Chapter 1: The Hotdog Guy
Being reincarnated into a dystopian fighting game where superheroes and supervillains clashed daily or weekly really sucked. In this chaotic world, as a non-powered, boring nobody, I decided to live a humble life as a hotdog stand owner. It was a simple gig, but it kept me under the radar and out of trouble.
Most importantly, it kept me fed… with hotdogs and hotdog money.
A young man approached my stand. He looked around with a slight sneer before ordering a hotdog. "That’s 35 credits," I said, handing him his order.
"Whoa, such a rip-off," he muttered, clearly unimpressed. He showed me his QR code, and I scanned it with my smartphone. 35 credits was a rip-off? He could fuck off with that attitude—
"Thank you, young sir!" I replied, forcing a smile.
"Yeah, yeah, gobble on that chump change," he retorted, not bothering to hide his disdain. “Pauper.”
Was it that obvious? I was wearing a plain white T-shirt and jeans… They were fresh from the thrift store, but surely my clothes weren’t indicative of my financial status.
I didn't mind being looked down upon by this arrogant ass. People like him were a dime a dozen in this world. But having someone openly disparage my business was bad for my already struggling sales. So, I decided to push my hotdog stand to the other end of the park, hoping to find a more appreciative crowd.
The game "Versus" had been one of the most prolific fighting games back in my past life, perhaps thanks to the influence of the recently cropping-up superhero brands. I had been quite good at fighting games, with plenty of experience in titles like Tekken, Street Fighter, King of Fighters, Mortal Kombat, Dual Blades, Guilty Gear, and more. But none of that experience prepared me for what happened next.
"Hotdogs! Hotdogs!!" I called out, trying to draw in some customers. Suddenly, a man wearing a bonnet mask crashed into my hotdog stand, causing my cart to topple over. He was clutching a sack of cash full of credit bills in one hand, looking frantic and disheveled.
"Fucker!" I yelled, my frustration boiling over.
"Fuck off!" the thug snapped back, brandishing a gun at me. "Fucking fuck off, extra. Hands off anything."
Ouch—being called an "extra" stung, but it wasn't anything new. In this world, people without powers were often seen as background characters, just extras in someone else's story. I raised my hands, complying with his demands. He had a gun, so no dice.
I knew my place too well in this world, but it sure sucked.
"Perfect," the thug grinned maliciously. "You are going to be my hostage."
"What now?" I was bewildered and more than a little terrified. This day had taken a turn for the worse, and I had a sinking feeling it wasn't over yet.
Descending from above was a brilliant streak of white light. My eyes widened as the thug pulled me closer, pressing the cold barrel of his gun against my forehead. "I have a hostage!" he shouted, desperation tinging his voice.
"This is your end, cur!" a commanding voice rang out. I turned to see Ivory, a woman in her late twenties with striking white hair and piercing red eyes—signs of albinism. She wore a white cape with a golden inner layer and a suit that clung closely to her athletic figure. Unlike most corporate superheroes, Ivory was an independent who was unafraid to show her face. I recognized her from the game as the telekinetic battle junkie freak with a penchant for blood—an ominous combination.
The thug tightened his grip on the gun as he pressed forward at me. "I will kill this man, so back off! I want a helicopter," he demanded, his voice cracking slightly. He was scared, but who could blame him? Facing off against a hero like Ivory was no small matter.
Fear in itself should be the cur's natural response to the strong.
Still, a helicopter? How was he flying that? What? Did it have to be the government who'd provide the pilot too? How nice...
I couldn't help but suppress a chuckle at the absurdity of his demand. Did he really think he could escape? The thug must have noticed my amusement, as he glared at me with narrowed eyes. "What is so funny, fucker?" he growled, pressing the tip of the gun harder against my forehead. My heart raced, and I gulped, feeling the cold sweat trickling down my spine. For a moment, I worried that Ivory might not save me in time.
Ivory's eyes glinted dangerously as she raised a hand, her fingers twitching slightly. I felt a strange pressure around me, and suddenly, the thug was yanked backward by an invisible force. The gun clattered to the ground, and I stumbled backward, free from his grasp. Ivory's telekinesis was no joke, and I felt a mix of awe and relief as she effortlessly disarmed the thug.
"You should choose your battles more wisely," Ivory said, her voice cold and unwavering. The thug struggled against her power, but it was futile. He was completely at her mercy.
As the situation de-escalated, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of gratitude toward Ivory, even if she was known for her brutal methods. In this world of chaos and danger, sometimes the line between hero and villain blurred, but for now, I was just thankful to be alive.
“T-thank you,” I stuttered.
However, the feeling of gratitude was soon lost to me. This world was a dystopia, and beneath the layers of heroism, Ivory was, in fact, a serial killer. It was a harsh truth I had come to accept. This world wasn't nice, and not a single 'character' from the game was an ideal hero in every sense of the word. The game had been famous for its quirky, flawed characters who used their superpowers for all sorts of reasons that defied the black-and-white paradigm.
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This world was more complicated than a game, and I was reminded of that every day too aware of what this world was like. I tried not to think about it, but it was futile.
"Are you okay, citizen? No need for thanks; I shall go now and put the criminal in prison," Ivory said with a professional but distant tone. She barely glanced at me before lifting the thug into the air with her telekinesis and flying away. Who was she comforting, air? I was right here... miss feeling rightfully pained.
The crowd that had gathered around cheered, their voices echoing through the park.
I stood there, pathetically gazing at what remained of my hotdog stand. The cart was overturned, and hotdogs and condiments were scattered across the ground. The day's earnings were likely lost, and I had no idea how I would recover from this. The reality of living in a world like this was harsh; one minute you could be selling hotdogs, and the next, you could be caught in the middle of a superhero showdown.
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 larger-than-life figures like Ivory, who, despite their heroic facades, were often just as dangerous as the villains they fought. In a world where even the heroes were flawed, there was no room for gratitude—only survival.
“I can’t believe I thanked her.”
And for a normie nobody like me, survival was all about lying low. I took a deep breath and looked at the mess around me. "I guess this is it for today," I muttered to myself, trying to shake off the lingering fear.
Even in this world, being held at gunpoint was a first time for me
I began picking up the scattered items from my hotdog stand, salvaging what I could. Thankfully, the wheels and main structure of the cart were intact. It could have been worse. I walked through the park, pushing the cart with a sense of resignation. People passed by, barely giving me a second glance. Just another day in a world filled with superpowered chaos.
After a short trek, I finally reached the parking lot where my bicycle was waiting. I parked the cart in an inconspicuous corner, hoping it would go unnoticed. I disassembled the wheels and locked the compartments where I stashed some buns and leftover hotdogs. With any luck, no one would tamper with it, not even the homeless who occasionally scoured the area for food.
Just as I was finishing up, a guard approached. "Hey, you! What are you doing there?" he called out, suspicion evident in his tone.
"Parking?" I replied, trying to sound casual. But the moment the guard reached for his walkie-talkie, I knew I was in trouble. Without another thought, I bolted, sliding down the rails of the parking structure and landing near my bicycle. I jumped on it and pedaled away as fast as I could, my heart racing.
This was my life now... for nearly five damn months since I arrived in this world. I had been adjusting just fine even without superpowers. So why was I running exactly?
In this world, I had no identification or anything. I was the ultimate illegal immigrant in a world where only a single government existed. I was an 'alien' in every sense of the word. I had nothing in this world, and it made me fantasize about my old home every chance I got.
As I pedaled away, my mind raced. "How am I supposed to make a living now?" I muttered under my breath. 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 there, which was a very welcome thing for me. I looked at the horizon, imagining that I was in another country instead of an entirely different alternate universe… and chances were I could still go home.
My daydreaming was abruptly interrupted as 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, then turned and walked off. I watched him go, feeling a pang of guilt. 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, way of life, and certain products like carbonated drinks. But it was clear that 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 around the 21st century Earth I knew, yet this world had already entered interstellar exploration through the use of portals. It was a strange mix of familiar and foreign.
After two hours of killing time by watching the bay and playing games on my smartphone, I decided it was time to return to where I left my cart. I knew I couldn't stay idle for long; I needed to 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, recalling the effort I had 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, as 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, while I whipped a quick late lunch for me.
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 had 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.