlike creativity. And don’t you dare pretend otherwise." That was what I just typed in a fit of rage before pressing enter and sending it out as an announcement. They will rage, I knew. They will be infuriated, obviously. But I was living for that.  However, then… this one weird comment pops up, it says, “Wanna change the storyline of billions of novels with your plot armor?” "Great, another joker." But whatever. I’m intrigued. So I click. And, holy hell, my computer screen goes haywire, flashing like a rave in a mental asylum. A shadowy figure appears, all mysterious and ominous, like it's ripped straight out of one of my more “experimental” chapters. And before I can blink, it says, “Welcome to the Plot Armor Agency. Your services are required. Your task: Rewrite reality.”