The walk from Brian’s house was just long enough for Alex to feel the weight of the situation he’d been thrown into. The sun was fully out and it was relentless in the heat department. He shoved his hands into his pockets, glancing at the rows of weathered houses and cracked sidewalks. Each step felt surreal. Hearing the cicadas turn into background noise made him contemplate. It wasn’t just the fact that he’d traveled back in time—it was the bizarre mission laid out in front of him.
The building the System had mentioned was supposedly on the edge of downtown, a couple of miles away. Too far to walk without arriving drenched in sweat and looking ridiculous. He sighed, weighing his options.
He paused at a corner where a faded sign for the local bus route was tacked to a pole. Pulling a crumpled dollar bill from his pocket, Alex waited.
When the bus arrived, it groaned to a halt, spitting out a cloud of exhaust. Alex climbed aboard, the air inside smelling faintly of worn vinyl and pine-scented cleaner. The driver, a black man in his fifties with a cap tilted back on his head, gave him a nod.
“Where to?” the driver asked.
“Downtown,” Alex replied, dropping his money into the slot.
The bus rattled forward, and Alex grabbed the nearest pole to steady himself. The ride was bumpy, the seats mismatched and well-worn. A woman with a stroller sat near the front, while two teenagers whispered loudly in the back. Alex stared out the window, watching as the scenery shifted from quiet residential streets to the busier downtown area.
His mind wandered to Brian’s enthusiasm.
Of course, he thought with a grin, Brian didn’t even question how I got a building. That guy is riding the roller coaster of life with no seatbelt. It is odd though just how friendly he is… and he clearly already knew me from high school but I don’t have a recollection of him.
This troubled Alex
Is my mind that bad at memory? Next time I have the time I'll probe him about our interactions in high school.
1 hour later
The bus lurched to a stop, jolting Alex out of his thoughts. His stop was still a block away from the building, but he figured he could use the walk to clear his head. He hopped off, the 12 o’clock sun beating down on him.
The closer Alex got, the more the town’s gritty charm came into focus. Brick buildings with faded advertisements painted on their sides. A record store with a chalkboard sign out front that read, “Vinyl Revival Sale!” A donut shop he vaguely remembered driving past every time he came back home for the holidays.
He considered being nostalgic and grabbing a coffee from there, but the thought of burning through his remaining cash stopped him. He needed to make the thousand dollars last as long as possible.
As he rounded the final corner, his destination came into view. The building stood at the edge of downtown, set back slightly from the road. It looked even worse than he’d imagined—a boxy structure with grime-streaked windows and peeling paint.
Alex stopped a moment, taking it in. “Well,” he muttered to himself, “it’s not the Taj Mahal, but it’s mine. Sort of.”
The System’s voice chimed on his phone.
This property meets the minimum standards for your venture.
Stolen novel; please report.
Structural integrity: adequate.
Location: acceptable.
Potential: variable.
Alex rolled his eyes. “Gee, thanks for the pep talk.”
He stepped up to the building’s entrance, his shoes crunching over broken bits of concrete on the sidewalk. The lock on the front door was already broken, swinging slightly with the breeze. He pushed it open, the hinges squealing in protest.
As someone who’d grown up in a blue-collar home, Alex knew the warning signs of a building that screamed, "Stay out, or you’ll regret it." This place, though? It looked wrecked at first glance, sure—but nothing vital seemed outright dangerous.
The roof had no gaping holes, which was a win in his book. The walls weren’t leaning ominously, and there weren’t any loose, sparking wires hanging around like death traps. It was as if the place had been neglected for decades but somehow avoided the catastrophic failures that would’ve made it truly unsafe.
But, wow, was it filthy. Dust blanketed every surface, thick enough to write a novel in. Broken furniture, shattered glass, and debris cluttered the floors. A faint smell of mildew clung to the air, though it wasn’t unbearable.
It was the kind of place where everything screamed, "Replace me." Every fixture, every counter, every inch of flooring—it all needed to go. Still, under all the grime, there was something… solid. The bones were there.
He stepped carefully across the uneven floorboards, the sneakers leaving visible trails in the dust. This wasn’t a death trap—it was a fixer-upper. A really big fixer-upper.
The system had done me a favor in its own backwards way. I wasn’t walking into a condemned building; I was walking into potential. All it needed was vision, elbow grease, and probably a small fortune to turn into something usable. Alex thought to himself.
I let out a low whistle as I surveyed the space. “system,” I muttered, shaking my head, “let’s see if your idea of ‘resources’ comes with a cleaning crew.”
His phone buzzed in his pocket, the familiar glow of the Tycoon Project screen lighting up his hand.
Tutorial Completed.
“Congratulations, Alex Hartman. You’ve completed the introductory phase of the Tycoon Project.”
Alex blinked. “That was the tutorial?”
The text continued, ignoring his commentary.
“System parameters are now fully operational. Primary objectives will be revealed, and you may now independently engage in decision-making.”
“Primary objectives?” Alex asked, half to himself.
The phone vibrated again, more insistently this time.
Objective: Establish a sustainable, scalable, and community-impactful business.
A line of smaller text followed:
The phone answered as if it could hear his thoughts.
“The Tycoon Project aligns to encourage holistic success.”
“Alright, System,” Alex said,
I hope that doesn’t become my catchphrase
his voice steady but tired and understanding that he has no real control here yet. “What are the rules?”
The screen flickered before new text appeared:
Rule 1: Capital Allocation
“Initial seed capital will be provided for your use. Profitability will trigger additional funding at a 1:100 ratio, incentivizing growth.”
“Alright, so you’re rewarding success,” Alex muttered, pacing the room.
“Wait every $100 the business makes I only make $1! That’s robbery! That’s extorsi” Alex was cut off.
Rule 2: Performance Metrics
“Success is not determined solely by profit. Community impact, customer satisfaction, and innovation are all factors.”
“Great,” Alex said with a laugh. “So I can’t just run a scam?”
The response appeared immediately:
“Correct.”
Rule 3: Expenditure Oversight
“All expenditures must align with the business’s operations. Misuse will result in penalties.”
Alex rubbed his temple. “Penalties? Like what?”
The System didn’t elaborate, which only made him more suspicious.
Rule 4: Public Scrutiny
“All business activities may attract public interest and evaluation.”
“Translation: Don’t embarrass myself,” Alex muttered.
Rule 5: If the business becomes unprofitable funding will be changed to 10:1 to discourage morale from dropping.
As the rules sank in, Alex felt his suspicion morph into something else. For the first time, the pieces began to align in his mind. Maybe he didn’t need to destroy the System or fight against it. Maybe he could use it.
If he played along—and played smart—he could make sure his family never had to suffer again. No more financial struggles, no more broken appliances his dad couldn’t fix, no more sleepless nights for his mom trying to balance the budget.
The thought lit a fire in Alex’s chest. For the first time since waking up, he didn’t feel like a pawn in someone else’s game. This was his life, his family, and he’d use every ounce of this bizarre opportunity to secure their future.
He just had to make sure his business was as unprofitable as possible without getting caught!
looking around the building; Alex couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. “Let’s get to work.”