The implications crashed over him. The ability to reverse his enhancements, selectively, even on a timer, without wasting precious daily charges… it was a game-changer. It offered flexibility, deniability, new avenues for experimentation and potentially new business models involving temporary effects. Combined with the 'Tool Enhancement' strategy… his devious mind began working overtime, connecting dots, exploring possibilities that made the GPU flipping seem crude and reckless in comparison. He needed to lay low, yes, but the potential for smart, subtle, high-profit ventures had just expanded exponentially.
Laying low, however, still required testing the Tool Enhancement theory in the real world. The coffee experiment was promising, but it was under controlled conditions using his own power. He needed an external test case. His mind drifted back to his neighbourhood explorations during his downtime. He remembered a specific, slightly sad-looking charcoal chicken shop a few blocks away, 'Maria's Charcoal Chicken'.
He recalled eating there years ago, when Maria and her husband ran it. It wasn't fancy, just a simple takeaway joint, but the chicken had been legendary, perfectly cooked over coals, skin crispy, meat juicy, seasoned with some secret family spice blend. The chips were always hand-cut, fluffy inside, crispy outside. They'd often sell out before closing time. A real neighbourhood gem, built on hard work and pride.
But he'd also noticed recently that the shop looked… neglected. The paint was peeling, the sign faded. And online reviews he'd idly scanned confirmed his fears, since the elderly couple retired and let their son take over, the quality had plummeted. 'Dry chicken', 'soggy chips', 'lost its magic', 'disappointing'. The son "Jono", rumour had it, was more interested in flashy, failed business schemes than tending the coals, viewing the shop as a burden rather than a legacy. Perfect. A business with declining quality due to operational issues (lack of skill/care), not fundamentally flawed ingredients. An ideal test bed. If enhancing the tools could elevate the output even with a subpar operator…
Thursday afternoon arrived, clear and mundane. Time for the field test. Theo walked the few blocks to 'Maria's Charcoal Chicken'. From the outside, the neglect was more apparent in the harsh daylight, paint peeling from the window frames, the once-bright cartoon chicken logo faded and weather-beaten, a neon 'Open' sign flickering erratically. He remembered queues stretching out the door on weekend nights years ago, the air thick with the irresistible aroma of charcoal smoke and spices.
He pushed open the door, a small, grime-coated bell jangling above. The smell inside now was less tempting charcoal and more stale grease and apathy. The warmth from the rotisserie felt weak. Behind the counter, illuminated by the harsh fluorescent lights and the glow of his smartphone screen, slouched a young man in his early thirties wearing a faded band t-shirt under a stained apron. Jono, presumably. He looked up from his phone with an expression of profound indifference as Theo approached.
"Yeah? Whatcha want?" Jono mumbled, not bothering to stand up straight.
"Half chicken and a small chips, please," Theo said, keeping his tone neutral.
Jono sighed, as if the request were a monumental effort. He finally pocketed his phone and shuffled over to the large, glass-fronted warming cabinet beside the rotisserie. He pulled out a chicken half that looked like it had been sitting there for hours, its skin wrinkled and disappointingly pale rather than crisp and golden brown. He slapped it onto the chopping block with a wet thud and hacked at it inexpertly with a large cleaver, pieces flying slightly. He didn't seem to notice or care.
Theo leaned casually against the counter, trying to project harmless customer curiosity. "Been coming here since I was a kid," he offered conversationally. "Your mom, Maria, right? She made the best charcoal chicken around. Place used to be packed."
Jono paused his chopping, glancing up with a flicker of something, annoyance or maybe resignation? "Yeah, well, that was then," he grunted, going back to mutilating the chicken. "Times change." He scraped the pieces into a cardboard box with the side of the cleaver.
He moved over to the deep fryer station. He scooped a basket of pale, pre-cut potatoes from a container, they looked suspiciously uniform, likely frozen, not the hand-cut ones Theo remembered, and dropped them into the fryer without shaking off excess ice crystals, causing the oil to hiss and spit violently. He barely seemed to watch them, instead leaning back against the counter, already reaching for his phone again.
"So, uh, business doing okay?" Theo pressed gently, trying to gauge his attitude.
Jono shrugged, eyes still on his phone screen. "It's whatever. Pays the bills... mostly." He finally looked up, a spark of defensive energy entering his voice. "But look, this?" He waved a dismissive hand around the tired-looking shop. "This is just temporary, man. Stepping stone. I got way bigger plans."
"Oh yeah?" Theo feigned interest.
Jono's posture straightened slightly, finally animated. "Yeah! Got a couple killer ideas. One's like, this AI-driven platform for curated NFT art drops, totally disruptive. And another is a high-frequency crypto arbitrage bot using quantum-inspired algorithms." He rattled off buzzwords, his eyes gleaming with misplaced ambition. "Once one of those takes off, and trust me, they will, I'm selling this greasy chicken shack faster than you can say 'seed round'. No more smelling like charcoal all day." He seemed utterly convinced of his impending tech-mogul status.
The fryer timer beeped aggressively. Jono silenced it, hoisted the basket, gave it a cursory shake, and dumped the pale, slightly greasy-looking chips into another box. He grabbed a salt shaker and showered them with an alarming amount of white powder while simultaneously trying to unlock his phone again.
"How are your folks doing, anyway?" Theo asked, remembering Maria's kind face. "Hope they're enjoying retirement?"