I went back to my room.
The broken desk was still broken. The scattered books were still scattered. Nothing had changed in the two hours I'd been gone, which was both depressing and expected.
I lay down on my bed and stared at the ceiling.
My body wasn't tired. My brain wasn't tired. But I closed my eyes anyway, figuring I'd rest for maybe thirty minutes before getting up to plan my next move.
◇◇◇
When I opened my eyes, the angle of the sunlight coming through my window had shifted drastically.
I sat up, disoriented, and looked at my alarm clock.
9:07 AM.
"What the fuck?"
I'd been out for nearly four hours. Four hours. I didn't even remember falling asleep. One moment I was staring at the ceiling, thinking about parasite placement strategies, and the next—nothing. Blank. Gone.
I guess the Enigma's energy boost had run out at some point, and my body had decided to cash in the sleep debt I'd been accumulating for the past 24 hours. Which was, you know, fair. I had been beaten up, chased by explosions, killed a man, consumed a magic artifact, fought criminals, and jumped around buildings like a cheap Spiderman. That's a lot for one day.
I sat on the edge of my bed, rubbing my eyes. My body felt... normal. Rather than the supercharged, could-run-a-marathon feeling from before, it was normal. Like a regular eighteen-year-old who'd gotten a decent night's sleep.
Which was almost worse, in a way. I'd gotten used to feeling powerful.
I stretched, cracked my neck, and headed downstairs.
"—I'm not even joking, Bethany! I saw her! She was all over that guy at the club!"
"Oh my GOD, Sylvie, you were DRUNK! You probably hallucinated the whole thing! And even if you didn't, who cares? It's not like John's any better. He literally cheats on you in every chance he gets!"
"That's not the same thing!"
"It's EXACTLY the same thing! Hell, I heard he blew off a thousend dollars on an only fans account—"
"No it's NOT! Looking at pictures is not the same as grinding on some random guy at a club!"
"You don't know she was grinding! You were drunk! You said yourself you could barely see straight!"
"I saw ENOUGH!"
Bethany and Sylvie were in the kitchen, both in their underwear because apparently that was just how they dressed on Sundays in this household. Bethany was leaning against the counter in a pink bralette and matching panties, eating yogurt like this was a casual conversation about the weather. Sylvie was in a black sports bra and shorts, her arms crossed, her face red with anger.
I walked past them without a word.
"Don't you have anything to say about this?!" Sylvie shouted at my back.
"No."
"Of course you don't. You're useless."
"Yup."
I kept walking. The fridge was open, and I could see leftover pasta, some cold pizza, and a half-eaten salad that had seen better days. My stomach growled.
But I didn't want to eat here. Not with them. Not with Bethany's tits hanging out of her bralette while she talked about her sister grinding on guys, and Sylvie's face turning eight shades of red while she defended her relationship with a man who had a micropenis and an OnlyFans subscription.
I was hungry, but not hungry enough to endure that shit. You are reading on g.com, the official source.
I turned around and went back upstairs.
My hoodie was still damp from last night's rain, but I put it on anyway. It was either that or go shirtless, and the last thing I needed was someone calling the cops on a shirtless teenager wandering around the city.
I opened my window, climbed onto the sill, and looked down. Four stories. The street below was empty, weekend mornings in this part of the Flats were always dead. Everyone was either sleeping off a hangover or at church.
I negated gravity on myself and stepped off.
The descent was smooth, much smoother than last night. I was getting the hang of this. Instead of a controlled crash, it was more like stepping onto an invisible elevator. My feet touched the ground with barely a sound, and I was walking before anyone could've noticed me even if they'd been looking.
Nobody was looking.
I shoved my hands into my pockets—my right hand finding the wad of cash Diana had given me—and started walking.
The bus stop was two blocks away. I got there just as the 14-East was pulling up, its doors hissing open with a pneumatic sigh. I climbed on, tapped my transit card, the one thing Bucky hadn't stolen because it was in my back pocket, not my wallet, and grabbed a seat near the back.
The bus was mostly empty. A tired-looking woman with bags under her eyes. An old man reading a newspaper. A kid around my age with headphones, bobbing his head to whatever was playing.
I let my Gamer Sight drift over them casually.
[Name: Linda Park]
[Age: 41]
[Rank: Blank]
[Occupation: Night shift nurse]
[Name: Harold Finch]
[Age: 67]
[Rank: Blank]
[Occupation: Retired accountant]
[Name: Derek Foster]
[Age: 19]
[Rank: E]
[Ability: Minor Telekinesis (can move objects up to 2 kg)]
Boring. Boring. Slightly less boring but still boring.
[Ding!]
[Gamer Sight has leveled up!]
[Level 1 → Level 2]
[New feature unlocked: Deep Focus]
[When focusing intensely on a single target, additional information becomes available, including: brief personal history, notable secrets, and significant psychological traits.]
[Warning: Extended use of Deep Focus may cause eye strain, headaches, and nausea.]
"...Well, that's new."
I looked at the E-rank kid again. Derek Foster. 19. Minor telekinesis. I focused harder, narrowing my gaze, concentrating on him specifically.
The text expanded.
[Name: Derek Foster]
[Age: 19]
[Rank: E]
[Occupation: College student / Part-time barista]
[Ability: Minor Telekinesis (can move objects up to 2 kg)]
[History: Awakened at age 12. Parents divorced at 14. Moved to Calder City for college. Currently struggling with tuition payments.]
[Secrets: Has been selling exam answers to underclassmen for extra cash. Once accidentally set his roommate's hair on fire during a "telekinesis practice session" and told everyone it was a hair dryer malfunction. He once secretly spent over four thousand dollars on an OnlyFans account called 'valofcourse' using his sister's credit card.]
[Psychological traits: Mild anxiety, chronic procrastinator, has a foot fetish that he's deeply ashamed of.]
"...What the fuck."
I stared at the text. Then at Derek, who was still bobbing his head to his music, completely unaware that some random kid on the bus had just learned about his foot fetish.
I tried it on the nurse. Linda Park. Focused.
[Name: Linda Park]
[Age: 41]
[Rank: Blank]
[Occupation: Night shift nurse at Calder General]
[History: Divorced twice. Three kids. Ex-husband was a D-rank who used his enhanced strength to—]
"Okay, nope." I blinked, breaking focus. The text disappeared, replaced by the normal, basic info. "That's enough of that."
My eyes were already starting to ache. The Deep Focus thing was useful, but it was like staring into a bright light—do it for too long and everything started to blur and sting.
I toned it back to the default level. Just names, ages, ranks, and abilities. That was enough. I didn't need to know about Derek's foot fetish or Linda's abusive ex-husband. Some things were better left unknown.
The bus rumbled on through the city. I watched the buildings change from the worn-down Flats to the cleaner streets of Midtown. Shops started opening up—cafes, bookstores, electronics retailers, clothing stores. The sun was fully up now, and the city was coming alive.
The bus stopped at a corner near a row of fancy storefronts. I recognized the area, it was one of those shopping districts that catered to people who actually had money. Clean sidewalks, trimmed hedges, the kind of place where a coffee cost eight dollars and nobody blinked.
I stood up and walked to the door.
The bus hissed open, and I stepped out into the morning sun.
The street was lined with shops. A boutique with mannequins wearing clothes that probably cost more than my monthly rent. A shoe store with sneakers that had LED soles. A hat store for some reason. And—right there, at the end of the block—a clothing shop with a sign that read "URBAN THREADS" in bold silver letters.
I patted my pocket. The thousand dollars was still there, crisp and thick.
I smiled.
"Time to stop dressing like a homeless person."
I walked toward the shop, my steps a little lighter than usual. The store's window display showed a variety of clothes—hoodies, jeans, jackets, shirts—arranged on mannequins that looked way more put-together than I ever had.
A bell chimed as I pushed the door open. The interior was clean and bright, with wooden floors and racks of clothes arranged by color. A young woman at the counter looked up and gave me a polite smile.
"Welcome to Urban Threads! Let me know if you need any help."
I nodded at her and started browsing.
The first thing I grabbed was a black hoodie. Not a cheap one—this one was thick, with a soft inner lining and a fitted cut that wouldn't make me look like I was swimming in fabric. $85. Not bad.
Then a pair of dark jeans. Slim fit, not skinny, because I wasn't a fucking hipster. $60.
A plain white t-shirt. $25.
A dark gray zip-up jacket. $70.
A pack of socks. Because mine had holes in them. $15.
A pair of black sneakers. Simple, clean, no flashy logos. $95.
I brought everything to the counter. The woman rang it up.
"That'll be $350."
I pulled out four hundred-dollar bills and set them on the counter. She made change, handed me my bag, and wished me a good day.
I walked out of the store with a spring in my step that hadn't been there before.
New clothes. New powers. A thousand dollars in my pocket—well, $650 now, but still.
Not bad for a kid who'd been a Blank three days ago.
"Not bad at all."