All had gone well up to this point, Martin thought as he looked down the dimly lit aisle of one of the town’s supermarkets. Nobody paid him any attention as he lingered by the fridges full of dairy products, almost completely out of sight of the cashiers. The old - almost ancient - clock on the wall was tirelessly working its way towards closing time and not a single living soul noticed him as he swiftly snuck around the corner just as the remaining customers swiped their cards at the terminal.

Where he stood he could barely hear them doing the awkward social dance of asking the overworked adolescent man behind the counter how his day had been, before rapidly moving on to complaining about the rain outside.

Before moving on to the ever-so-interesting subtopics of weather, they were interrupted by the iconic beep from the terminal, transaction approved.

Martin pushed his body tightly up against the juice boxes and tensed up.

His eyes almost beamed with anticipation as he looked at the fridge across the aisle. It had all sorts of good stuff in it, froyos, iced coffee, even some of that pumpkin spice that he’d always heard about around this time of year, but never tasted.

Would he pass on it tonight? He didn’t think so, flavored coffee didn’t really pique his interest, but, as the saying goes, when in Rome…

He almost chuckled but stopped himself just in time as he snapped back to reality.

He would have to stay completely still and keep quiet if he didn’t want to end up on a hard bench at the county's holding cell.

He’d gone to the store to scout it out every day for the past week, so he knew standing in this specific spot he would stay just out of the surveillance cameras' prying lens. The angle he was standing in would also hide enough of him for the store's employees not to see him unless they focused their gaze directly at the spot, or -god forbid- for some reason decided to check the aisle. Something they hadn’t done after closing any other day this week, so he felt as certain as he could that wouldn’t happen today either.

This is it, all I have to do is stand here for ten minutes, give or take 2 minutes.

Ten minutes is usually a long time for a person to remain perfectly still, not to mention, staying dead quiet. Martin, however, well, you could say he had a knack for it.

Growing up, Martin had been one of those quiet boys who’d take detours around the schoolyard in order to avoid certain groups.

Certain groups for Martin would include many groups, most of them really.

He’d been a timid boy, almost to the point that people would forget about him being in the same room as them, which for obvious reasons should prove rather beneficial tonight.

He had stuck to himself for the most part and tried to stay out of trouble. If you were to look for him you’d usually find him drawing fantasy characters somewhere secluded between classes.

He drew powerful sorcerers, bulky - and cheerful - dwarfs with tankards and hammers bigger than themselves.

He drew heroic knights and sneaky gnomes, and a couple of years later, succubi. He’d been ashamed of it of course, but what fifteen-year-old boy with an unhealthy fixation for fantasy and tabletop roleplaying games didn’t delve into some of the more adult areas of fiction every now and then?

Back then he’d been so easy to take advantage of, not only for his weak and extremely slim frame but also because of his tendency to completely freeze up when being confronted, especially if he was uncertain he’d done something wrong.

The other kids used to pin all of their shenanigans on him, and he always just stood there dumbfounded. His mind had always been racing, but for any onlooker, he’d looked as if he'd had his brains fried.

The statue of Glenstadt, that's what they’d called him.

Years had passed and Martin was no longer a kid, he was a thirty-two-year-old man. No longer was his body that of a seven-year-old boy, stretched out to look like a teenager. No, today he had the appropriate physique for a man his age, maybe not in top shape, but at least not fat and soggy.

Today was also the day he’d decided to stop being the prey, today he would become the predator.

Ten minutes passed and Martin could hear the cashiers' whistles become lower for each second as he was about to finish closing up the store. Martin had been able to stay quiet and stay out of sight when the kid walked to the office to lock up the change and get his coat from the locker rooms.

The door to the store opened and he could hear the rain patter on the concrete outside, and then it closed.

Several seconds passed in silence as Martin started to second guess this whole ordeal, but then…

Then something brought him back, it was the sound of a key sliding into the keyhole, he could hear every bolt of the lock distinctively click as it went further in, and as the grand finale, a heavy click as the lock was shut.

Well, it’s a bit too late to have second thoughts now, he thought to himself as he blew away the thick strand of oily black hair that had been tickling his eyelid for quite some time.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Lifting his gaze to the fridge across the aisle again, he licked his chapped lips and tried to think of a fitting one-liner he could spit out to celebrate his victory.

After a few minutes, he cleared his throat and said with a hoarse voice to nobody in particular “Tonight we dine in hell”.

It took him a good two seconds to regret his choice, but at the same time, he didn’t care.

Tonight was his night, tonight he would feast.

He couldn’t refrain from laughing when he playfully thought; “Dungeon, section one - check!”

Without any hesitation, he lunged at the fridge, at least a dozen chilled caffeinated drinks hit the floor as he threw open the doors and reached in to grab the first bottle he could grasp.

Double chocolate latte with toffee syrup, he read the words out loud as he looked down on it. Martin frowned, he craved coffee. Real coffee, not this bland excuse, candy for toddlers kind of coffee.

Throwing the bottle on the floor he reached in again, and to his joy, the next bottle said “Double espresso”. This was real coffee, not some fancy mumbo jumbo trying to resemble said liquid.

He ripped off the lid and almost inhaled the beverage inside. It had been days since he’d had a decent cup of coffee, and this was the best one he’d tasted for quite some while.

With tears in his eyes, he looked at the empty glass bottle in his hand. The label was elegant, almost a bit too elegant to be on some simple soft drink packaging.

It looked almost a bit snobbish with its black and dark gray striped background and rose gold sparkly font.

The coffee he usually got his hands on was watered down, and he compared it to homeopathy - one part coarsely ground coffee, 100,000 parts water - but he knew that the shelter on blackridge avenue was short on money. It wasn’t that he was ungrateful, but he hadn’t really got used to drinking low-quality beverages just yet.

It had been just two years since he’d lost it all and ended up living on the streets.

Even though he blamed the man who’d framed him, he couldn’t help but blame himself. After all, it’d been his inaptitude to defend himself from false accusations that became his downfall.

Martin was living the dream, working for a renowned game development studio as a game mechanics engineer, but one day his colleague - and supposedly friend - leaked footage and a lot of information on one of their upcoming games.

Oliver Thompson was his name, or at least so he thought.

It had been a rather substantial leak, as Oliver revealed most of the story, weapons modification systems, character development arches, and more, and a leak like that wouldn't go unnoticed, or even unpunished.

This naturally wouldn’t affect Martin, if it wasn’t for the small but crucial detail that Oliver had used Martin's computer, Martin's social media, and even his youtube channel.

Oliver ran his recordings through an AI model, using the voiceover of several of Martin's old videos to train it, and the results were uncanny, to say the least.

During pretrial negotiations, he folded. The recordings had been too convincing and his own lawyer started doubting the case. The easy way out had been to plead guilty and settle, the repercussions had been to end up without a penny in his pocket, but he would avoid prison, and he’d gladly trade away everything he had to keep himself from being locked up.

Even if it meant living out the rest of his days as a second-class citizen.

So this is what it’s like when you decide not to play the part of a nice guy?

He mumbled the words to himself, and when he was done admiring the gracefulness of the label he went for the pumpkin spice but stopped himself just as he was about to rip off the plastic cover.

Not today, a man got to have something to look forward to, he said and put it in his pocket.

Instead, he reached for one of those elegant bottles.

Deciding that two bottles of double espresso were enough, he put two more in his pockets and headed off to the frozen food section.

On his way, he picked up three bags of chips, some chocolate bars, and a couple of bags of beef jerky. They were the nice ones, teriyaki flavored. He imagined the astonished looks on the faces of his small alleyway community when he’d return with treasure for them all as he shoved all of it into his backpack.

.

How many frozen pizzas does one need to go from starving to being full? I guess four would suffice he thought as he picked them up and headed for the staff room.

He hadn’t been able to set his foot there, or even get so much as a glimpse of it, but the employee’s breakroom was sure to have a microwave.

This is when he faced yet another obstacle, or to use his own words, it was a goddamn dungeon puzzle.

The door to the staff room was locked. Thankfully the door didn’t look that sturdy, and since he was all by himself he threw caution to the wind.

Sure, he could have tried to pick the lock, but he’d never done that and even if he would have known where to begin, weren’t you supposed to have some kind of tools?

He’d seen games where the characters looked like they were picking a lock with their bare hand, but he was positive that had only been due to limitations or just out of scope.

Martin's shoulder hit the door with the intent of bashing it in. He’d seen it in movies and it didn’t look that hard, just jump towards it, and as soon as your body makes contact, you’d look like some awesome action character flying through splinters of wood… It didn’t budge, not at all.

Alright, maybe he’d been a bit too soft...

Bang!

Once more he threw himself at the door, applying more force than during the prior attempt. Still, the door remained unscathed.

He stood back, maybe it wasn’t as easy as they made it look. His shoulder hurt, but it wasn’t too bad, just enough for it to be a bit uncomfortable.

Okay, have it your way then…

Filled with decisiveness, Martin backed up a bit, put the pizzas on the floor, and threw himself at the wooden door with all his might. It cracked and he crashed hard on the floor on the other side.

It wasn’t the same tiling he thought as he lay on the floor, half-heartedly taking in the new room as he was caressing his shoulder. It hurt a lot.

The pain was bearable, but it was impossible to ignore.

He lay there, laughing to himself…

“Dungeon, section two - a fucking puzzle…. Check!”