The garage was a place of forgotten projects and good intentions. It smelled of rust and old gasoline. It was full of things that were broken and would probably stay that way. Chris stood in the middle of the dusty concrete floor, the quest log for his [Scavenger Hunt] glowing patiently in his vision.
[- 15kg Refined Metal (Iron/Steel)]
The number mocked him. Thirty-three pounds. He looked around the garage. There was Pete's sprawling collection of wrenches and sockets, all neatly hung on a pegboard. There were old paint cans and bags of fertilizer. There was a bicycle with a flat tire that hadn't been ridden since 2007. But there was nothing that screamed "fifteen kilograms of disposable scrap metal." Everything was either too useful, too small, or too covered in webs (and spiders) for him to want to touch.
He had spent the better part of an hour wandering the backyard, using his [INSPECT] ability on random objects, hoping to find a hidden cache of iron. He'd found a few old railroad spikes half-buried near the fence line, but his HUD had informed him they only amounted to about two kilograms of low-grade iron. He was still thirteen kilos short. He had even, in a moment of desperation, scanned the family's propane grill.
[Object: Propane Grill (Char-Broil, 2015)]
[Material Composition: Steel (18kg), Plastic (2kg)]
The grill had enough steel, but he knew with certainty that if he tried to melt it down into a lawnmower, Pete would melt him down into a small, greasy spot on the patio.
Frustration began to set in, a familiar, prickly feeling. This was a part of video games he always hated. The resource grind. The tedious, mind-numbing process of wandering the map, looking for ore veins to mine or mobs to farm for rare drops. He had the blueprint for a legendary item, but he was stuck because he couldn't find enough iron ore.
He needed a change of scenery. He needed to get out of the house, away from the thoughts of the dead lawnmower. He had a few crumpled bills left in his wallet from the last grocery run Misty had sent him on. It was enough for a coffee. A real coffee, from a coffee shop, not the watery brew from their coffee maker.
The act of simply going somewhere on a whim, not because of a chore or a quest, but because he wanted to, felt a little odd. Shouldn't he get back to Vexlorn? He was a Level 7 Arbiter. Surely, he was allowed to take a coffee break.
He grabbed the keys to the beige SUV, shouted a vague "heading out for a bit!" in the direction of the living room, and made his escape.
"The Daily Grind" was the main coffee shop in Buckhannon, a cozy place on Bushy Fork Road with a comforting smell of roasted beans that wafted out of and around the building. It was a place where college students pretended to study and old men gathered to solve the world's problems over mugs of black coffee. For Chris, it was enemy territory. It was public. It was filled with people.
He pushed the door open, a little bell tinkling cheerfully above his head. He was immediately hit with a wall of sensory information: the low murmur of conversations, the hiss and clank of the espresso machine, the rich, complex aroma of coffee and baked goods. He stood awkwardly by the door for a moment, trying to be as unnoticeable as possible, a skill he had had tried to honed to a fine art over the years. He felt like a stealth character who had just walked into a brightly lit room.
The line was short, only two people ahead of him. He shuffled forward, his eyes fixed on the menu board above the counter, pretending to be deeply engrossed in the difference between a macchiato and a cortado. He already knew what he was going to order: a plain, black coffee, the simplest, least-interaction-required item on the menu.
The person in front of him, a woman in yoga pants, finished her complicated order involving oat milk and a specific number of ice cubes. The line moved forward. It was his turn. He stepped up to the counter, his gaze still glued to the menu, and mumbled his order at the ceiling.
"Just a large black coffee, please."
"Coming right up."
The voice was cheerful, friendly, and unexpectedly familiar. Chris looked up.
And his brain stuttered.
Working the counter, a green apron tied neatly around her waist, was Jessica. The teenage cashier from the harrowing encounter with Mayor Bob Thompson at Kroger's.
She looked different here, out of the harsh fluorescent lighting and the drab uniform of the grocery store. Her hair was tied back in a messy ponytail, and a smudge of chocolate was on her cheek. She looked more relaxed, more confident. She looked up to take his payment, and a flash of recognition crossed her face. Her professional, customer-service smile widened into a genuine, friendly grin.
"Hey, I know you," she said, her eyes lighting up.
The moment their eyes met, a new quest notification popped into Chris's HUD.
[Quest: Form a Community Connection]
[Objective: Successfully navigate a positive social interaction with a known community member.]
[Reward: 150 XP, +5 Community Standing]
Chris stared at the quest, a jolt of social anxiety warring with the Pavlovian thrill of a new objective. A quest for talking to someone. The System was really pushing him out of his comfort zone.
He fumbled with the crumpled bills in his hand, his mind racing. What was he supposed to say? "Yes, I am the man you saw witness your public humiliation at the hands of our corrupt mayor. Nice to see you again."
Jessica saved him from his own awkwardness. She leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
"You were at Kroger's during the... coupon incident." She rolled her eyes, a gesture of shared suffering. "That was, like, the worst day of my life. I totally thought I was going to get fired."
"He was being a real jerk," Chris managed to say, the words feeling clumsy and inadequate.
"Tell me about it," she said, her grin returning. "But you know what? After he stormed off, my manager, Mr. Burton, came over. He said he reviewed the security footage and that I did the right thing. He said I handled it professionally and that Mayor Thompson is a 'pompous windbag.'" She giggled. "He gave me a ten-dollar gift card."
"That's cool," Chris said, feeling a small sense of relief. At least she hadn't gotten in trouble.
"Yeah," Jessica said, turning to start his coffee. "But that's not even the best part." She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Later that night, that 'Bucky Watcher' post showed up and turned the whole town against him. Whoever that person was, they are a legend. You have no idea how awesome it was to see everyone taking my side. My phone was blowing up. People I hadn't talked to since middle school were messaging me, like, 'You go, girl!'"
Chris felt a warm glow spread through his chest. It was a feeling he wasn't familiar with. It was secondhand praise, but it felt as potent and real as any XP reward. This was the first time he had heard a positive, real-world consequence of his chaotic meddling. He hadn't just exposed a pompous politician; he had made this girl, this stranger, feel supported. He had, accidentally, done a good thing.
The feeling was intoxicating. It was a surge of uncharacteristic confidence, a heady rush of validation. And in that moment, in a split-second, reckless decision fueled by a desire to impress this new, friendly acquaintance, he leaned forward.
"About that Bucky Watcher profile," he whispered, his voice barely a tremor.
Jessica turned back, handing him his coffee, a curious look on her face.
Chris took the coffee, his hand shaking slightly. "The profile had to be deleted for... technical reasons." He looked her directly in the eye. "But the person behind it wanted to say, 'you're welcome.'"
Jessica's eyes went wide. Her mouth fell open slightly. She stared at him, the cheerful, professional mask dropping away, replaced by pure disbelief.
"Wait..." she mouthed the words silently, her voice a strangled whisper. "...that was YOU?"
Chris gave a small, awkward nod, a thrill of terror and exhilarating pride coursing through him. He had done it. He had confessed. This was either the coolest or the stupidest thing he had ever done, and he honestly couldn't tell which.
He braced himself for her reaction. He expected her to be creeped out, to take a step back, to excuse herself and go into the back. He was, after all, a strange, thirty-year-old man who had just admitted to being an anonymous internet troll.
Instead, her face broke into an even bigger grin than before. It was a wide, conspiratorial, absolutely delighted smile.
"No way!" she whispered back, her voice filled with a giddy excitement. "That's awesome! I knew it had to be someone cool. Don't worry," she added, giving him a quick, reassuring wink. "Your secret is safe with me. That was the coolest thing ever."
The positive social interaction, a rare and precious event in the barren landscape of Chris's social life, was exhilarating. It was like landing a critical hit in a conversation.
A triumphant, chime sounded in his mind.
[Quest Completed! 150 XP Awarded!]
[+5 Community Standing]
[New Ally Gained: Jessica Lange]
[Ally Trait: Trustworthy. Secrets are 95% less likely to be revealed.]
He had an ally. A real-life ally. He felt a surge of warmth and connection that had nothing to do with the hot coffee in his hand.
"Thanks," he said, a real, genuine smile spreading across his face.
"Coffee's on me," Jessica said, pushing his crumpled bills back across the counter. "Professional courtesy."
Chris walked away from the counter, his mind buzzing. He found a small, empty table in the corner of the coffee shop and sat down, the surprisingly good coffee a welcome warmth in his hands. He felt... good. He felt connected. He had navigated a social situation and had not only survived but had thrived. He had gained an ally. He had gained 150 XP. This whole "going outside" thing was starting to have its perks.
To calm his still-buzzing nerves, he pulled out his phone and started mindlessly scrolling the Upshur County Community Forum. The #MusketGate furor had died down, replaced by the usual small-town chatter. He saw a post from Brenda G. about her prize-winning zinnias. He saw an announcement for a car wash fundraiser for the high school band.
And then he saw it. Another angry post from a resident named Tim M., the same guy who had been one of the first to comment on his Bucky Watcher post. The post was titled, "SERIOUSLY, CAN WE DO SOMETHING ABOUT THIS POTHOLE???" It was accompanied by a blurry, poorly-lit photo of a particularly nasty-looking pothole on South Kanawha Street, right in front of the old movie theater.
"This thing is going to swallow my car whole one of these days!" Tim's post read. "I swear it gets bigger every time it rains. Can't the city do anything? My tax dollars at work, I guess."
Out of pure, ingrained habit, Chris used his [INSPECT] ability on the blurry photo on his phone screen. The data window popped up, and he scanned the information.
[Object: Pothole (Asphalt, Gravel)]
[Structural Integrity: 12%]
[Primary Components: Asphalt (Degraded), Compacted Gravel, Rainwater]
[Sub-component: Rebar (Steel, 8.5kg, Exposed)]
Chris's eyes locked on the final line. He read it again.
[Sub-component: Rebar (Steel, 8.5kg, Exposed)]
He stared at the screen, a new idea forming in his mind, chasing away the last of his social anxiety. The [Scavenger Hunt] quest, the frustrating grind for metal, had just found its first, most promising target. He looked from the angry pothole post on his phone to the warm, comforting coffee in his hand.
The universe, it seemed, provided. You just had to know where to look.