The eviction notice felt heavier than paper had any right to be.
I stared at the red letters stamped across the top—FINAL WARNING: 72 HOURS—and wondered if this was rock bottom, or if life still had a few more floors to drop me through. My phone buzzed. Another text from Mom asking if I'd eaten today. I hadn't. The protein bar I'd been rationing since Tuesday didn't count.
"Rent's three months overdue, Kane," I muttered to myself, crumpling the notice. "Mom doesn't need to know you're this much of a disaster."
I collapsed onto my mattress—no bed frame, just a mattress on the floor of a studio apartment that smelled like mold and regret. College was supposed to be my ticket out of poverty. Instead, I was drowning in student loans, working two part-time jobs that barely covered ramen, and failing Introduction to Economics because I couldn't afford the textbook.
My phone buzzed again. Not Mom this time.
DOWNLOAD COMPLETE.
I frowned. I hadn't downloaded anything. My phone was so old it could barely handle Instagram, let alone random apps. I unlocked the screen and my stomach dropped.
A new app sat front and center on my home screen. Sleek. Professional. The icon showed a golden shield with a dollar sign in the middle, and below it, two words in sharp white text:
HERO FOR RENT
"What the hell?"
I didn't remember clicking anything. No pop-up ads. No sketchy links. It was just... there.
Delete it, common sense whispered. This is how people get their identities stolen.
But curiosity—and desperation—made me tap the icon instead.
The app opened instantly. No loading screen. No permissions request. Just a clean interface that looked more expensive than anything I owned. At the top, a welcome message scrolled across in elegant font:
Welcome, Kane Rivera. Your profile has been created. You have been selected.
"Selected for what?" I said aloud, even though I was alone.
The screen shifted. A dashboard appeared, sleek and game-like, with my name at the top and a photo I definitely didn't upload—my student ID picture from freshman year, back when I still had hope in my eyes.
Below that, stats:
STRENGTH: 3/10
AGILITY: 4/10
INTELLIGENCE: 6/10
CHARISMA: 5/10
LUCK: 2/10
"Wow. Thanks for the self-esteem boost," I muttered. "Luck at two? That explains everything."
Below the stats, a message box blinked:
You are now registered as a Hero for Rent. Clients will hire you to complete missions. Accept missions to earn Credits, improve your Stats, and unlock Abilities. Payment is guaranteed upon mission completion.
Current Balance: 0 Credits
Current Rank: F-Tier (Beginner)
I scrolled down. There was a mission board—empty for now—and a profile settings option. Everything looked legitimate. Too legitimate. Like someone had spent millions developing this thing.
"This is a scam," I said, but my finger hovered over the AVAILABLE MISSIONS tab anyway.
One notification popped up:
NEW CLIENT REQUEST
My heart rate spiked. This was insane. I should delete this app, factory reset my phone, maybe burn it for good measure. But then I looked around my apartment—the eviction notice on the floor, the empty fridge, the stack of unpaid bills on the counter.
What do I have to lose?
I tapped the notification.
The screen changed. A client profile appeared. No photo, just an avatar—a black silhouette with a question mark. The name read: Anonymous_Client_047.
Below that, the mission details:
MISSION: Retrieve Package
Location: Westside Metro Station, Locker #237
Difficulty: E-Rank
Payment: 500 Credits
Time Limit: 2 Hours
Description: Retrieve a small package from the designated locker. Do not open it. Do not ask questions. Deliver to the drop-off point marked on your map. Discretion is mandatory.
Five hundred credits. I had no idea what credits were worth, but the way my hands started trembling told me my body knew this was important.
A new notification appeared:
500 Credits = $500 USD upon withdrawal.
My breath caught. Five hundred dollars. That was half my rent. Two weeks of groceries. A chance to breathe.
This is too good to be true.
But my thumb was already moving toward the ACCEPT MISSION button.
I hesitated. Something about this felt wrong. The anonymity. The secrecy. The "do not ask questions" part. What was in the package? Drugs? Stolen goods? Was I about to become a criminal?
Another notification popped up, as if the app could read my hesitation:
Warning: Mission refusal will result in account penalties. Repeated refusals may result in termination of service.
"Termination of service?" I laughed bitterly. "I didn't even sign up for this."
But I needed that money. Desperately.
I pressed ACCEPT.
The screen flashed green. Confetti animations exploded across the display—absurdly cheerful for what felt like a deal with the devil. A map appeared, showing my location and the metro station three blocks away. A timer started counting down from 2:00:00.
MISSION ACTIVE. GOOD LUCK, HERO.
I stared at my phone, heart pounding. What had I just agreed to?
My apartment door was already open before I realized I'd made the decision to go. I grabbed my jacket, shoved my phone in my pocket, and ran.
The metro station was a concrete tomb at night. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting everything in a sickly yellow glow. A few homeless people huddled near the benches, and a janitor pushed a mop across the grimy floor. Nobody looked at me. Nobody cared.
Locker #237 was in the back corner, half-hidden behind a support column. I checked my phone. Timer: 1:43:27.
The app displayed a four-digit code: 7823.
I punched it in. The locker clicked open.
Inside was a small metal case, about the size of a lunchbox, with a biometric lock on the front. It was heavier than it looked. I turned it over in my hands, curiosity clawing at my brain.
Do not open it.
Right. I shoved it into my backpack.
The app pinged. A new waypoint appeared on the map—an alley six blocks north. Drop-off point.
I started walking.
That's when I noticed the man in the black coat.
He was standing by the metro entrance, partially obscured by shadow, watching me. Not casually. Intentionally. His eyes locked onto my backpack, and something cold slithered down my spine.
I walked faster.
He followed.
My phone buzzed.
WARNING: HOSTILE DETECTED. RECOMMENDATION: EVADE OR ENGAGE.
"Engage?" I hissed under my breath. "I'm a broke college student, not a spy!"
The man was closing the distance. Twenty feet. Fifteen.
I broke into a run.
The alley was dark, narrow, reeking of garbage and piss. My footsteps echoed off the brick walls. I could hear him behind me—steady, relentless.
The drop-off point was just ahead. A dumpster with a red X spray-painted on the side. I pulled the case from my backpack and shoved it behind the dumpster, exactly as instructed.
My phone chimed.
MISSION COMPLETE. 500 CREDITS TRANSFERRED.
But the man in the black coat was still coming.
He stepped into the alley, backlit by the streetlamp, and reached into his jacket.
My phone buzzed one last time.
NEW MISSION AVAILABLE: SURVIVE.
Difficulty: D-Rank.
Payment: 1,000 Credits.
Failure Penalty: Death.
The man pulled out a knife.