New Orelis
Monday, June 18th, 2040.
The bookstore was called The Last Page, which fit perfectly because working there bored Evan to death.
The bell above the door rattled instead of rang. Evan didn't just step out; he launched himself onto the sidewalk, letting the glass door hiss shut behind him.
He checked his phone: 7:00 P.M.
Evan tapped the screen, a sharp grin cutting across his face.
"On time?" he muttered, bouncing on his heels. "Must be a glitch in the world's simulation. Better get going before the admins fix it."
For once, Evan felt the universe hadn't thrown a problem at him. No angry customers. No broken registers. Just a clean break.
He looked around. It was June, which meant the sun should be shining for an hour more. But the weather algorithm was clearly bugged today. A wall of dark, grey clouds was rolling in, killing the evening light.
Evan frowned at the sky and pushed his messy black hair out of his eyes.
"Of course," he chuckled, adjusting his backpack. "I thought I can get a free evening, so the server decides to flood the map."
He felt the wind on his cheek. Fast.
"I give it… thirty minutes before the rain starts. Twenty-five if the wind picks up."
He rolled his neck until it popped. He didn't have an umbrella. The cheap ones cost twelve dollars and broke in the wind anyway.
Evan grinned. "Twelve dollars for a prop, or zero dollars for a warm-up?"
His grin widened. "Let's go with the warm-up."
He didn't walk. He shifted instantly into a light jog.
It was a mystery. Evan was skinny—the kind of skinny that came from skipping meals to buy textbooks—but his engine never stalled. Even though he hadn't touched a football in years, he didn't eat much, and he slept four hours a night, he was always full of energy.
Doctors would say he should be fainting. Instead, he felt like he had a nuclear reactor buzzing in his chest. He had energy to burn.
He hit the sidewalk.
The street was crowded. The heat coming off the concrete smelled like burnt gas and old garbage. New Orelis was loud—a constant noise of engines and shouting.
Most people fought the crowd. Evan played it.
He moved with nervous energy, his sneakers barely making a sound. He wasn't shoving; he was dodging.
A businessman looked at his watch—Evan stepped left, missing him by an inch. A tourist raised an arm to point—Evan ducked under the swing without breaking his rhythm.
Too slow, Evan thought, weaving between a stroller and a trash can. Everyone is moving like they are lagging.
He wasn't even out of breath. His heart rate was steady. It felt good to move, to actually use the muscles that had been stuck behind a counter all day.
Then, he almost tripped.
An empty soda can rolled across the path, bouncing off the bricks.
Evan rolled his eyes. "Trash goes in the bin, geniuses."
He didn't stop. He looked up. Thirty feet away, past a wall of tourists, was a rusty green trash can. The angle was bad. The gap was impossible.
Evan didn't care. He just flicked his right ankle.
Thwack.
He caught the can perfectly.
It didn't arc; it flew. The can shot forward like a bullet. It whistled past a businessman's ear—who flinched a second too late—and threaded the tiny gap between a streetlamp and a signpost.
Clang.
Dead center.
Evan didn't stop to watch it land. He knew it went in. He just kept jogging.
He reached the intersection of 5th and Main just as the light turned yellow.
The crowd surged forward, ready to cross.
Evan stopped cold. He went from running to standing instantly, bouncing in place to keep his rhythm.
He knew this light. The city had changed the timing to get more ticket money. The yellow wasn't a warning anymore; it was a trap. It was shorter by exactly three seconds. A scam.
A grey sedan screamed toward the intersection, engine whining high. The driver wasn't stopping.
The man standing next to Evan—a guy in a sharp suit—thinking it was safe to cross, stepped off the curb, eyes glued to his phone.
Evan sighed. NPC behavior.
He didn't shout. Audio had a delay, and this guy was on auto-pilot.
He simply reached out.
His hand grabbed the man's coat collar.
Evan didn't brace himself. He didn't plant his feet. He just stood there, relaxed, and gave a sharp tug.
Whoosh.
The sedan blew past them, running the red light a full second late. The wind from the car slapped against their clothes, smelling of burnt rubber and stupidity.
But the reaction was wrong.
Evan expected the man to stumble back. He didn't expect him to launch.
The man flew backward like he was made of cardboard. His feet left the ground entirely. He crashed onto the pavement and slid three feet.
Evan froze. He looked at his own hand. He hadn't even tried. He just… tugged. It felt like pulling a loose thread, not a two-hundred-pound man.
Okay, this is getting weird, Evan thought, flexing his fingers.
It wasn't the first time. On Saturday, he'd crushed a jar of peanut butter just trying to open it. Yesterday, the bathroom door handle snapped off in his hand. Now he was tossing full-grown adults across sidewalks without breaking a sweat.
My settings are definitely off, he thought. Either I am a Titan's descendant, or I need to stop eating spinach.
The man scrambled up, dropping his phone. He stared at the car's taillights, then at Evan. His eyes were wide with fear.
"I… I didn't even see him and…" the man stammered, rubbing his neck. "You… you're strong, kid."
"He was loud," Evan said with a shrug. "Engine pitch went up three octaves. You just have to listen to the audio cues."
The man stared at the road, wheezing. He looked at Evan, then back at the skid marks his heels had left on the concrete. He looked like he was trying to figure out if he'd been saved by a teenager or hit by a truck.
He wasn't the only one confused.
A courier on an e-bike lowered his sunglasses to double-check what he just saw. A woman with a stroller walked around Evan, eyeing his skinny arms like they were weapons.
It wasn't a hero moment. It was just awkward.
Evan scratched the back of his neck.
"Just saving you a trip to the ER. Maybe the respawn point," he joked. "The phone took the critical damage instead."
The man was still shaking, reaching for his wallet. "Yeah. The phone is nothing. I… look, let me give you—"
Evan looked up. The clouds were heavy.
He didn't have time for a side quest reward.
"Keep it," Evan said, waving as he turned back to the crosswalk. "Just watch the lights next time. The city rigged the timing. It's a pay-to-win trap."
The crosswalk signal blinked. A few seconds left.
Evan launched off the curb. He crossed the street with long, easy strides, already calculating the quickest route home before the storm hit.