I dropped onto the bed, sinking into the mattress like it could absorb the weight of the day—not that it was physical exhaustion. Hauling crates for Maggie was about as taxing as folding laundry. No, the real weight came from the endless hamster wheel of thoughts spinning in my head—each one more exhausting than the last. The apartment was quiet, except for the distant hum of the city—a muffled blend of traffic and life that felt like it was happening on another planet, far from where I was lying. I kicked off my shoes, listening to the dull thud as they hit the floor.
At least working with Maggie had been a good distraction. She never really needed to ask. One smile, a playful jab about how I made John look like an “overgrown chopstick flailing in the wind,” and I’d be right there, knee-deep in inventory, moving boxes like it was my purpose in life. Every time, she made it sound like I was doing her a huge favor. And every time, I fell for it. Not that I minded—it’s impossible to say no when she’s flashing that smile like she’s got a secret, as if helping her out somehow makes me a better person by osmosis.
Today had been no different. “You’re a lifesaver, Dave. Things move twice as fast when you’re around.” I waved it off, like carrying a few crates was anything worth mentioning.
Dinner afterward had been simple. Edith had stashed leftovers in the fridge—one of her famous casseroles, the kind that smelled like rosemary and melted cheese and tasted like pure comfort wrapped in carbs. Maggie and I ate in our usual comfortable silence, trading the occasional grin, her tossing in a comment about some new recipe she wanted to try at the market. With my stomach full and the day behind me, sleep should’ve come easily.
But sleep didn’t come as easily as I’d hoped.
Lydia and John had mentioned Courage earlier today. That’s what the kids on campus were calling it—probably the street name for that damned drug. From what they said, it was spreading fast, turning people from zero to superhuman in seconds. No slow build-up, no warning—just a flick of a switch. One minute they’re normal, and the next? Full-blown Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, tearing through the streets. Stronger, faster, completely out of control.
And then there’s me. Apparently, I’d gone viral—like some kind of reluctant meme—caught right in the middle of it. My face wasn’t clear in the videos—at least, I hoped not—but I knew it was me. I just had to hope no one else connected the dots. The last thing I needed was for my carefully built normalcy to come crashing down. No more quiet mornings at the market, no more soap and candles—just hassle. And God, I hate complications.
I sighed, still staring at the ceiling. What was it Dr. Shaw said again? “Don’t save the day. Let someone else handle it.” Yeah, right. I rolled my eyes. Because if I left it to someone else, we’d probably end up with a full-blown Michael Bay movie—explosions, car chases, someone getting launched through a building, and at least two slow-motion shots of debris flying everywhere. My life would turn into one of those disaster scenes where everything goes up in flames, and I’d be stuck right in the middle of it.
Ignoring this wasn’t an option anymore. The problem was sitting right on my doorstep. And if anyone had a solution, it’d be Alan Stolls—unfortunately.
I groaned, rubbing my hands over my face. Alan—my last resort. The guy was brilliant, but talking to him was like signing up for a one-way ticket to the guilt-train.
We’re about the same age, but Alan always acted like some pushy older brother. The kind who never stops reminding you that you’re wasting your potential. “Dave, you could be doing so much more than making soap and candles. You’re wasting your gifts.” I could practically hear him now, that same lecture on repeat.
And it wasn’t just that. Alan had this chip on his shoulder about how easy my life seemed. He was busting his ass to finish school and make something of himself, while I was gliding by on a government stipend, with no bills or rent to worry about. In his eyes, I was “wasting my time on arts and crafts.” A hobbyist at best, ignoring the real world to fiddle with scented candles.
Worst part? He wasn’t wrong—that’s what stung.
But if anyone could figure out what this Courage stuff was, it would be him. The guy could write a book on bioengineering… actually, he’s already written a few. Problem was, I didn’t even know where Alan lived or where he worked these days. He’d all but disappeared after landing that cushy lab job.
And how was I supposed to get in touch with him? Alan wasn’t exactly approachable, especially when he was neck-deep in research. It wasn’t like I could just show up at his lab—I didn’t even know where that was anymore. Edith could probably help me track him down, but she probably knew the second I walked in. Edith always did have a sixth sense for these things. The last thing I needed was her asking questions I wasn’t ready to answer.
Maybe I could pry a little info out of her tomorrow morning—discreetly, of course. Once I had that, I could figure out my next steps.
I stared at the ceiling. First thing’s first: talk to Edith. Then… well, I’d figure it out from there.
“Tomorrow’s problem,” I muttered to myself. But deep down, I knew I couldn’t avoid it much longer. This Courage situation wasn’t going away, and if I didn’t act soon, I might end up with more than just Michael Bay-style explosions on my hands.
----------------------------------------
The low hum of construction drones pulled me from sleep. Perfect—sounded like they were finally getting around to fixing the damage from that blast a few weeks ago. I stared at the ceiling, letting the buzzing outside melt into the background.
It had been one of those superhumans-fighting-in-the-sky kind of days. Everyone always says it’s better when they take it to the air—less ground-level destruction, right? Except when they start hurling long-range blasts. Then being up there is just a better angle for raining chaos. The corner store had gotten the worst of it, caught in the crossfire of some stray energy attack. It hadn’t been too strong, thankfully, and no one got hurt, but the place was wrecked. Closed for repairs ever since.
I listened to the construction drones whirring outside. Part of me wanted to just roll over, ignore the world, but there was no point. The noise wasn’t what was really gnawing at me.
I had to talk to Edith today.
The thought hit me harder than any blast ever could. It wasn’t the conversation itself that weighed on me. I’d crossed that line before—Maggie, Edith, hell, the entire neighborhood knew what I was. It wasn’t some well-guarded secret. But the real issue wasn’t about them knowing—it was about me coming to terms with it. I’d built these invisible walls around the superhero side of my life, keeping it separate from the everyday, like some fragile bubble where I could pretend to have a normal existence. Blending the two? That felt like giving up the cozy slice of life I’d worked so hard to protect. The one place where I still felt… safe.
And that’s what gnawed at me. Letting those worlds collide meant losing that small refuge of normalcy, the part of me that got to just be Dave.
But I had no clue how to get ahold of Alan, and Edith was the only person who could help. There was no avoiding it this time.
I dragged myself out of bed, Dr. Shaw’s voice echoing in my mind. She’d been at it for a while now, nudging at the same sore spot. “You shut people out, Dave,” she’d say, that calm, no-nonsense tone only she could pull off. “They love you. They want to help. But you’ve got to let them in. Know your limits.”
It wasn’t that I didn’t believe her. It was more that admitting I had limits felt like losing something—control, maybe. Or this idea I’d clung to, that I could keep things separate. That I could keep my life… mine.
I shuffled into the bathroom, running a hand through my hair, staring at my reflection. I wasn’t scared to ask Edith for help. I knew she’d give it—whether I liked it or not. But I knew what would come with it, too. Asking for help meant acknowledging that my worlds were tangled together, whether I wanted them to be or not. And the less I involved people like Edith or Maggie in the chaos, the better. At least that’s what I kept telling myself.
I grabbed my clothes and got dressed, but before I headed downstairs, my eyes landed on the vial of orange liquid resting on the counter. It glowed faintly, the vibrant color almost alive, like it held more than just liquid inside. I stared at it for a moment. It was impossible to ignore how important this was, how dangerous it could be if mishandled.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Without hesitation, I picked it up, feeling the cool glass between my fingers. This wasn’t something I could leave behind, not today. I slipped it into my pocket and felt its presence like a silent reminder of what lay ahead.
I headed downstairs, my mind still bouncing between what to say and what not to say. Maybe I could just ask if Edith had heard from Alan recently—make it sound like a casual check-in instead of a desperate plea for help. Yeah, that could work. The only problem was, Edith knew me too well. She’d sense I was off long before I got to the point.
When I strolled into the kitchen, Edith was already there, sitting at the table with her knitting. Her sharp eyes flicked up to meet mine for just a second. The knitting needles clicked steadily, as if nothing was out of the ordinary, but I knew better.
“Morning, David,” she said without looking up.
“Morning,” I replied, grabbing a mug and filling it with coffee. I took a sip, letting the warmth spread through me, then made my way to the table, trying to act like everything was perfectly normal.
I sat down across from her, keeping it casual on the outside. But inside, my heart was hammering like it was trying to break free.
Edith glanced at me again, her eyes narrowing slightly. Not her usual I-know-what-you’re-up-to look, but more of a you’re acting strange today kind of look. She didn’t say anything, though. She just waited, letting the silence hang between us.
Alright, Dave. Now or never.
“So, uh… have you heard from Alan lately?” The words came out a little too stiff. “I was just wondering what he’s been up to, you know, with all his science stuff.”
I immediately regretted it. The words felt rehearsed, like I was reading off a script. I braced myself, knowing I’d blown it.
Edith’s knitting slowed, her hands pausing as she finally looked up. For a second, she just watched me, lips twitching, her eyes sparking with amusement. Then her face twisted as she tried—and failed—to keep it together.
A second later, she burst into laughter, her whole body shaking as the sound filled the kitchen. I sat there, feeling my face heat up, completely caught off guard.
“David,” she said between fits of laughter, “you’re about as subtle as a marching band.”
I blinked, stunned. “What? I was just—”
“Oh, please,” she interrupted, shaking her head, still grinning. “Maggie said you’d ask me sooner or later. You’re not as sneaky as you think, sweetie.”
I groaned, deflated. “Of course she did.”
Edith wiped a tear from her eye, still chuckling. “She told me everything.” She reached over to the table and grabbed a piece of paper, sliding it across to me. “All his contact info. Figured I’d save you the trouble of sneaking around.”
I stared down at the paper in disbelief. “You… already knew?”
“Of course I did.” She leaned back, her sharp green eyes twinkling with amusement. “Maggie said you might need to get in touch with Alan, so I was waiting for you to ask.”
I sighed, slumping back against the counter. “Yeah, because asking for help is like a crime punishable by public embarrassment."
“Maybe not,” she said, her tone softening, “but this is good for you. Knowing when to ask for help—it’s an important step, David. You don’t have to do everything on your own.”
I shifted, uncomfortable with how right she was. I pocketed the paper, knowing she was right, but admitting it felt like pulling teeth.
“Alan’s a good influence,” Edith added with a knowing smile. “A little blunt, but smart. You two need each other more than you realize.”
“Yeah, maybe,” I muttered, still feeling the weight of embarrassment.
Before I could say anything else, Edith stood up and, with surprising agility for her age, delivered a playful “Dave-Fu” neck chop.
I winced, rubbing the spot out of reflex. “Maggie told you about that too, huh?”
Edith grinned, raising an eyebrow, clearly enjoying herself. “Oh, she didn’t just tell me, David. She showed me the video on that… what do they call it? TicTac? TipTop? Whatever kids are using these days.”
I groaned, my face heating up like I’d just been caught on camera committing a crime. “Great. Exactly what I needed—fame by karate chop.”
Edith chuckled, shaking her head. “Well, you’re lucky they couldn’t really make out your face in the video. Most of the people who recognized you are probably from the neighborhood. But if you really want to stay under the radar, David, you might want to be a bit more careful.”
I sighed, utterly defeated. “Noted.”
Edith gave me a knowing smile. “Just keeping my favorite troublemaker out of trouble.”
Before I could reach the door, Edith called after me, “Wait a second, David.”
I turned back. She was holding a small brown paper bag and handed it to me.
“Here. Some of my muffins. Alan always loved these. Consider it an edible peace treaty.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks, Edith. I’ll stop by and see Maggie at the market before I head out.”
“Good,” she said with a warm smile. “And remember, David—don’t try to do everything on your own.”
I nodded with a half-smile, grabbed the bag of muffins, and with the vial and Alan’s contact info tucked securely in my pocket, I stepped outside.
The bright morning light greeted me, along with the soft hum of drones busy at work up and down the street. The corner store, which had taken the brunt of a blast a few weeks back, was being expertly restored by a fleet of sleek, AI-powered machines. They buzzed with quiet precision, placing materials with surgical accuracy. Cracked windows were effortlessly replaced, and walls that had been scorched by the energy blast were getting fresh coats of paint. The scene was a far cry from the chaos of that day—calm, orderly, and almost peaceful.
No human workers were in sight—there was no need. Everything, from demolition to rebuilding, was handled by drones. AI supervisors hovered above on floating platforms, silently monitoring progress. It was a seamless, orchestrated routine, almost as if the chaos of that battle had never happened.
A small group of onlookers stood nearby, watching the drones with a mix of awe and curiosity. Even now, seeing machines rebuild the world faster than we ever could still had a certain magic to it.
I shook off the thought and continued down the block, trying to tune out the buzzing and the lingering tension from my conversation with Edith. But as I walked, I couldn’t help but notice a group of kids running ahead, darting around and chopping at random objects.
“Neck chop!” one shouted, slapping a street sign with exaggerated flair.
“Dave-Fu!” another yelled, karate-chopping a bench before breaking into giggles.
I blinked, stunned as I watched them enthusiastically ‘Dave-Fu’ their way down the sidewalk, karate chopping lampposts and mailboxes like they were auditioning for a superhero flick. If this kept up, I’d have to start charging for lessons.
I sighed, rubbing my temples. Somehow, I’d become a local legend. Not exactly what I had in mind.
Shaking it off, I made my way toward the market. The familiar smell of fresh produce hit me as I approached, and I spotted the chalkboard sign out front. In bold letters, someone had written “#PriceChop” and “#DaveFu” right next to today’s specials.
Great. It’s everywhere now. Pretty soon, I’ll have my own action figure—“Chop-King Dave,” complete with kung-fu grip.
When I walked into the market, I saw John and Lydia giggling near the produce section. They were recording Maggie, who was behind a row of vegetables, grinning as she dramatically chopped produce with her bare hands.
“Dave-Fu! Chop those prices!” Maggie shouted, slamming her palm down on a tomato, sending seeds flying. She grinned at the camera like she’d just invented the next viral hit.
Lydia, ever the self-appointed social media manager, was already buzzing about the success. “This trend is huge!” she exclaimed, barely able to contain her excitement. “We’ve got hundreds of views on the last video, and Maggie chopping prices? It’s going to blow up!”
I lingered for a moment, watching the spectacle before clearing my throat. John turned around, his face going pale when he spotted me. A sheepish grin spread across his face, followed by a nervous chuckle. “Hey, Dave,” he muttered awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.
Maggie glanced up from her chopping and practically lit up. “Dave! You’ve no idea how much business we’ve gotten thanks to your viral moment,” she said, throwing her arms wide. “We’ve been riding the trend, and things have never been better!”
I shook my head, caught between amusement and mild embarrassment. “Glad I could help…” I muttered, the words trailing off.
Lydia beamed, her pride unmistakable. “Seriously, Dave, this ‘Dave-Fu’ thing is huge. It’s all thanks to you! You should be proud!”
Proud wasn’t the word I’d have chosen, but I couldn’t deny the impact. Still, part of me wanted to disappear into the background, far from all the chopping and hashtags.
“Yeah, well… I’ll leave the fame to you guys,” I said with a smirk.
Maggie wiped her hands on her apron, clearly enjoying the moment more than I ever could. “You better believe it, Dave! Now, about Alan…” She paused, raising a brow at me. “You’re planning to meet him, right?”
I frowned. “Wait, how did you even know I was going to try to reach out to Alan?”
Maggie crossed her arms, giving me that knowing look she’d perfected over the years. “Come on, Dave. I’ve known you how long? I can read you like a book. Plus,” she added with a sly grin, “you don’t exactly have a ton of science friends to lean on.”
I sighed, defeated. “Yeah, well… you’ve got a point.”
She gave me a quick nod, satisfied, and leaned against the counter. “Good. Just remember, you’re going there to ask for help, not to start another one of your debates. You know how Alan is—stubborn as they come. Don’t let him get under your skin.”
I let out a dry laugh. “Believe me, I’ve had plenty of practice. I’ll keep it civil.”
Maggie gave me a stern look, though her eyes softened with concern. “I’m serious. You two are more alike than either of you will admit, and that’s why you always end up butting heads. Just… keep your cool, alright? This is important.”
I smiled, appreciating her concern. “Yeah, I know. I’ll behave. Promise.”
She sighed, satisfied with my response, then nodded. “Good. You need him for this, Dave. Don’t let your pride mess it up.”
With that, she turned back to her chopping, resuming her playful performance for the camera. I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of what lay ahead. If anyone could figure out what was going on with Courage, it was Alan—but Maggie was right. I had to play it smart.
As I left the market, bag in hand, a mix of anticipation and unease churned inside me. Alan wasn’t going to make this easy, but I had no choice. I needed answers.
Whatever the day had in store, I’d be ready.