The sun, a molten orb pretending to be majestic between some vaguely pointy mountains, cast shadows The light finally hit a guy in bed, who looked like he'd wrestled a badger and lost.

His eyes, still clinging to sleep like a stubborn barnacle, fluttered shut against the light. He groaned, a sound that could curdle milk. Then, slowly, as if he was rewinding a very slow-motion disaster, he opened his eyes. The world came into focus, the mountains looking less like jagged peaks and more like slightly lumpy potatoes.

He slowly checked his surroundings. The room was charmingly cluttered, which is a fancy way of saying "a disaster." "Morning," he mumbled, his smile resembling a deflated balloon. "Wait… what time is it?"

The clock, a cruel mistress, glared back: 10:34 AM. He blinked three times, each blink a masterpiece of dramatic timing. "Fuuuuuu…" he groaned, the sound echoing the despair of a thousand missed deadlines He dramatically clutched his head.

Few minutes later (yes, he timed it), he sat up, slapping himself lightly. "Stupid me! Why did I sleep so late?" He pondered this, his frown resembling a crumpled napkin. "Ah, yes… Pokémon Journeys. Again." A sheepish grin spread across his face. He'd clearly prioritized Pikachu over productivity.

He sighed dramatically, running a hand through his hair. "I am thirty-four, single, an orphan, broke, and… a virgin. Great." He paused, then added with a wry chuckle, "At least I have excellent taste in anime. Maybe I should add that to my dating profile: 'Enjoys long walks on the beach and epic Pokémon battles.' Yeah, that'll work." He laughed, a surprisingly cheerful sound for someone describing his life as a "great" disaster. "Time to face the day… good thing I live in a small city, so it will just few minutes get to my job

35 minutes later (he was making up for lost time), he muttered, "Good thing my shift's almost over," letting out a relieved sigh. "Great. My boss is going to become a warfreak (again)." He braced himself for the verbal onslaught, which was probably going to involve a lot of shouting and possibly some interpretive dance.

The door swung open, revealing his boss, who looked like a volcano about to erupt. "Ezekiel! You're late again!" The boss roared, his voice echoing the pain of a thousand paper cuts.

Ezekiel flinched, offering a sheepish grin. "Sorry, boss. It won't happen again." (Lie.)

The boss turned a shade of red that could only be described as "nuclear sunset." even a clock clock in the wall rolled its eyes "You've said that before! Fine! Get inside and do your f***ing job!" The door slammed shut. Ezekiel sighed, rubbing his temples. Another day, another near-apocalyptic encounter with his superior. He shuffled in, already dreading the next time he'd be late.

A few hours later (a few very long hours), he trudged down the street, still feeling the weight of his tardiness. "

Please... somewhere... help me... I'm tir—" he mumbled. Before Ezekiel could offer a sympathetic ear, a child screamed like a banshee.

Ezekiel, fueled by caffeine withdrawal and a sudden surge of heroic instincts, spun around. He saw a little girl about to become a hood ornament. Time slowed down, allowing him to appreciate the sheer terror on everyone's faces. 

He hauled the little kid to safety, a heroic feat that would've made even Superman proud... (And Superman tripped immediately afterward) Just as he was about to pull himself clear of the impending doom (a truck that now looked surprisingly offended), his foot caught on a rogue crack "Fuuuu----- my luck