BLOOD CLICKER
CHAPTER 2 — THE MAN HOLDING IT
Evan didn't choose an upgrade.
Not that night.
He stood in the bathroom staring at:
WORLD RANK: 8,214,771,903
until his mother knocked.
"Evan?"
He flinched.
The ranking vanished.
"Yeah?"
"You've been in there twenty minutes."
He looked at himself in the mirror.
"I'll be out."
A pause.
"You okay?"
Evan almost said yes.
He'd been saying it constantly.
"I'm tired."
"Okay."
Her footsteps moved away.
Evan waited until he couldn't hear them anymore.
Then stopped.
He could still hear them.
Not clearly.
The floor creaked once beneath her weight.
A cabinet opened in the kitchen.
Then closed.
Evan frowned.
Before Blood Clicker, he probably wouldn't have noticed any of that from the bathroom.
Ten percent.
He'd been treating it like a number.
A small one.
Ten percent more strength didn't sound incredible.
If he could lift fifty pounds before, maybe now he could manage fifty-five under the same conditions.
Useful.
Not amazing.
But Blood Clicker hadn't increased one thing by ten percent.
It had increased him.
Evan looked at the mirror.
His hearing.
Vision.
Balance.
Reaction time.
Coordination.
Strength.
Endurance.
Recovery.
Focus.
Everything working together.
That wasn't the same thing.
He opened his notebook.
Under his previous notes, he wrote:
10% MAY NOT ACT LIKE 10%.
Then immediately crossed it out.
Too vague.
He tried again.
A 10% IMPROVEMENT TO EVERYTHING MAY COMBINE INTO A MUCH BIGGER PRACTICAL ADVANTAGE.
Better.
He underlined may.
He still wasn't assuming anything.
The next morning proved part of it accidentally.
Evan was carrying a bowl to the table when his sister bumped his elbow.
The bowl slipped.
She gasped.
Evan caught it.
He didn't catch it after some dramatic blur.
It fell.
His hand moved.
The bowl stopped six inches above the floor.
Silence.
His sister stared.
Evan stared harder.
"Okay."
She pointed at him.
"What the hell?"
"I caught it."
"I saw that."
Their mother looked over from the stove.
"What happened?"
"Zombie reflexes."
"Don't call him that."
"I didn't mean—"
"It's fine."
His sister went quiet.
Too quickly.
Evan immediately regretted the sharpness in his mother's voice.
His sister had made the same kinds of jokes before.
Now nobody knew which jokes were allowed.
His mother turned back toward the stove.
Evan placed the bowl on the table.
His sister leaned closer.
"Seriously, though."
"What?"
"That was fast."
Evan shrugged.
"Got lucky."
She kept looking at him.
He couldn't tell whether she believed him.
That mattered.
He hadn't thought enough about people noticing.
Later, he tested again.
Nothing dangerous.
Nothing dramatic.
He dropped a pen from one hand and caught it with the other.
Repeated.
He stood on one leg with his eyes closed.
He used reaction-time tests.
He carried groceries upstairs.
He tossed a tennis ball against his bedroom wall and caught it.
Again.
Again.
Again.
The numbers varied.
But the pattern didn't.
Evan wasn't ten percent better at one thing.
When catching the tennis ball, better eyesight noticed its movement sooner.
Better processing understood the path sooner.
Better reaction time began his response sooner.
Better coordination sent his hand where he wanted it.
Better balance kept the rest of his body stable.
Better muscular control corrected small errors.
Each individual improvement was modest.
Together?
The ball almost always landed where his hand expected.
Evan stopped throwing it.
"Oh."
He sat on his bed.
That was different.
He wrote:
THE BOOSTS STACK IN PRACTICE EVEN IF THE NUMBER DOESN'T.
He thought about that.
Then added:
Example: catching something isn't just reaction time. It's vision + processing + movement + coordination + balance. All improved.
Evan looked toward the red button.
10,010 CLICKS
He still hadn't clicked again.
His first upgrade remained available.
So did the ranking.
He hadn't opened either.
Not because he wasn't curious.
Because he was.
Far too curious.
Two days later, Evan returned to the convenience store.
His mother hated the idea.
"No."
"I need my stuff."
"I'll get it."
"Mom."
"No."
"I'm not going back to work."
"Good."
"I'm picking up my backpack."
"I'll pick it up."
Evan stared at her.
She stared back.
He understood.
She'd last seen him leave for work alive.
Hours later, police had called.
Going back there wasn't just going to a store for her.
"Come with me," he said.
That caught her off guard.
"What?"
"Drive me. Come inside if you want."
Her shoulders loosened slightly.
"You're sure?"
"No."
That answer seemed to help more than pretending.
"But I want to go."
She nodded.
"Okay."
The convenience store looked painfully ordinary.
Same faded advertisements.
Same buzzing lights.
Same burnt-coffee smell.
Evan stopped just inside the entrance.
His body went tight.
Not because this was where he'd died.
It wasn't.
But this was where he'd been immediately before.
His last normal place.
A man behind the counter looked up.
Marcus.
His former coworker.
Marcus's mouth opened.
Then closed.
"Evan?"
"Hey."
Marcus stared.
News of Evan's return had spread.
Apparently seeing him was different.
"Dude."
"Yeah."
Marcus came around the counter.
Then stopped three feet away.
He clearly wanted to do something and had no idea what.
Handshake?
Hug?
Pretend nothing happened?
Evan solved it for him.
He held out a fist.
Marcus bumped it.
Then grabbed him and hugged him anyway.
"You absolute asshole."
Evan laughed despite himself.
"For what?"
"You died."
"Wasn't really scheduled."
Marcus released him.
His eyes were wet.
He wiped them before pretending to inspect the counter.
"Shut up."
Evan's mother looked away to give him the dignity of pretending nobody noticed.
Evan noticed.
He said nothing.
Marcus retrieved Evan's backpack from the office.
They talked.
Badly, at first.
Then normally.
About work.
About the police.
About the manager refusing to delete Evan from the schedule for two days because nobody had remembered the password.
That one actually made Evan laugh.
For five minutes, things felt almost normal.
Then the entrance chimed.
A man walked in wearing a dark sweatshirt.
Evan barely noticed him.
Marcus did.
"Welcome in."
The man approached the counter.
One hand stayed inside the sweatshirt pocket.
Something about him felt wrong.
Not supernatural.
Evan couldn't read minds.
He simply noticed more now.
The man's eyes kept moving.
Door.
Marcus.
Evan.
Evan's mother.
Camera.
Back to Marcus.
His breathing was fast.
His shoulders were tight.
Evan looked at him more carefully.
The man noticed.
"What?"
Evan immediately looked away.
"Nothing."
His mother touched Evan's arm.
"You got your bag?"
"Yeah."
"Then let's—"
The man pulled a handgun from his pocket.
Everything changed.
Evan froze.
So did everyone else.
The gun looked smaller than movies made guns look.
That somehow made it worse.
Marcus's hands rose immediately.
"Okay."
The robber's hand shook.
"Register."
Marcus didn't move.
"I said open it!"
"Okay. Okay."
Marcus turned toward the register.
Evan's heart hammered.
The red button appeared.
CLICK
He ignored it.
His mother was beside him.
Close.
Too close.
The gun wasn't aimed at Evan.
It was aimed generally toward the counter.
That distinction didn't comfort him.
His mother grabbed the back of his shirt.
Not hard.
Instinctively.
Like he was still a child she could pull behind her.
Evan didn't move.
He watched.
The gunman kept glancing at everyone.
Not calm.
Not professional.
Scared.
That was worse in its own way.
His hand shook harder whenever someone moved.
Marcus opened the register.
"Take it."
"Bag."
"I need a bag."
"GET ONE!"
Marcus flinched.
Evan did too.
His mother whispered:
"Don't."
Evan hadn't moved.
"I know."
"Don't do anything."
"I'm not."
And he meant it.
This wasn't a movie.
Ten percent stronger did not make him bulletproof.
Ten percent tougher did not make a hole through his chest acceptable.
The gun could kill him.
Very easily.
Maybe Blood Clicker could resurrect him again.
Maybe it couldn't.
He had no intention of testing that.
Marcus started putting cash into a plastic bag.
The robber looked toward the entrance.
A customer outside reached for the door.
The gunman's attention snapped toward him.
"No!"
He swung the weapon toward the entrance.
The customer saw it through the glass and ran.
The robber turned back.
His breathing was worse now.
Evan saw something.
Not a weakness.
A sequence.
The gun didn't aim itself.
The man had to move it.
His eyes shifted first.
Then his head.
Then his shoulders.
Then his arm followed.
Evan had noticed the entire thing.
Not slowly.
Just—
clearly.
The gunman pointed back toward Marcus.
Evan's pulse pounded in his ears.
The gun is fast.
That wasn't useful.
Of course it was fast.
A bullet would cross the store long before Evan could do anything about it.
But before the bullet—
there was him.
A frightened man deciding where to point the weapon.
The robber's eyes moved.
Toward Evan.
Evan's stomach dropped.
Then the head.
Shoulder.
Arm.
Evan moved.
Not after the gun pointed at him.
Before.
One step sideways.
The robber's arm finished turning toward where Evan had been.
"STOP!"
Evan froze behind the end of an aisle.
The muzzle followed.
Evan moved again as the man started correcting.
Not fast enough to blur.
Not remotely.
Just earlier than the robber expected.
"STAY STILL!"
"I'm trying!"
Evan wasn't.
His mother had ducked beside a display.
"Evan!"
The robber jerked toward her voice.
Evan saw it.
Eyes.
Head.
Shoulders—
"No."
He moved before the weapon finished turning.
Not toward the robber.
Toward his mother.
He grabbed her arm and pulled her farther behind the shelving.
The gun fired.
BANG!
The sound destroyed every thought in Evan's head.
His mother screamed.
Marcus dropped behind the counter.
Evan hit the floor with his mother.
Something shattered behind them.
For several seconds Evan heard almost nothing except ringing.
He touched his chest.
No blood.
His mother.
He grabbed her shoulders.
"Mom?"
Her eyes were huge.
"I'm okay."
He checked anyway.
Arms.
Chest.
No blood.
"Are you hit?"
"No!"
The robber shouted something.
Evan couldn't make out the words.
His ears hurt.
The bullet had struck a refrigerated case.
A spiderweb of damaged glass marked the door.
Evan stared at it.
That could have been him.
Ten percent meant nothing to the bullet.
The bullet had crossed the distance almost instantly.
He hadn't dodged it.
He hadn't even seen it.
He'd moved before the trigger was pulled.
That was completely different.
The robber backed toward the entrance.
Marcus stayed down.
Nobody chased him.
Nobody suddenly became brave.
The man shoved through the door and ran.
For three seconds, nobody moved.
Then Marcus shouted:
"LOCK IT!"
His voice sounded distant through the ringing.
Evan's mother grabbed him.
"What the hell were you doing?"
Her face was furious.
Terrified.
Both.
"He turned toward you."
"You could've been shot!"
"So could you!"
"THAT DOESN'T MEAN—"
Her voice broke.
She pulled him against her.
Evan didn't argue.
Marcus crawled out from behind the counter.
"Is everyone okay?"
"I think."
"You think?"
"I don't know!"
Marcus checked himself.
Then Evan's mother.
Then Evan.
Hands shaking.
Police were called.
Again.
Evan sat on the floor while his mother refused to release his wrist.
He didn't ask her to.
Later, Evan stood in his bedroom.
The police had taken statements.
Nobody had described what Evan did the same way.
Marcus thought Evan had moved before the robber aimed.
His mother thought the robber had aimed first.
Evan wasn't sure either of them had seen it clearly.
Neither had Evan.
Not completely.
Stress had turned pieces of the memory sharp and others useless.
But one fact remained.
He had not reacted to the bullet.
Impossible.
He had reacted to the person.
Evan opened his notebook.
He wrote:
10% IS NOT SMALL.
Then beneath it:
IMPORTANT: I CANNOT DODGE BULLETS.
He underlined it twice.
The shot happened too fast. I moved before he fired.
Another line.
A weapon can be faster than me while the person using it isn't.
Evan stopped.
That wasn't quite right.
The robber wasn't slower than him at everything.
The man had simply needed time to decide, aim, correct, and react.
Evan had needed time too.
He just needed less.
And Evan had several small advantages working together.
He wrote:
10% better vision + reaction + processing + movement + balance + coordination is much more useful than only 10% strength.
Then:
Still human. Still vulnerable.
The damaged refrigerator glass flashed through his mind.
He imagined that hole in his chest.
His hand shook.
He put the pen down.
The button appeared.
CLICK
Evan stared at it.
Yesterday he'd been afraid of how easy getting stronger was.
Now he'd learned the opposite lesson.
Ten percent had helped keep him alive.
Maybe his mother too.
He hated how convincing that felt.
The upgrade menu opened.
BLOOD FINGER I
Click value ×2.
HEARTBEAT I
Generate 1 passive click every minute while alive.
DEEPER BLOOD I
Enhancement per click increased by 10%.
Evan looked at HEARTBEAT I.
One click a minute.
No effort.
No obsession necessary.
At least that was what he told himself.
He selected it.
HEARTBEAT I ACQUIRED
Nothing happened.
Evan waited.
His pulse beat normally.
Seconds passed.
Then—
+1 CLICK10,011
Evan stared.
One minute later—
+1 CLICK10,012
His heart beat.
He was getting stronger simply because it continued beating.
Evan sat on his bed.
That should have felt comforting.
Instead, he remembered the gunshot.
The glass breaking.
His mother's scream.
Then his ranking appeared.
WORLD RANK: 8,214,771,903
A second later—
WORLD RANK: 8,214,771,901
Evan stopped breathing.
Two places.
He hadn't defeated anyone.
Hadn't fought another player.
Hadn't done anything except survive and gain two clicks.
Someone below him had fallen behind.
Or—
Evan looked at the ranking.
Someone above him had disappeared.
The number changed again.
WORLD RANK: 8,214,771,899
Evan stood.
"No."
Four positions in minutes.
Something was happening.
He didn't know what.
For once, Blood Clicker answered before he asked.
RANKINGS ARE LIVE.
Evan stared.
Then another line appeared.
PLAYERS MAY RISE.
A pause.
PLAYERS MAY FALL.
Evan swallowed.
"What happens when a player dies?"
The system waited.
Evan's heartbeat generated another click.
10,013
Then the answer appeared.
THAT DEPENDS ON HOW THEY DIE.
Evan's skin went cold.
BLOOD CLICKER
END OF CHAPTER 2