Arthur Grey had survived New York long enough to know that if something bizarre happened on the street, you ignored it, stepped over it, and kept moving.
Unfortunately, today the bizarre thing was the sidewalk itself.
He stopped mid-chew, bagel halfway to his mouth, staring down at a crack in the concrete. It shouldn't have moved. Cracks don't move. That's the entire job description of a crack: stay cracked.
But when he brushed a finger across it, the line tightened and pulled itself shut like someone hitting rewind on reality.
Arthur blinked once. Twice.
"…huh?"
A businessman bumped him. Someone told him to watch it. Classic New York morning.
Arthur crouched again. The sidewalk was smooth now. Perfect. Like it had never been damaged.
He stood up, muttered a confused curse, shoved his hands in his pockets, and walked faster.
Ten minutes later, at a café counter that had seen more student breakdowns than any licensed therapist, Arthur placed his hand absentmindedly on the metal surface.
The metal… flexed.
Not enough for anyone else to see — just enough for Arthur to yank his hand back like it had shocked him.
"Did… did that just—?"
The barista gave him the tired look of someone paid minimum wage to witness maximum nonsense.
"You ordering?"
"Yeah. Uh. Coffee. Black."
While waiting, he checked the countertop again from the corner of his eye. Smooth. Normal. Not moving.
Maybe he was tired. Dehydrated. Maybe the city fumes were finally melting his brain.
He took his coffee and left.
Walking down 2nd Ave, he felt something else — a faint vibration under his feet. It wasn't loud. More like a hum you feel in your bones rather than hear.
A subway train?
He waited. The vibration didn't stop.
He crouched, pressed a hand to the curb, and the damn concrete softened under his palm. Warmed. Shifted. As if it recognized him.
Arthur ripped his hand away so fast he almost fell backwards into traffic.
"NO. No. Nope. Absolutely not. What is happening?"
He checked his hand. Normal. No glowing veins. No fractures. No cartoon lightning.
He wasn't high. He wasn't sick. He was just… confused in a very specific, very unsettling way.
He kept walking, clutching his coffee like a lifeline.
Halfway home, it happened.
Not outside.
Not to the sidewalk.
Not to metal or stone.
Inside his head.
A cold, robotic message flashed across his vision like someone had installed a notification system in his brain without permission.
[ARCANUM MATRIX — INITIALIZATION]
[Subject: Arthur Promethean Maximus Grey]
[Classification: Hybrid Entity]
[Primary Affinity: Mineral — Active]
[Secondary Aspects: Fire (Dormant), Death (Sealed), Plague (Locked)]
[Aether Capacity: 34 Units]
[Harmonic Stability: Tier D]
[Status: System Online]
Arthur froze in the middle of the sidewalk.
A dog started barking at him.
A cyclist swerved around him and yelled something about idiots.
None of it registered.
"What the hell do you mean hybrid? What hybrid? Hybrid with what? A Prius?"
His heart hammered. His palms were sweaty. His brain refused to process any of the words that had just been shoved into it.
He lifted a shaking hand and touched a brick wall beside him.
The brick softened and turned glass-smooth.
Arthur jumped back.
"Nope. This is— This is not real. This is either a dream or a stroke or—"
Another pop-up flashed.
[System Notice: Physiological Shift Detected]
[Passive Trait Active]
"That is not helpful!" Arthur yelled at absolutely no one.
A couple across the street stared, decided he wasn't worth their time, and kept walking.
Arthur put both hands on top of his head and paced in a tiny circle.
"Okay. Okay. Let's review. The sidewalk fixed itself. Metal moved. Brick softened. Now there's— a system? In my head? Using words I don't understand? And apparently I'm some kind of— hybrid?"
He stopped.
Breathed in.
Breathed out.
"Right. Cool. Great. Fantastic. I'm either psychic, delusional, or the universe is playing a practical joke."
A shiver ran up his spine — not mystical, not magical, just the uncomfortable feeling of someone being watched.
He turned. Nothing.
Still, the back of his neck prickled.
"…If someone's following me, I swear I will scream."
Nothing answered.
Because of course nothing answered. Because this was New York, and the universe had better things to do than explain itself.
He pulled up his hood.
"Home. Now. Before something else decides to melt."
And with that, Arthur Grey — possibly having a breakdown, possibly becoming something not entirely human — walked off down the street like any normal New Yorker trying to avoid further nonsense.