I bolted down the stairs like a bat out of hell. My brain was still foggy from the hallucinations, or dreams, or whatever the hell that shop thing was. But none of that mattered now. My legs were moving, my heart was racing, and all I could think was—my job, my job, oh shit, my job!
The icy wind slapped me in the face as I rushed through the city, feet pounding the concrete, lungs burning with every breath. I nearly tripped over two different curbs and almost got run over at a crosswalk, but I kept going. There was no time to be careful. There was only time to get there.
When I finally reached the café, I was panting, red-faced, and drenched in sweat. Five minutes late. Of course. Five minutes could get you crucified in a place like this.
Lena didn't even let me take a breath.
"Max!" she shouted the moment I pushed the door open. Her heels were weapons, clacking like bullets on the tile as she stalked toward me. "Do you know what time it is? Do you even care about this job anymore? Two full days, Max. Two. Without a single call, message, or damn smoke signal!"
I flinched like a whipped dog. My throat fumbled for words.
"I—I was sick. I passed out and—"
"Save it. I don't care. This is your final warning. No more chances. You want to stay employed? You're working the next four Saturdays. Every. Single. One."
I froze. Four Saturdays? That was my only break. My only day to breathe. But what could I say? It wasn't like I needed weekends for studying anymore. Not with the university kicking me out. Not with over a million euros of debt chasing me like a demon.
I clenched my jaw and nodded. "Yes. Got it. I'll take the Saturdays."
Lena gave me a long, disdainful look before turning on her heel. "Get changed. Register. Now."
The shift felt like a crawl through fire. Every fake smile I gave a customer chipped away at my soul. Every beep of the register felt like a countdown to the next collapse. But I got through it.
Barely.
When I finished, I didn't even sit. I just grabbed my bag and headed straight to the club. No time to think. No energy to breathe.
Claudia spotted me before I even stepped into the changing room.
"You're in deep shit," she whispered, eyes wide. "Marco's seriously pissed."
I just nodded. I had nothing left to say.
Marco didn't scream. He didn't even raise his voice. That made it worse. The way he just looked at me—like I was some stray animal that had disappointed him.
"You disappeared. Two nights. No call. No excuse. We covered you once. Don't expect us to do it again."
I nodded again. What else was there?
No extra shifts. No deductions. Just cold stares, loud music, and sticky drinks. I poured shots, smiled at leering customers, and let the noise swallow me whole.
When I got home that night, I didn't even undress. I just collapsed into bed and let the exhaustion eat me alive.
Friday and Saturday passed in a haze. The same rhythm. The same grind. But something had changed.
The shop was still there.
Every time I whispered the word in my head, it bloomed like a vision. A floating window in the air, anchored only in my mind. No one else reacted. Not once. I waved my hands through it in the locker room. Nothing. I blinked at it while riding the train. Still there.
By Sunday, I'd stopped pretending it wasn't real. Or maybe I just gave up pretending I was sane.
I had nothing left to lose.
Sitting cross-legged on my mattress, greasy hair tied up, laptop humming beside me, I whispered: "Shop."
And it opened.
A cascade of categories: science, history, alien biology, runes, quantum theories, starship cores. Words that didn't belong together. Timelines I'd never seen. Planets I'd never heard of.
Basic Physics — 1 KP
Chemistry (Human Equivalent) — 1 KP
Aerodynamics Tier 2 — 3 KP
Mystical Rune Alphabet of the True Ascended — ??? KP
I snorted. "Alphabet of the True Ascended? Yeah, alright. Sounds legit."
I tried talking to it.
"Hey. System? You got a manual or something?"
Nothing. Not even a flicker.
"Instructions? Tutorial? Siri mode?"
Dead silence.
It was like yelling at a bookshelf.
Still, the entries fascinated me. I scrolled endlessly. One caught my eye:
AI Model Tier 3 — 150 KP
Programmatic Language 'Korthos' (2643, Axis Cluster) — 13 KP
Korthos? Axis Cluster? It sounded like something from a sci-fi novel. But the descriptions were technical. Sharp. Real.
I couldn't believe I was doing this.
But I searched one word: profit.
The list changed.
One entry jumped out at me like a glowing beacon.
Autonomous Vulnerability Mapper (AVM v3.4) — 15 KP
Developed in 2618 by the Tellenar Technocracy of Virellon Prime. Simulates a resource-efficient AI hacker capable of locating, documenting, and proposing fixes for vulnerabilities in digital systems. Used in black and white-hat circles alike. Banned in six systems for being "too effective."
I hesitated.
And then I hit confirm.
The world exploded.
It was like lightning in my skull. Code, theory, neural maps, logic trees—all of it poured into me like liquid fire. I gasped, staggered, and collapsed sideways.
Black.
I came to two hours later, mouth dry, muscles aching. The taste of metal clung to my tongue.
But my head? Clear. Alive. Buzzing.
I knew how it worked. Not just the code. The philosophy. The architecture. The ethics. All of it. I could feel the new pathways burned into my brain.
I ran to my laptop, heart hammering.
Within an hour, I had a prototype. Crude, trimmed down, but functional.
SecurityFix.
I hit run.
Ten minutes later, I had a vulnerability report on my own system so thorough it made my browser crash.
"Holy shit."
I picked a target: FalkenBank. A mid-range Frankfurt bank with a clunky site and mediocre reviews.
SecurityFix ran.
Two minutes.
The result? Alarming.
Login bypass via form injection. Admin panel reachable through recursive token calls. Session hijack vulnerability on mobile.
If someone malicious got their hands on this? They could move millions.
I stared. Then I exhaled.
"Okay, Max. Be smart. Don't freak out. This is a tool. You help them. You don't rob them."
I chopped the report to 10%. Just a teaser. Enough to scare them a little. Enough to prove I was legit.
I wrote the email:
Subject: Critical Security Flaws in Customer Portal
Dear FalkenBank IT,
I've identified several critical vulnerabilities in your online systems. Please find attached a preview report (approx. 10%) detailing the nature of the flaws and recommended patches.
I have no malicious intent and am offering the full report under negotiable terms.
Sincerely,
M. Wintershade
I repeated the process with three other banks: EuroTrust, Kronex, and BürgerSpar.
Each email tailored. Each preview unique.
Then I sat back, exhausted, and made myself the saddest dinner known to man—half-stale bread, a shriveled end of cheese, and some warm tap water for dessert.
I chewed slowly, staring at the floating shop window still lingering at the edge of my vision.
Whatever this system was, whatever it meant—
This was real.
And it was just the beginning.