This is a fantastic setup for a "Self-Insert" or "Transmigration" story. Taking over Frank Gallagher is a massive challenge because he has burned every bridge he's ever crossed. Starting just before the first episode gives you the perfect window to change the family's trajectory.
Here is a long-form opening chapter that focuses on the physical toll of being Frank and the internal struggle of your protagonist, James, as he realizes where he is.
Chapter 1: The Morning After a Lifetime
The first thing James felt wasn't the "magic" of rebirth. It was the crushing, rhythmic thumping of a migraine that felt like a tiny man was swinging a sledgehammer against the inside of his skull.
Then came the smell. It was a cocktail of stale urine, cheap booze, and the distinct, earthy scent of a sidewalk.
James opened his eyes, or tried to. One was close shut swollen. The other flickered open to reveal a grey Chicago sky and the underside of a rusted Cadillac. He wasn't in his bed. He wasn't in his apartment. He was laying in a a pile of garbage in the South Side, and his body felt like it had been run over by a freight train.
What happened? James thought, his mind racing. The accident. The hospital... the darkness.
Then, the memories hit him. They weren't his, but they were accessible like a library of bad decisions. A woman named Monica. A bar called the Alibi. Six kids he hadn't fed in weeks. He reached up, his hands shaking with a violent tremor, and felt his face. It was scruffy, greasy, and weathered.
"Oh, no," he croaked. His voice sounded like gravel in a blender. "I'm Frank."
James now Frank struggled to sit up. This was his first and second wish at work. A normal 50-year-old alcoholic who spent the night on concrete wouldn't be able to move. But thanks to the Healing Factor and the Serum beginning to knit his cells together, the excruciating pain in his back began to dull into a manageable ache.
He stood up, swaying dangerously. His first instinct, driven by Frank's rotted brain chemistry, was to find a drink. His hands were itching for it. His stomach was cramping, demanding the poison it was addicted to.
No, Frank thought, gritting his teeth. I have a 200 IQ. I am literally a super-soldier in the making. I am not letting a bottle of bottom-shelf vodka win on Day One.
He looked at his reflection in the car window. He looked like a wreck. But beneath the grime, he felt a strange, simmering heat in his veins. The Serum wasn't a "poof, you're buff" deal. It was a slow burn. He could feel his heart beating with a new, unnatural strength, trying to purge the decades of toxins out of his system.
The Walk of Shame
He stumbled toward the house the Gallagher house. It looked even smaller and more dilapidated in person.
As he crossed the threshold, the familiar chaos of the Gallagher household hit him. The smell of cheap cereal, the sound of a screaming toddler, and the frantic energy of a family trying to survive.
He saw her first: Fiona.
She was at the kitchen table, counting nickels and dimes, her face etched with a weariness that no twenty-year-old should have. She looked up, and her eyes immediately turned to ice.
"Back already, Frank?" she snapped, not even looking him in the eye. "If you're looking for the property tax money, it's gone. Don't even bother."
Frank opened his mouth to speak, but a wave of nausea hit him. The withdrawal was fighting his new biology. His high IQ allowed him to analyze the situation instantly: Fiona's trust is at 0%. Lip is skeptical. Ian is distant. The kids see me as a cockroach. If I try to act like a saint now, they'll think I'm pulling a con.
"I'm going to the bathroom," Frank managed to say, his voice surprisingly steady.
Fiona paused, her hand hovering over a pile of coins. She looked at him properly for the first time. Frank wasn't yelling. He wasn't asking for money. He looked... focused.
"Don't puke on the rug," she muttered, though her brow furrowed in confusion.
Inside the cramped bathroom, Frank locked the door and splashed cold water on his face. He looked into the mirror, staring deep into those blue eyes.
The Strategy:
1. Survival: Use the high IQ to find a way to make money that doesn't involve stealing from the kids.
2. Health: Let the Serum and Healing Factor do their work, but keep it hidden. A "miracle recovery" would draw too much attention.
3. Sobriety: This was the hardest part. His mind was brilliant, but his body was a slave. He had to get off, or the withdrawal would kill even a super-soldier.
He felt a strange prickle in the back of his mind Luck. He looked down at the floor and saw a crumpled ten-dollar bill tucked behind the base of the toilet. Probably dropped by Lip or Debbie weeks ago.
Luck, he thought with a grim smile. A little bit of wind at my back.
He didn't take the money to the bar. He tucked it into his pocket. He was going to buy eggs, real milk, and maybe some aspirin.
He walked out of the bathroom, his steps slightly more rhythmic. He passed Lip, who was heading out the door for school. The boy gave his father a look of pure disgust.
"You're still here?" Lip sneered.
"For now," Frank replied quietly.
He didn't give a grand speech. He didn't apologize. He knew that in this house, words were worth nothing. Only actions mattered. As he walked out the front door to head to the grocery store not the Alibi Frank felt the Serum kick in again, a surge of energy straightening his spine.
The old Frank Gallagher was dead. The new one had a lot of work to do.
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