Maker In Marvel

"Ding! One sale," chirped the computer.

Michael's eyes flicked toward the screen, the faint notification cutting through the silence of his workshop. A small smile tugged at his lips. He hadn't expected it to happen so soon.

Rising from his desk, he glanced at the countless giant medical tubes lined neatly along the walls, faintly glowing in the dim, sterile light. Each one contained a faceless humanoid figure—featureless, genderless, utterly blank. They weren't alive. Not yet.

These weren't mere avatars or constructs. No, these were homunculi, their bodies carefully crafted for what was to come. When the players descended into this twisted world, their minds would inhabit these vessels. This would be their new form, their new body, forged and adapted by Michael's design.

He stepped closer to the tubes, his fingers grazing the cool glass of one. Inside, the dormant figure floated peacefully, its limbs limp, its face a smooth canvas waiting to be filled.

"How they're made…" he murmured, a sly smirk playing on his lips. "Well, that's my secret."

There were forty tubes currently, each one containing a homunculus embedded with dormant genetic material. These weren't static forms—they were the seeds of possibility. The moment a player's mind was transferred into one, the body would react to the player's inherent talents, personality, and preferences. Some would shift species entirely, morphing into something beyond human. Others might awaken latent powers, tailored to their skillset or ambition.

But Michael was no fool. Each homunculus was equipped with a kill switch. One flick, and a disruptive player would find themselves forcibly ejected from the world. After all, this wasn't chaos—this was his system, his creation. And he would be its god.

He returned to his console, the glowing interface displaying the intricate layers of his project. He had spent months crafting this world. A system for players unlike anything they had ever seen before. Health bars, stamina, a fully integrated quest system, forums, shops—everything carefully coded to perfection.

The most crucial part, however, was the Tutorial System. Upon entering the game, players would experience a seamless introduction. They'd wake in their homunculi bodies, guided through basic movements and mechanics. From character customization to adjusting pain tolerance—set at 10% by default, with a maximum of 60% for those daring enough to endure near-reality pain—everything was built for immersion, but with safeguards. He didn't need people burning out too quickly.

Then there was the Stream Option. A stroke of genius, in his mind. A game with in-real-life-level graphics, paired with streaming, would spread like wildfire. The moment players showcased what they were experiencing, Foundation would attract attention like moths to a flame.

He leaned back in his chair, watching as the sale notification disappeared, replaced by a glowing confirmation: Player 001 Ready.

Michael's eyes gleamed. "Let's see what you choose," he said quietly, his gaze flickering to the homunculi.

.....

"Choose your name," the screen blared in glowing letters, bathing Ned in a cold blue light.

He scratched his head, muttering to himself. "Hmmm… hmmmm… hmmmmmm..." His fingers tapped the side of his desk as he squinted at the prompt, the wheels in his brain spinning.

Finally, a grin spread across his face. "NedWillSurvive!" he said proudly, his voice echoing in his small room.

The system responded instantly, its voice mechanical and emotionless. "Name granted."

A new screen appeared, the letters sharp and clinical, as if warning him of something he couldn't fully understand:

**Inside the game, the administrator of Foundation is the NPC responsible for maintaining order. The Administrator decides who stays and who is… removed. It is highly advised not to get on his bad side.**

Ned gulped but kept reading.

**Pain synchronization is set to 20%, the recommended level.**

**You will feel all five senses within the game. Waste management is not required. Your character will be based on your real-life physical figure.**

He hesitated for a moment, scanning the warnings again. His heart raced with excitement and a tinge of nervousness. "Based on my real-life figure? What does that even mean?" he muttered.

His eyes darted to the massive green **ACCEPT** button that blinked on the screen. He took a deep breath and clicked it.

As soon as his finger pressed the button, his screen erupted into swirling colors, enveloping him completely. His body felt like it was dissolving, pixel by pixel, into the light. His senses blurred, his mind teetering between panic and awe as he vanished into the game.

---

Ned gasped as his vision cleared.

He was *inside* the game, standing within a dimly lit, sterile chamber. His breath fogged the air as he realized he was stepping out of a **giant medical tube**, its glass door hissing open behind him. He stumbled forward, his feet unsteady on the cold metallic floor.

"What the…" he whispered, looking down at himself. His hands, his body—it was *him*. He stretched his fingers, and they moved as naturally as they did in real life. The sensation was eerily real, down to the faint ache in his legs from standing too long.

The sound of footsteps echoed through the chamber. Ned turned, his heart racing, as a figure emerged from the shadows. A tall man, clad in a dark coat, stepped forward with a calm, commanding presence. His face was sharp and composed, his eyes piercing and calculating.

"Welcome," the man said, his voice smooth but chilling. "You are now a D-Class personnel, the lowest rank in the Foundation. You will work to survive and, perhaps, to rise. That is… if you can."

"D-Class?" Ned asked nervously, his voice cracking slightly.

The man didn't respond immediately. Instead, he gestured toward another figure standing beside him, shrouded partially by the dim light. Ned's eyes widened as he took in the figure—a small humanoid tree, glowing faintly with bioluminescent veins running through its bark.

"Groot?" Ned blurted out.

The tree tilted its head slightly and spoke in a soft, melodic tone. "I am Groot."

Michael, unbothered by the exchange, continued. "This is Groot. Consider him… a guide, of sorts. For now."

Ned blinked, still trying to process everything when Michael's tone grew sharp again. "Your journey begins here. But before you even think about stepping outside, there's something else you'll need to know."

A holographic interface materialized in front of Ned, displaying an intricate menu. One option blinked brightly: **STREAM MODE ACTIVATION.**

Michael gestured to the menu. "The Foundation supports real-time streaming. Enable this, and the world outside will see what you experience. Think of it as a way to make your existence… useful."

Ned stared at the screen, his hand hovering over the option. "Wait. You mean, like, *streaming-streaming*? For people to watch?"

Michael's lips curled into a faint smirk. "Precisely. Your success—or failure—might be more entertaining than you realize."

Groot looked up at him and said again, "I am Groot," as if encouraging him.

Ned hesitated, glancing between the option and Michael's stoic face. The weight of the moment pressed down on him, but there was also a spark of excitement bubbling in his chest.

He clenched his fists, his nerves giving way to determination. "Alright," he said, his voice steadying. He pressed the button, activating the stream.

Michael nodded approvingly. "Good. Now… let's see how long you last."