Arrowverse: I'm a Hero

Chapter 1: So, This Isn't My Couch?

PS. when mc is alone he always talk to himself what it looks like outloud but is a monologue inside

[ SYSTEM MESSAGE: Reality Check Initiated. Welcome, Adam Stiels, to the Arrowverse. Brace yourself. Or don't. Your funeral, literally. Get ready to copy some skills, prevent some disasters, and maybe, just maybe, get a date with a certain super-powered alien. Good luck, you magnificent nerd. ]

The first thing Adam Stiels registered wasn't the blinding fluorescent lights he'd expected from some cosmic teleportation gone wrong, nor the searing pain of a transdimensional headache. No, it was the distinct scent of stale coffee, something vaguely metallic, and the overwhelming, undeniable hum of a city he definitely didn't recognize. He peeled open an eyelid, then the other, feeling like he'd slept for a solid week on a mattress made of concrete and existential dread.

"Oh, for crying out loud," he muttered, pushing himself up from... well, it felt like a very expensive, surprisingly comfortable bench. He patted down his pockets, a reflex born from years of misplacing his phone even in his own apartment. Keys? Check. Wallet? Check. Phone? Oh, right, that's where things got weird. His phone, a sleek, top-of-the-line model he'd bought just last month, was now displaying a calendar app with a date in 2015. And the signal bars? Non-existent. Classic.I have an ID at least thats good.and by the bank account I cheked apparently I mreally rich.

He was in what appeared to be a rather swanky, albeit empty, public plaza. Gleaming skyscrapers pierced the clear sky, far taller and shinier than anything he remembered from his previous, rather mundane, existence. And the sun? It felt… different. Brighter. Almost like it was powered by 100% pure, unadulterated plot device.

"Alright, Adam, calm down," he lectured himself, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair. "Think. Last thing you remember? Binge-watching The Flash for the fifth time, debating the merits of various speedster timelines with your cat, Mr. Snuggles, who, let's be honest, contributed very little to the intellectual discourse but was a great listener. Then... darkness. And now this. This very bright, very clean, very not-my-apartment reality."

He took a deep breath, the metallic tang stronger now. He looked around again, his eyes scanning for any familiar landmarks. Nothing. Just a bewildering array of architectural marvels and... was that a coffee shop called 'Jitters'? Wait. Jitters?

A slow, terrifying grin spread across his face, the kind usually reserved for a dog discovering a dropped slice of bacon, or a supervillain realizing their elaborate trap is about to spring. "Oh, you are kidding me," he breathed, a laugh bubbling up, half-hysterical, half-pure, unadulterated fanboy glee. "They actually did it. They actually dropped me in the Arrowverse. And not just anywhere, mind you, but National City. Because, of course, the universe has a fantastic, albeit slightly sadistic, sense of humor."

His mind raced, a chaotic jumble of canon events, character arcs, and the nagging question of whether this plaza had a good Wi-Fi signal. He remembered the template, the "Copy System," the "Future Insight," and the "Significant Financial Resources." Okay, so the financial resources part needed to be tested. He pulled out his wallet again. Still his credit cards, still his driver's license. No alien currency, no suspicious government tracking chips. Good. That would have been a pain.

He found a rather quaint, old-fashioned newspaper dispenser. He rummaged for some change – yep, still US dollars – and pulled out a copy of the Daily Planet... no, wait, that was Metropolis. CatCo Magazine. His eyes darted to the masthead. National City. Oh, it was real. So, that explained the gleaming skyscrapers. And the hum. That glorious, plot-device-y hum.

"Right," he mumbled, folding the paper and tucking it under his arm. "Step one: Don't panic. Step two: Don't accidentally reveal you know about parallel earths, alien invasions, or the exact date Barry Allen gets struck by lightning. Step three: Find a decent cup of coffee that doesn't taste like it's been recycled through a superhero's colon."

He pulled out his phone again. Still no signal. Figures. But then, a thought struck him. The "Copy System." It needed a "Close Proximity Lock-on, triggered by strong emotions towards him." And "Future insight." He had that. And "Significant financial resources." Well, let's start with the last one.

He needed to establish his cover. "Vague investor job," the template said. Excellent. He'd always been vaguely good at sounding important while doing absolutely nothing concrete. His existing wealth was apparently still intact. Now, where did one go about buying a penthouse in a city he'd only ever seen through a TV screen? Probably not at the Jitters. Unless they had a surprisingly good real estate agent on staff. Unlikely.

He started walking, choosing a direction seemingly at random, but with an internal compass guiding him towards the most aesthetically pleasing, expensive-looking buildings. He had to look the part. He straightened his slightly rumpled shirt, tried to smooth down his hair again, and adopted his most confident, slightly arrogant, 'I own half of this city' swagger. It was a skill he'd perfected through years of bluffing his way through awkward social situations.

"Okay, universe," he mused aloud, addressing the unseen cosmic entity that had apparently decided his life needed more spandex and less sleep. "You want me to be a 'Subtle Savior'? Fine. But subtle doesn't mean I can't enjoy the perks. Like, say, not living in a broom closet. And maybe, just maybe, getting a coffee that doesn't taste like desperation. A man has standards, even when transmigrated."

He spotted a high-end car dealership, glass gleaming, cars shimmering like oversized jewels. Perfect. First, a vehicle. Something understated, yet powerful. Something that said, "I'm rich, but I'm not trying too hard." He debated for a moment between a sleek sports car and a more practical, yet equally luxurious, sedan. Practicality won out. He'd need space for all the future superhero merch he was going to acquire. And maybe, just maybe, enough trunk space for a spare cape or two. You never knew when you'd need to blend in with the local super-crowd.

He strolled into the dealership, past the beaming salespeople who clearly sensed a whale, or at least a very well-dressed tuna, walking through their doors. He picked out a car faster than Barry Allen could grab a coffee – a dark grey, ridiculously expensive sedan. The kind of car that looked innocent but probably had more horsepower than a small nation.

"I'll take this one," he stated, pulling out his credit card. "And I'll need it delivered to... well, anywhere but here, really. Just point me towards the nearest luxury hotel with a decent view and a concierge who doesn't look like they moonlight as a villain."

The salesperson, a man whose smile could blind small children, practically saluted. "Of course, sir! Right away, sir! Might I inquire if you have a preferred area of National City?"

Adam tapped his chin, feigning deep thought. "Hmm, let's see. Somewhere with good coffee. And easy access to... public transportation, just in case my car spontaneously develops a flat. You know, for 'environmental reasons'." He winked. The salesperson nodded vigorously, clearly not understanding the joke but appreciating the potential commission.

As the paperwork was being handled – surprisingly quickly, considering the sheer amount of money he was about to drop – Adam's gaze drifted towards the bustling street outside. People were walking, talking, living their lives. And somewhere out there, a mild-mannered reporter was probably about to save a cat from a tree, or an entire plane from falling out of the sky.

He felt a ripple, a faint tremor in the air, like a distant whisper of something monumental. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but his "Future Insight" was already kicking in. Not specific details, not yet, but a general sense of impending… heroics. And possibly, a very public display of collateral damage.

"Right," he thought, a familiar smirk playing on his lips. "Time to get a front-row seat to the chaos. And maybe, just maybe, subtly influence it to my advantage. Because what's the point of knowing the future if you can't use it to your own selfish, slightly heroic, ends?"

He signed the last document with a flourish, feeling a surge of adrenaline. This wasn't a game anymore. This was his life. And it was about to get a whole lot more interesting. And possibly, a whole lot more dangerous. But hey, at least he wouldn't be bored. That was a win in his book.