I make my way back to my tiny, crumbling apartment, the weight of the day dragging me down. My mind lingers on Aurora, the one person I thought might still care about me, even after everything that's happened. I've clung to that hope, even when I didn't have much else.
But as soon as I open the door, the sounds hit me—laughter, followed by unmistakable moans, coming from my bedroom. My chest tightens, and a twisted knot forms in my stomach. I don't need to investigate further. I already know.
Maybe, deep down, I've known for a while. There were little signs, small things I brushed aside because I wanted to believe in her, in us. But now, it's all too clear. The truth is staring me in the face, and it hurts worse than I thought it would.
I stand there for a moment, my hand still gripping the door handle, as the world around me feels distant. On any other day, I'd have stormed in there, raging, demanding an explanation. But now? Now, I just feel… empty. Betrayed by the last person I thought I could count on. And strangely, I don't even have the energy to be angry.
I turn and leave, stepping back out into the night. My feet move automatically, carrying me through empty streets, my head hanging low. No job. No family. No friends. What the hell do I even have left to live for?
Before my mind can even catch up with my body, my feet are already moving. It's like I've been waiting for something, anything to give me an excuse to act. Maybe it's the anger that's been bubbling inside me for so long. Maybe it's because I'm just so damn broken that I can't stand the thought of someone else getting stomped on the way I've been. Or maybe it's just because I'm too damn tired to care.
I don't even think about it. I just rush forward, my heart pounding in my chest, adrenaline surging through me like electricity. My body moves on pure instinct, "Hey!" I shout.
The teenagers pause, heads snapping around to face me. For a brief moment, they don't seem sure what to make of me—a scrappy guy in a torn jacket, clearly out of place in this fight. They probably think I'm just another random passerby, easy to dismiss.
"Go away, old man," one of them sneers.
I don't wait for him to say anything else. I throw myself at the biggest kid, my fists connecting with his chest, knocking him back. The others scramble, but it's too late—they've already underestimated me.
A fist comes flying toward my face. I don't dodge in time, and it connects with my jaw, sending a flash of pain straight through me. But I don't stop. My body moves on autopilot, swinging back, landing a solid punch to one of their stomachs. Another kid takes a swing at me, his fist grazing my side, but I grab his wrist and twist, throwing him to the ground.
Everything becomes a blur—the shouts, the pain, the adrenaline. My body is screaming, but I don't care. I'm fighting. And that's all that matters right now.
The kid with the knife comes at me next. The blade flashes under the dim light. I barely have time to react before he swings it, aiming straight for my chest. My heart stops for a second as I dodge, the blade slashing across my arm. I grunt in pain, but I don't let that slow me down.
I tackle him to the ground, fists raining down on him in a frenzy. He tries to scramble away, but I keep him down. I don't even care if I'm hurting him—my anger is just too much.
Finally, with one last shove, I send him sprawling away from me. The other kids hesitate, clearly shocked by how quickly it's all turned. They look at each other, then back at me. Their eyes widen, and they take a collective step back.
"Get lost, freak!" one of them shouts, but they've seen enough. They turn and run, scattering in all directions.
I stand there, panting, my chest heaving. Blood drips from my face, from my arm. I feel dizzy, my body aching from the blows, but I don't care. I'm still standing. And that's something I never thought I'd say again.
I turn to the old man, still slumped against the alley wall. He's groaning, his face pale from the beating. I can see the fear and confusion in his eyes, but there's something else there too. Something sharp, almost knowing.
He looks up at me, his gaze piercing through the mess of my thoughts. "Why did you do that?" he asks, his voice raspy.
I open my mouth, but the words don't come. I can't explain it. I didn't do it for him. I didn't do it for anything other than the fact that I had to do it. But I can't say that to him.
I let out a weary, bitter chuckle. "Because it was hard to watch. Go get beaten somewhere else, old man."
I turn away before he can say anything else. I don't want to hear whatever wisdom he's going to drop on me. I don't want his pity. Hell, I don't want anything from anyone. Not anymore.
I'm bloodied. I'm exhausted. And I don't know what the hell I'm doing, but at least for a moment, I wasn't the one lying on the ground. I wasn't the one getting kicked.
And for the first time in a long while, that felt good.
The old man looks at me, his eyes sharp, as though he's sizing me up in a way I don't quite understand. Then, with a slow motion, he reaches into his coat and pulls out something small and sleek. It catches the dim streetlight as he hands it to me.
"Keep it," he says, "You never know when you'll need a fresh start."
I stare at the card in my hand. It's smooth and black, almost like it's made of some material that shouldn't exist. It feels… important, in a way that I can't quite explain. The words printed on it are simple but cryptic.
THE ASCENDANT PATHWAY.
What the hell does that even mean? Before I can ask, before I can even process the weight of what's happening, the old man takes a step back, his expression unreadable. Then, without another word, he turns and disappears into the shadows, leaving me standing there alone.
I look down at the card in my hand, turning it over in my hands. There's a strange sensation that runs through me, like I'm supposed to do something. My fingers hover over the card, and instinct kicks in. I tap the words THE ASCENDANT PATHWAY and suddenly, a flash of light bursts in front of me, followed by a glowing blue screen.
DING!
I blink, barely processing what just happened. Then, my eyes widen as the notification pops up in front of me:
$10,000 has been deposited in your account.
My breath catches. There's no way. There's no freaking way. I pull my phone out, heart racing, and check my bank balance. Sure enough, the digits are there—$10,000. I just stare at it, unable to move.
But that's not all. Another notification appears, just as bright, just as impossible.
Quest: Spend $1,000 in one day.