I woke up to the sound of my neighbor's junk car coughing its way to life—loud, wheezing, and threatening to explode any second. You didn't need to be a mechanic to know that thing was running on borrowed time.
Still, the guy drove it every day. Not that I blamed him. Anyone living in this complex clearly didn't have money for anything better. Myself included.
Like always, I got up at six. Same as him. I washed my face with water that barely got warm, pulled on my worn-out jacket, and made my way to the bus stop.
The scanner was waiting, mounted beside the door like an ever-present judge. I stepped forward, and it scanned my face automatically. A digital beep followed.
[Credit Score: 227]
A bright red number appeared on the screen. I stared at it with the same dull acceptance I had every morning.
In this world, your credit score wasn't just about money. It was a measure of who you were.
The higher your score, the more privileges you earned—faster healthcare, cleaner housing, access to public transport.
Doing charity raised it. Paying your bank loans on time helped. Anything seen as "socially responsible" bumped it up.
Right after me, an old woman rushed to catch the bus. She had long, tangled gray hair and tried to hide her face with a scarf as she slipped in behind me—clearly hoping no one would notice.
But the scanner didn't care about appearances.
[Credit Score: 46]
Only when you fully cover your face will the scanner fail, but doing so will get you denied outright. And if you're found purposely hiding your identification to do something illegal, it means a VERY heavy penalty.
A loud beep blared through the bus as red lights flared, and a mechanical arm extended from the side to block her path.
"Wait, please! My husband—he was in an accident! I have to get to the hospital!" she cried, desperation cracking her voice.
The bus didn't move. Everyone inside turned away. No one wanted to get involved.
"Please… someone, anyone… vouch for me."
No one looked at her. Including me.
Vouching was dangerous. If you vouched for someone with a low score, your own score was temporarily shared with them. In her case, I'd have to give her at least 54 points just to bring her up to 100—the minimum required to ride the bus.
But if she did anything questionable—refused to pay her hospital bill, caused trouble, lied—my score would be docked for "conspiring in an unethical act." The system treated you as an accomplice.
So I stayed silent.
As the bus doors began to close, I hesitated. Her voice echoed behind me.
"Please… someone, anyone…."
My thumb hovered over the screen on the scanner console. My score was already at 227...
Screw it.
I tapped the "Vouch" option and the system lit up in a soft green glow. A secondary prompt opened: 54 points required to reach Minimum Access: 100. Confirm transfer?
I confirmed.
The old woman looked up in surprise as her wrist implant buzzed. She checked her phone and gasped.
[Credit Score: 100 – Temporary Access Granted]
The scanner read her chip again. The red lights turned blue. The mechanical arm retracted.
The bus doors hissed open once more.
She stepped in slowly, eyes watery. "Thank you," she whispered to me as she passed, placing a trembling hand on mine.
After that, I went to work.
8/12 Convenience was a rectangle of fluorescent-lit hell tucked between a pawn shop and a betting parlor.
The kind of place where time crawled and hope died. I clocked in and spent the first two hours in silence, stocking shelves with discounted chips and expired protein bars while synth-pop played from a busted wall speaker.
Customers came in, bought instant ramen, cigarettes, and cheap energy drinks. None of them looked me in the eye.
It was mind-numbing. The kind of work that made your brain leak out of your ears.
The manager didn't show up until nearly ten.
He waltzed in like he owned the world, chewing something loudly, sunglasses still on indoors. His name was Greg. He had one of those faces that made you want to punch it.
As soon as he saw me, he grinned. "Well, well. Look who decided to show up again."
I didn't even look at him. "I was scheduled today. I clocked in on time."
"You just got off early yesterday, didn't you? Tch." He scoffed. "Maybe if you weren't so lazy, you'd have gotten a raise by now."
"My mother died. And I finished my shift." I said it calmly.
He blinked. "Well, her spirit better be stocking the shelves then. You're done when I say you're done.
My fists clenching.
But before I could say anything else, someone stepped between us.
"It was my fault."
A girl stood between us. Short, frizzed blonde hair—the kind that had been fried by cheap bleach and regret. Her shirt was crooked, her hands shaky.
"I was supposed to cover that duty," she said. "But I forgot. It's not John's fault."
Greg's grin didn't fade. It twisted instead, curling into something uglier.
"Oh, really? So you're the forgetful one," he said. Then his tone dropped an octave. "Well, if something like this happens again, either of you could get fired."
He leaned a little too close. His smile too wide. "Or… maybe we find some other way to settle it."
He walked off, humming to himself, disappearing into the stockroom like nothing happened.
The girl stood frozen for a second, then slowly backed toward the cooler section.
She didn't say anything.
So I thanked her, but I couldn't help scolding her a little. "That was too reckless, Mira. Greg can't do anything to me—but you? That's a different story. You understand?"
This place ran on desperation. The rules were stacked.
But people like us? People who needed the money?
We had to endure it.
Or today… she had to endure it.
And I hated that.
Despite only seeing her at work, she was like a little sister to me.
Only a year younger, but small, pale, and fragile—malnourished from barely scraping by like the rest of us. Her bleach-damaged hair had turned this brittle yellow color, and she always wore her sleeves too long, like she was trying to hide how skinny her arms had gotten.
Mira wasn't weak, though. Not in the ways that mattered.
She glanced up and gave me a soft smile, like it was no big deal.
"It's nothing," she said. "You've already helped me a lot."
That made me pause. I never thought I'd done anything worth remembering—let alone something that actually helped someone else.
All I ever did was put in a little extra work whenever I knew she'd be on shift with me, or right after mine. Just enough so she'd have a bit less to do.
After a few minutes, she wandered to the stock terminal and tapped the screen, checking what needed to be filled.
I watched her eyes narrow in confusion.
"Hey… did night shift stock all the shelves already?"
I scoffed. "Night shift? Do they ever do anything?"
Seriously. The night guy just sat at the register, smoked by the loading dock, and watched superhero streams all night. He only moved when someone came in to buy cheap beer or cup noodles.
The actual work? Always fell to us—the morning to noon shift.
Still, she didn't seem convinced. She peeked around the corner, walked the main aisle, scanned the shelves. Then she came back with this puzzled look.
"You did?" she asked, eyes meeting mine.
"Yeah?" I blinked. "But I only stocked a few."
"No, John," she said slowly, voice rising with concern. "You stocked everything. It's all done."
I frowned, confused.
"I mean… I only stocked for like, an hour max." I looked at the store clock.
2 hours into the shift. No way. I remembered doing maybe a few rounds. It was impossible I finished all of it.
But as we walked aisle to aisle, every shelf was full. Everything was clean. Lined up. Perfect.
Then I paused.
Something clicked.
And just like that—
[You have gained: Super Speed Lv.1 – Multiplies speed by 100]
I stared blankly, realization hitting me like a cold wave.
All this time I was moving so fast, I didn't even notice I was using it. My body had just done it. My mind, still stuck in the rhythm of mindless labor, hadn't even registered what I'd accomplished.
This stupid job had made me so numb… I forgot I was fast now.
I laughed—just a short, breathless one. The girl blinked at me.
"What's funny?"
I shook my head. "Nothing. Just realized… maybe I'm better at this job than I thought."
She gave me a weird look, but didn't press. And honestly? I didn't blame her.
The rest of the shift passed quietly. Mira and I worked in sync—cleaning up, closing out registers, checking the coolers. There wasn't much left to do anyway. I'd unintentionally cleared the whole store in record time, thanks to my… well, new reality.
When the clock hit the end of our shift, we both grabbed our stuff, ready to leave.
That's when Greg showed up again, leaning against the staff door like he was waiting for us.
"You two," he called lazily. "Hang back. We've still got closing tasks to handle."
I stopped. "We're done."
Greg raised a brow. "All of it?"
"Yeah," I said firmly. "I stocked everything. Cleaned the store. Did the inventory sheet."
He tilted his head, smirking. "All the work, you say?"
He walked toward us slowly, eyes narrowing in a way that instantly set me on edge.
"Lying's a bad habit, you know." His voice dropped to a mocking whisper as he looked past me, straight at Mira. "Makes people… unreliable."
He circled us like a shark, pacing slowly. I could feel the tension radiating off Mira. She kept her head low, hands tightening around the strap of her bag. Greg wasn't just being annoying. He was being cruel. And he knew exactly what he was doing.
Everyone at the store suspected the night shift guy was useless. But I knew the truth: he wasn't just lazy—he was Greg's dealer. Weed, pills, maybe more. In exchange for keeping quiet, Greg dumped all the real work onto our shifts. Me and Mira. And we took it. Day after day.
Unpaid overtime. No breaks. No complaints.
But not today.
"I said I finished everything," I repeated, stepping between him and Mira.
Greg scoffed. "Bullshit."
"Check it yourself."
He did.
He walked the aisles, glancing at each shelf, the stock room, the cooler. I could see the moment it clicked—the slight twitch in his jaw, the stiffened shoulders. He knew I wasn't bluffing. Not this time.
He stumbled back a step, cleared his throat.
"Well, uh... looks like you two got lucky today."
He tried to save face with a smirk, waving us off. "Fine. Get out of here before I change my mind."
Mira bowed politely. "Thank you," she said, voice soft but steady. "Really… thank you, John."
I blinked, surprised.
She smiled at me—a real one this time. "Today's my little brother's birthday. I was hoping I could make it home early."
Then she turned and walked off, holding her bag tight to her chest.
I stood there for a moment, watching her disappear down the street.
As for me?
I made my way to the bus stop and waited for a bus.
Next stop: Ohio Sector B Hero Center.