Chapter 16: THE COMIC BOOK STORE
The Comic Center of Pasadena occupied a strip mall storefront between a dry cleaner and a Thai restaurant that had seen better decades.
I stood on the sidewalk, waiting for the others to park, studying the hand-painted sign and the faded superhero posters in the windows. This was it—the comic book store from the show. Stuart's domain. The place where fictional characters had spent countless hours arguing about fictional characters.
And now I'm one of them.
Leonard's car pulled into a spot nearby. Howard's scooter followed—yes, he actually drove a scooter, which was somehow both surprising and completely expected. Raj emerged from Leonard's passenger seat, and Sheldon unfolded himself from the back with the dignity of someone who believed he deserved better transportation.
"Nathan!" Howard approached with his usual energy. "Ready to experience the cathedral of sequential art?"
"I've been to comic stores before."
"Not this one. Stuart runs the best shop in the valley. Also the most depressing, but that's part of the charm."
The bell above the door jingled as we entered. The smell hit me first—paper, ink, and the particular mustiness of decades-old collectibles. Long boxes lined the walls. Display cases held graded comics behind glass. A rack of new releases dominated the center of the floor.
My hands itched to browse.
[BEHAVIORAL ANALYSIS: ELEVATED INTEREST DETECTED. CROSS-REFERENCING WITH HOST BODY'S NEURAL PATTERNS. CONCLUSION: INHERITED HOBBY ENGAGEMENT. GENUINE ENTHUSIASM PROBABLE.]
The original Nathan had been a collector. The recognition wasn't intellectual—it was physical. My feet knew where to go. My fingers knew how to flip through back issues without damaging the spines. The muscle memory of a thousand visits.
"Welcome to the Comic Center." A thin man emerged from behind the counter, shoulders slightly hunched, smile slightly nervous. "Oh, hey guys. And... new friend?"
Stuart Bloom. Owner, artist, and—according to the show—perpetually on the edge of financial collapse.
"Stuart, this is Nathan," Leonard said. "Biochemistry department. He's been hanging out with us lately."
"Another scientist." Stuart nodded. "We get a lot of those. Something about fictional universes appeals to people who spend their lives in labs." He paused. "Not that I'd know. I'm an art school dropout. Different kind of failure entirely."
"Stuart's sense of humor takes some getting used to," Howard said.
"It's not humor. It's clinical depression with a punchline."
I liked him immediately.
The group dispersed through the store. Sheldon headed directly for the new releases with military precision. Howard gravitated toward the manga section—specifically, I noticed, the section with the most revealing covers. Leonard browsed casually, and Raj pulled out his phone to photograph covers he wanted to research later.
I wandered toward the back issues.
The long boxes were organized alphabetically by title, then chronologically by issue. My fingers moved automatically, flipping through tabs until I found the X-Men section. The original Nathan had been an X-Men fan—I could feel it in the way my pulse quickened at certain cover images.
Cyclops. Jean Grey. The Phoenix Saga.
I kept flipping.
And then I stopped.
[ITEM DETECTED: X-MEN #137 (1980). 'THE DARK PHOENIX SAGA' CONCLUSION. CONDITION: VERY FINE. LISTED PRICE: $150.]
The comic sat in its protective sleeve, unremarkable among dozens of others. But I knew—both from the System's analysis and from deep-seated collector instinct—that this was underpriced. Significantly underpriced.
A VF copy of X-Men #137 should run $400 or more. Stuart had made a mistake.
[MISSION AVAILABLE: 'HONEST COLLECTOR' — PRICING ERROR DETECTED. REPORT ERROR TO OWNER OR PROFIT FROM DISCREPANCY. CHOICE AFFECTS KARMA METRIC. ACCEPT? Y/N]
I stared at the comic.
In my old life, I might have bought it without a second thought. Found a good deal, take it. That's how collecting worked. But this wasn't a faceless corporation making a pricing mistake. This was Stuart—a struggling small business owner who I could already tell was barely keeping the lights on.
And I have to see these people every week.
I pulled the comic from the box and walked to the counter.
"Found something good?" Stuart asked, reaching for the sleeve.
"Yeah, but there's a problem." I pointed to the price tag. "This is listed at $150."
"That's right. It's a nice copy of—" Stuart stopped. His eyes widened as he actually looked at the comic. "Oh. Oh no."
"It's X-Men #137. The Dark Phoenix conclusion. In VF condition, this should be at least $400."
Stuart's face cycled through several emotions—embarrassment, relief, gratitude, and finally something like wonder. "You're... telling me I underpriced it?"
"By about $250, yeah."
"Why would you do that?" He seemed genuinely confused. "You could have just bought it and flipped it."
"Could have. Didn't want to."
Stuart stared at me for a long moment. Then he carefully removed the price tag and wrote a new one.
"You know what? You get 10% off everything else today." He pulled a card from under the counter—a simple business card with "FRIEND OF THE STORE" handwritten on the back. "And this. Permanent discount. For being honest."
[KARMA +5. STUART BLOOM RELATIONSHIP +10. LONG-TERM INVESTMENT: CONFIRMED.]
"Thanks, Stuart."
"Thank you. Seriously. That would have hurt."
I returned to browsing with a lighter feeling in my chest. The right choice. Small, maybe, but right.
Sheldon appeared at my elbow. I hadn't heard him approach.
"I observed your transaction with Stuart," he said without preamble.
"And?"
"You sacrificed a significant financial advantage for no tangible benefit beyond social approval and a minor discount." He tilted his head, analyzing me like a particularly interesting equation. "The expected behavior would have been to exploit the pricing error."
"Maybe I'm not predictable."
"Clearly." Sheldon paused. "I find your decision... not entirely incomprehensible."
Coming from Sheldon, that was practically a compliment.
The group reconvened near the counter an hour later. Everyone had found something—Sheldon clutching new issues with protective reverence, Howard with a suspicious-looking manga, Leonard with a graphic novel, Raj typing enthusiastically about something he'd discovered.
"The eternal debate," Howard announced, holding up a comic. "Wolverine versus Batman. Who wins?"
"Batman," Sheldon said immediately. "Superior intelligence, preparation, and resources."
"Wolverine," Howard countered. "Healing factor, adamantium skeleton, raw savagery."
"Those are meaningless against strategic superiority."
"They're not meaningless if he cuts your head off before your strategy kicks in!"
They both looked at me.
"Depends on prep time," I said.
The group went quiet.
"Elaborate," Sheldon demanded.
"If Batman has prep time—if he knows the fight is coming—he wins. He's beaten Superman with prep time. Wolverine wouldn't be different. But if it's an ambush, no warning, no Batcave full of contingencies? Wolverine. The healing factor and combat instincts are too much for an unprepared human, even peak human."
Stuart nodded sagely from behind the counter. "He speaks truth."
"That's... actually a reasonable analysis," Sheldon admitted reluctantly.
"Prep time is the Batman variable," Leonard agreed. "It's literally his superpower."
Howard looked like he wanted to argue but couldn't find a flaw in the logic. "Fine. Conditional victory for both. I hate nuance."
We paid for our purchases and headed for the exit. My bag held three comics—two from series I discovered the original Nathan collected, one new issue that caught my eye. Small additions to a collection I didn't know I had.
Outside, the afternoon sun was warm. The group stood around, nobody quite ready to leave.
"Same time next week?" Leonard asked.
"Obviously," Sheldon said. "The schedule exists for a reason."
My phone buzzed. I pulled it out, expecting Howard with some post-shopping commentary.
Leslie's name appeared on the screen.
That protein folding solution worked better than expected. Buy you a drink to celebrate? Tomorrow night.
My heart rate spiked.
[INCOMING MESSAGE ANALYSIS: SOCIAL INVITATION WITH ROMANTIC SUBTEXT. CONFIDENCE: 87%. RESPONSE RECOMMENDATION: AFFIRMATIVE.]
I typed back: Absolutely. Name the place.
Her reply came immediately: Know The Rusty Nail on Colorado? 7 PM. Don't be late.
I won't.
"Nathan?" Leonard was looking at me. "You okay? You're staring at your phone like it's about to explode."
"Yeah. Fine. Just... got plans tomorrow."
Howard's eyes narrowed with immediate suspicion. "What kind of plans?"
"The kind that aren't your business."
"It's Leslie, isn't it? She asked you out. She made the first move. That's—" Howard looked simultaneously impressed and offended. "That's not how it's supposed to work."
"Maybe she doesn't know the rules."
"The rules exist for a reason!"
I pocketed my phone, already thinking about tomorrow. A drink with Leslie. A date—it was definitely a date, whatever she was calling it.
Don't screw this up.
[MISSION UPDATED: 'ROMANCE PROTOCOL I' — FIRST DATE IMMINENT. PREPARATION RECOMMENDED.]
Preparation. Right.
I had about twenty-four hours to figure out how to be charming, interesting, and not completely terrifying to someone who was actually paying attention to me.
No pressure.
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