Jason blinked as the dull reality of his apartment settled over him. The place was small, cramped, and smelled faintly of mildew and stale air—a far cry from anything resembling home. He dragged himself toward the kitchen, hoping for a crumb, a scrap, anything edible.
One cabinet door creaked open, then another. Empty. Not a single can, no packets, nothing but dust and a few cracked mugs. His stomach grumbled angrily, a relentless reminder that hunger didn't care about his situation or how many times he blinked at the peeling paint on the walls.
He turned to the fridge with a glimmer of hope. The door protested as he pulled it open, revealing… nothing. Just cold, barren shelves and a single shriveled lettuce leaf that looked like it had seen better days decades ago.
Jason's lips twitched into a bitter grin. "Well, this is just great."
He checked the drawers—no hidden cash, no wallet, no phone. Nothing that suggested anyone had lived here recently or left behind anything useful. The silence in the apartment felt heavier than ever, pressing down on him with the weight of the unknown. No idea where he was, no clue how he got here, and now no food or money.
He sat on the edge of the couch, hands running through his hair. "Alright," he muttered, voice rough, "Plan B. Go hungry or go steal food."
There was no shame in admitting it. He was starving, and whatever pride he had left wasn't going to fill his stomach.
Slipping on his jacket, Jason made one last sweep of the apartment, locking the door behind him. The cold night air hit his face the second he stepped outside—sharp, bracing, and oddly grounding. The city was quiet, the streets dimly lit by flickering street lamps and the distant hum of traffic.
In the distance, a gas station flickered like a lone beacon, its fluorescent lights buzzed weakly against the night sky. A few cars were parked outside, and a couple of people milled around the pumps.
Jason's steps quickened. The thought of empty shelves or hostile people didn't scare him—his mind was fixed on one thing: food.
He pushed through the automatic doors, the bell jingling faintly above him. Inside, the smell of motor oil mixed with the faint hint of coffee and fried snacks. The place was sparsely stocked, the shelves half-empty in places, but there were chips, soda, and some packaged sandwiches that might be enough to get him through the night.
Jason grabbed a bag of chips and popped it open, crunching greedily as he wandered toward the counter.
Then, chaos erupted.
A man burst through the entrance, wild-eyed and shouting, a rusted crowbar gripped tightly in his hands. "Everyone get the fk down now And u empty the register now !" His voice cracked with desperation and rage.
The cashier froze, hands trembling, while customers gasped and ducked behind displays. Jason's heart slammed against his ribs, adrenaline spiking. This wasn't the kind of mess he wanted to get involved in.
He pressed himself flat behind a shelf, muscles taut. The man shouted louder, waving the crowbar around, demanding money like he was ready to tear the place apart.
Jason's fingers tingled—cursed energy humming beneath his skin like a coiled spring. His Six Eyes flickered faintly behind his eyelids, a pale blue glow teasing the edges of his vision.
He clenched his hand tightly, channeling the compressed negative energy of Blue. It wasn't the flashy stuff yet, not a fully realized technique, but enough.
When the robber turned his back, Jason sprang forward, silent and deadly. With a sharp push of his cursed energy, the man was slammed against the wall opposite him, the crowbar clattering to the floor.
The guy crumpled unconscious before he hit the ground.
No one saw who did it.
Jason took a breath, heart racing but steady. He didn't stick around for questions.
As he turned to leave, something caught his eye—lying by the counter was a pair of really dark sunglasses, lenses so black they seemed to swallow all light around them.
"Jackpot," he muttered with a grin.
He slipped them into his jacket pocket, already thinking ahead. If he was going to survive here, hiding those glowing eyes would be a must.
He grabbed a few more snacks—chips, a candy bar, and a bottle of water—and slipped out the back door.
The cool night air wrapped around him as he pulled the sunglasses on, the darkness hiding the faint shimmer of his Six Eyes.
For the first time since waking up in this strange world, Jason felt a flicker of something he hadn't dared to hope for—hope itself.
Maybe, just maybe, he could make this work.