He found what he was looking for online: 'The Tidal Shelf', an upscale seafood restaurant perched on the marina, boasting panoramic views of the local skyline glittering across the dark waters. He dressed with care, not his usual anonymous hoodie, but dark designer jeans, a crisp button-down shirt, and the blazer that still hinted at his former corporate life, projecting quiet confidence rather than flashy wealth.
The restaurant buzzed with a Friday night energy, the clinking of wine glasses, low murmurs of conversation, the faint scent of grilling fish and saltwater mingling with expensive perfume. He secured a table near the window, the view stunning: the distant lights of the city painting streaks on the dark canvas. He felt a surge of satisfaction, a feeling of having arrived, even if only he knew the precarious, secret path he'd taken.
When the waiter arrived, Theo didn't hold back. This was a statement to himself. "I'll start with a dozen Pacific oysters," he said, his voice smooth. "And the lobster bisque. Then, let's see… the Dungeness crab, cracked and cleaned. And perhaps… yes, the pan-seared scallops as well."
The waiter raised a polite eyebrow almost imperceptibly at the sheer volume ordered for one person, but simply nodded. "An excellent selection, sir. And to drink?"
Theo ordered a glass of expensive chardonnay he barely recognized but which sounded suitably celebratory. He leaned back, watching the city lights, the sheer, unadulterated success of the past week washing over him. Ten thousand dollars profit this week alone, maybe more. And scaling.
The dishes began to arrive, works of art on pristine white plates. The oysters glistened on a bed of crushed ice, tiny forks and lemon wedges arranged just so. As the waiter turned away, Theo subtly rested his fingertips on the edge of the heavy ceramic platter beneath the table. Oysters. +1 Overall Quality. A faint ping resonated through the porcelain, a warmth spreading briefly under his touch. One charge gone.
The lobster bisque arrived, steaming faintly, a rich coral color. Again, the discreet touch under the table edge. Bisque. +1 Overall Quality. Ping. Two charges.
The main courses arrived together, the enormous Dungeness crab, bright red, perfectly cracked, tools laid out beside it. The scallops, plump and seared to a perfect golden-brown, nestled on a bed of risotto. He enhanced them both quickly, feeling the slight but noticeable drain of his power. Crab. +1. Ping.Scallops. +1. Ping. Four charges expended for this feast.
He started with an oyster. The shell felt cool, substantial. He lifted it, squeezed a drop of lemon, and tipped the contents into his mouth. The effect was instantaneous, breathtaking. It wasn't just fresh. It tasted like the very essence of the cold, clean Pacific, an intense, pure brininess coupled with an almost creamy texture and a lingering, subtly sweet finish unlike any oyster he'd ever conceived of. He closed his eyes for a moment, savouring it.
The bisque was next. Velvet. Utterly, impossibly smooth, the amplified lobster flavour intensely sweet and rich, yet perfectly balanced, without the slightest hint of overwhelming fishiness. Each spoonful was a revelation.
He attacked the Dungeness crab with relish, the enhanced flesh proving unbelievably sweet, tender, pulling away from the shell in satisfyingly large chunks. The scallops were equally divine, a perfect sear giving way to centres so tender and sweet they practically melted on his tongue, the accompanying risotto tasting brighter, its flavours more distinct. It was, without hyperbole, the best seafood he had ever tasted, elevated by his power from 'excellent' to 'transcendent'.
He ate slowly, deliberately, savouring every enhanced molecule. But as he paused, looking out at the glittering city view, a different feeling began to creep in, insidious and unwelcome, leaching some of the brilliance from the moment. He looked around the restaurant. Tables filled with laughing couples sharing plates, families marking birthdays, groups of friends clinking glasses. He looked back at his own table, piled high with exquisite food, enough for three people easily. And he was utterly alone.
Who could he share this with? This triumph? This bizarre, secret success fuelled by an impossible gift? He thought back through the names in his sparse contacts list. No one. His parents were long gone. He had no siblings, no real friends, only transactional contacts from a life he'd been ejected from or potential buyers he kept at arm's length.
His thoughts drifted, unbidden, to Sarah. Her easy smile, her infectious enthusiasm, even amidst her own career anxieties. Could he text her a picture of this view, this meal? Share a fraction of this feeling? The idea evaporated as soon as it formed. She's a buyer. A friendly one, maybe, but still just a transaction in his carefully compartmentalized life. He imagined trying to explain, "Hey, remember that bike I sold you? Turns out I have superpowers and I'm secretly flipping GPUs for massive profit, want to celebrate?" The absurdity, the sheer, unavoidable risk, was laughable. They were acquaintances, at best. Worlds apart.
The realization settled heavily. This path he was on, this relentless climb towards wealth and security… it was a profoundly solitary one. He looked down at the mountain of food again, a sudden wave of almost wasteful excess washing over him. He couldn't finish it all. He thought of the logistics of his burgeoning GPU empire, sourcing, enhancing, listing across multiple platforms, vetting buyers, shipping, managing payments… it was already becoming a frantic juggling act. One person could only handle so much bandwidth, only move so fast. To truly scale this, to build something lasting, something big… he'd need help. Hands. Minds. Expertise he didn't possess.