I walked down the street, feeling good about myself for the first time in... possibly ever. New clothes in a bag over my shoulder, money in my pocket, superpowers humming beneath my skin. The sun was out, the birds were chirping, and for once, nobody was calling me a loser.
Then I looked at my empty hands.
"...Right. Phone."
My old phone was currently scattered across a grimy alley in the Flats, courtesy of David "I crush things with my bare hands" Collins. I needed a new one. Not for anything fancy—no gaming, no social media bullshit, no whatever Bethany did on her phone for fourteen hours a day. Just something for basic communication. Maybe some music. Definitely a map app, because wandering around the city with no idea where I was going was getting old.
I spotted a phone store two blocks down. "TechWave Mobile" the sign read, with a blue logo that looked like a wave made of circuit boards. Fancy.
I walked in.
The store was clean and modern, white walls, glass display cases, phones lined up in neat rows like soldiers at attention. The lighting was that obnoxious bright-white that made everything look sterile and clinical. A few customers were browsing, and there was upbeat pop music playing from invisible speakers.
"Welcome to TechWave! How can I help you today?"
I turned toward the voice.
The saleswoman was... something.
She was standing behind the counter, her hands clasped in front of her. She had dark hair pulled back in a high ponytail, sharp features, and skin the color of coffee with just enough cream. She was wearing a fitted TechWave polo shirt that was doing absolutely nothing to hide the fact that she had a massive rack. Like, seriously massive. The shirt was stretched so tight across her chest that the fabric was straining at the buttons, and I could see the outline of her bra underneath—a black one, lacy, the kind that was designed to be functional and sexy at the same time.
Her waist was narrow, flaring out into wide hips that were wrapped in a pair of dark slacks that clung to her ass like they'd been painted on. She had thick thighs that pressed together when she stood, and the heels she was wearing made her legs look even longer than they already were.
I focused.
[Name: Valerie Chen]
[Age: 26]
[Rank: Blank]
[Occupation: Sales associate at TechWave Mobile]
I focused harder. Deep Focus.
[History: Born in Calder City. Graduated from Calder State with a degree in marketing. Has been working at TechWave for two years while "figuring things out." Has three ex-boyfriends, all of whom were Blanks.]
[Secrets: Has an active OnlyFans account under the username "valofcourse" where she posts feet pics and try-on hauls. Makes roughly $2,000 a month from it, which is more than her salary here. Once slept with her manager to get a promotion, then quit the position three months later because she felt guilty. Has a vibrator in her purse "for emergencies."]
[Psychological traits: Outwardly professional, secretly bored out of her mind. Mild kleptomaniac—has stolen office supplies from every job she's ever had. Aroused by authority figures.]
"...Jesus christ."
I blinked, breaking the focus. My eyes throbbed, and I rubbed them with the back of my hand.
That was... way more than I needed to know. Way, *way* more. I did not need to know about the vibrator in her purse. I did not need to know about her manager. I did not need to know about the OnlyFans.
But also... $2,000 a month from feet pics? Holy shit. This economy was fucked.
"Sir? Are you okay?" Valerie was looking at me with a slightly concerned expression.
"Yeah, fine. Just... eye strain."
"Are you here to buy a phone?"
"Yeah. Something basic. Not too expensive." Enjoying the story? Read on at g.com.
She smiled—a professional, polished smile that probably came standard with the TechWave uniform. "Great! We have a wide selection. What's your budget?"
"Three hundred."
"This way." She led me to a display case near the back of the store. "We've got the Stellar X3, which is on sale for $280. Good camera, decent battery life, 5G compatible. Then there's the Nova Lite for $250—not as fancy, but reliable. And the Prism 7 for $310, which has a better processor and—"
"The Stellar X3 is fine."
"Great choice!" She pulled one out from behind the counter and started walking me through the features. "It's got a 6.2-inch display, triple camera setup, 128 gigabytes of storage, and—"
"I'll take it."
"You don't want to hear about the—"
"No."
"...Okay." She rang me up, looking slightly put off by my lack of interest in the technical specifications. "That'll be $280, plus tax. $305 total."
I pulled out three hundred-dollar bills and set them on the counter. She made change, handed me the phone and a bag, and pointed me toward the activation kiosk.
"Do you have an existing number you'd like to transfer?"
"Yeah. I'll handle that myself."
"...Okay. Is there anything else I can help you with?"
"Nope."
I walked out of the store with a new phone, $355 in my pocket, and the mental image of Valerie's OnlyFans burned into my brain whether I wanted it there or not.
"...I need to stop using Deep Focus on random people."
The phone was already booting up. I walked through the setup process while strolling down the street—WiFi, account, transfer my old number. It took about ten minutes, and by the time I was done, my stomach was screaming at me.
I hadn't eaten since... when? The cold pizza last night? No, I'd grabbed a slice before going out. But that was almost twelve hours ago.
I looked around. The street was lined with cafes, restaurants, and food trucks. A sushi place. A burger joint. A vegan restaurant that probably charged $20 for a salad.
But then I saw it.
A pizza place. "Sal's Pizza" the sign read, with a cartoon Italian chef giving a thumbs up. The smell hit me immediately—fresh dough, tomato sauce, melted cheese, garlic. It wafted out of the open door like a siren song, wrapping around my brain and refusing to let go.
"Sold."
I walked in. The interior was small and cozy, red checkered tablecloths, wooden chairs, vintage Italian posters on the walls. A few customers were scattered around, eating in silence. The kitchen was visible through a window, and I could see an old man tossing dough in the air.
I sat down at a table near the window and looked at the menu.
"$18 for a large pepperoni? ...Yeah, okay."
I ordered. The waitress—a bored-looking teenager who was clearly here for the minimum wage—took my order and disappeared. I sat there, playing with my new phone, waiting.
The pizza arrived ten minutes later.
It was... beautiful. A large pepperoni, steaming hot, the cheese bubbling and golden, the pepperoni curled at the edges. The crust was thick and golden brown, with little char marks from the oven.
I took a bite.
"...Oh my god."
It was the best thing I'd ever tasted. Maybe it was because I was starving. Maybe it was because I'd been living on cold leftovers and cheap vending machine food for the past week. Maybe it was just a really good pizza. But whatever the reason, that first bite was practically orgasmic.
The cheese stretched in long strings as I pulled the slice away from my mouth. The sauce was tangy and sweet, the pepperoni was crispy and salty, and the crust had that perfect crunch that you only get from a proper oven.
I ate the entire thing.
Slice after slice, barely stopping to breathe. I shoveled pizza into my mouth like a man who'd been stranded on a desert island for a month. The cheese dripped down my chin. The sauce stained my fingers. I didn't care.
When the last slice was gone, I sat back in my chair and let out a long, satisfied belch.
"...That was $18 well spent."
I wiped my mouth with a napkin, paid the bill, and walked out into the sunshine.
$337 left. New phone. New clothes coming. Full stomach. Superpowers.
I looked up at the sky and grinned.
"Not bad, Noel. Not fucking bad."
My day was for the first time in a long time, a good one.
Wait... did I just cause a red-flag?