They left the alley and those unconscious men behind, stepping back onto the cracked sidewalk. Jordan had called the police before leaving.
Ahead of them, a neon sign buzzed with a chaotic, seizure-inducing strobe effect.
Sammy's Market.
It was a glowing sore on the dark street. The 'M' flickered on and off, making the whole place look like it was winking badly at the slums. It wasn't fancy. It wasn't clean. But it was cheap.
Jordan flexed his right hand as they walked. He winced. The knuckles were already turning a distinct shade of angry purple.
"That's going to stiffen up real soon," Evan noted, glancing at the swelling. "Ice immediately. Or a bag of frozen peas if you're cheap."
"Like I said, this is nothing." Jordan grinned, shaking his wrist out. "Worth it for that volley. Seriously, Evan. That kick? That wasn't luck. That was muscle memory and… pure genius."
Evan shifted his weight, looking away. "It was geometry and standard force application, Jordan. Nothing more."
"Whatever you say, Einstein."
The automatic doors slid open with a grinding protest.
Sammy's was an anomaly in New Orelis. While the corporate chains in the city center charged six dollars for a loaf of artisanal bread, Sammy sold bread for a dollar-fifty. It was so cheap it defied market logic. Many people suspected Sammy was either running a charity or a front for money laundering. But Evan didn't really care. Either way, the math worked in his favor.
"Crazy we've been coming here since we were little," Jordan said, squinting at the flickering light. "Remember when we used to blow our entire weekly allowance on those spicy ramen cups?"
Evan chuckled, the sound low in his throat. "Yeah. And then we'd sit on the curb and cry while we ate them because they were too spicy."
"Spicy is the greatest flavor, my friend," Jordan laughed. "Worth it. Always worth it."
He took a deep breath through his nose.
"Smells exactly the same," Jordan noted. "Dust, wet cardboard, and… is that bleach?"
"It's the smell of savings," Evan said, stepping onto the rubber mat.
The door sensor triggered, letting them into the wash of harsh fluorescent light.
The cashier, a teenager named Marcus with heavy eyelids and headphones around his neck, was slumped over the counter, staring at the lottery ticket machine like he was praying for it to explode.
Jordan didn't just walk in; he made an entrance.
"Yo, Marcus!" Jordan boomed, slamming his good hand on the counter. "Wake up, man! You look like you're already sixty!"
Marcus jumped, ripping his headphones off. When he saw it was Jordan, the annoyance melted into a tired grin.
"Jordan. Man, keep it down. My head is killing me."
"That's because you're listening to slow jams," Jordan teased, leaning over the plexiglass. "I told you, you gotta play something with a beat. Get the blood moving. You can't sell vegetables with low energy, Marcus. The carrots can sense them."
Marcus actually laughed, shaking his head. "You're crazy, Jordan. You want the usual?"
"Nah, just browsing with the VIP," Jordan said, hooking a thumb at Evan. "Hold the fort down, Marcus. Don't let the produce revolt."
Evan gave a small nod to Marcus, grabbing a sticky red plastic basket. Marcus nodded back, but the energy was different. With Evan, it was polite. With Jordan, it was family.
They moved into the aisles, and it became immediately clear: Jordan was the unofficial Mayor of Edgewater.
In the produce section, an elderly woman was squeezing avocados with suspicious intensity.
"Mrs. Gable!" Jordan called out, waving. "Don't squeeze too hard, you'll bruise them! How's the hip?"
Mrs. Gable looked up, her wrinkled face breaking into a wide smile. "Oh, Jordan! It's better. Much better. You tell your mom I have that casserole recipe for her."
"I will! She's going to love it!"
Two aisles over, a massive guy in a security uniform was looking at frozen pizzas.
"Big Tony!" Jordan shouted, pointing two fingers like guns. "Shift change?"
"Yo, J-Man," the guard grunted, lifting a fist for a bump. "Yeah. Long night."
"Get the pepperoni," Jordan advised, not even breaking stride. "The cheese one tastes like cardboard now. I believe they changed the recipe."
Evan walked silently beside him, feeling like a ghost haunting a parade.
It was a variable Evan could never calculate. He still lived in this neighborhood, walked the same streets, but Jordan, who had left this place a few years ago, still occupied them. Evan saw people as obstacles to navigate or data points to ignore. Jordan saw them as NPCs with dialogue trees he had to complete.
"You know everyone," Evan muttered, stopping in front of the canned beans.
"It's called being social, Evan," Jordan grinned, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "You should try it. People are more interesting than whatever you're studying."
"People are irrational," Evan countered. "Numbers are consistent."
He turned his attention to the shelf. There were a few brands of baked beans.
Brand A: 90 cents.
Brand B: 75 cents.
He picked up Brand B. The only one left. He rotated the can. A dent near the rim.
A dent meant a micro-fracture in the seal, which carried a risk of botulism. He ran the numbers in a split second. The potential cost of medical treatment was astronomical. Something he couldn't afford right now.
He weighed that nightmare scenario against the fifteen-cent discount and shook his head. The risk assessment was clear: it wasn't worth the savings.
He put it back and found a pristine can, placing it in the basket.
He moved with efficiency.
Rice. 5kg bag. Best caloric value per dollar. Bread. White, not whole wheat. Lacked nutrients, but lasted two days longer before molding. Eggs. One carton. Checked for cracks.
Jordan wandered back into view. He was humming a cartoon theme song, seemingly fascinated by a display of off-brand detergent. Then, he stopped at the candy rack.
He snatched a pack of neon-green gummy worms. He checked the back of the package like a health fanatic analyzing macros.
"Sugar, corn syrup, citric acid, and red dye number 40," Jordan read aloud. "The four essential food groups."
He sauntered over and dropped the bag into Evan's basket.
Evan looked down at the neon worms sitting on top of his sensible rice.
"Candy?" Evan asked.
Jordan flashed a confident grin. "Life needs a little sweetness, man. You should try some. You look like you've been sucking on a lemon all day."
Evan picked up the bag, flipping it over to read the bold warning label on the front.
"Jordan," Evan said, deadpan. "These are 'Toxic Waste' sour worms. They aren't sweet. They literally burn your tongue."
Jordan froze. He squinted at the bag, realized his mistake, but didn't drop the grin for a second. He recovered instantly, waving a hand dismissively.
"I… knew that," Jordan lied smoothly. "It's irony, Evan. It's a metaphor. You have to endure the sour to appreciate the… uh… the texture. It's sophisticated humor. You wouldn't get it."
Evan shook his head. A laugh slipped out despite himself. That was Jordan. He could trip over his own feet and claim it was a tactical roll.
"Fine," Evan said, leaving the candy in the basket. "But you're paying for the dentistry."
"I'll use pliers," Jordan winked. "Free of charge."