"BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!". The worst sound in the world. Hearing that alarm clocks means I'm still here — Sam thought. Here for another day of being average … below average some might say.
Happiness wasn't in the cards for most people these days — and Sam was no exception. Summit City didn't offer much to anyone without magic. No spark, no license, no future. If you didn't have power, you were nobody. Just poor. Worthless. Alone.
Sam gathered his energy and rolled out of bed, his hair disheveled, noticing his phone was nearly dead. "Shit! I can't keep forgetting to charge this thing, Garland is going to kill me!".
A phone was more than a lifeline in Summit City — it was survival. Without one, you couldn't apply for jobs, scan for available work, or check your balance on the city's basic income ledger. But most importantly, it was your only connection to the System Grid, the infrastructure that governed a user's class, magical affinity and progression.
The affinity spark, if you had one, would only register through a phone's scanner. No phone? No scan. No scan? No access.
For the elite, there were Tier 3 phones — government-issued or corporate-sponsored units with full neural syncing, augmented overlays, and priority access to high-level spell protocols. These users didn't just see the city in data-rich overlays — it was almost as if the phone was a part of the user's body, fueling their growth and abilities.
The middle class ran on Tier 2 phones. Older, bulkier, less efficient — but still System-certified. They could handle entry-level affinity scanning, manage quests, and support basic spell scripts. Most city mages worked from these.
Then there were the Tier 1s — outdated, barely-functional devices handed down, patched, or rebuilt from scrap. They lagged, glitched, and dropped signal whenever the wind blew wrong. Affinity scans on a Tier 1? Delayed, inaccurate, or rejected entirely.
That's where Sam was. One Tier 1 brick in his pocket, held together by hope, duct tape, and a battery he couldn't afford to replace. He could barely get shift notifications from Garland's courier app, let alone run a scan for latent magic.
The ones who really suffered were the people with no phone at all. Ghosts in the system. The invisible. Sam wasn't there yet, but some mornings — it felt close.
Looking around his apartment, Sam saw a poster, pinned to the clothesline. With the window behind it, the poster almost had a faint magical aura surrounding it. A giant logo with the letter "ALC" adorned the top in an ornate, almost regal font.
The "Affinity Licensing Corporation", Sam muttered under his breath. This was the state-sponsored organization that handled licensing for all Mages. Each year they held a ceremony meant to scan for latent magic and license those with a talent for it. It was a big deal, and it was only a few weeks away. Sam had applied for the past three years, although after being turned down each time, he didn't have high hopes this year.
"I'd better get going, I can't be late again", Sam said, the poster snapping out of his gaze.
Stepping outside, the streets were filled with merchants, vendors and businessmen and women, running to their next appointments. Sam started briskly walking down the street arriving at an almost infamous corner on his block. This block was known for the disappearance of a prominent shop owner in the community. His once-bustling business was now boarded up, a sad reminder of what once was.
Today, however, there was an unfamiliar sight. A woman, in black robes, trimmed with silver, stood there across the street — she appeared to be putting on a show. This wasn't a mere circus act, this woman was using magic.
Real magic. A licensed user, based on the government-issued glowing badge clipped to her robe. She was lighting cigarettes for people with her fingertip — a little flame dancing from her index like a trick candle. It wasn't anything special, but to some, it was a spectacle.
People watched, someone even tipped her. Sam didn't, but not because he was bitter.
Okay — partially because he was bitter.
Standing there, the display continued, she moved on from lighting cigarettes, and began dancing the fire, the flames appearing to bounce from finger to finger like a poker chip trick.
"Oh, you do not seem to impress easily!" The woman said, now staring straight at Sam. Without even realizing it, he must have been scowling. Truthfully, this was just Sam's normal expression — some of the youngsters on his block said he has a "RBF", whatever that means.
"There are people who would kill to have an affinity spark, and here you are, using yours as a parlor trick!", Sam said with disdain, surprising even himself with the words.
The woman looked startled, she didn't expect anyone to have such a reaction to her display. Her face began to soften, "Ah," she said, voice silky, "a philosopher in work boots. How rare."
She turned slightly, her finger still lit with flame. "Don't assume you know what I'm doing, darling. You've seen ten seconds of a spark — not the years it took to earn it." Just then, faster than any normal person could see, the flame shot out from the woman's finger, intensifying as it fluttered through the air.
It hit Sam square in the chest, the glow from the flames consuming his sight. The blast sent him tumbling back, his body rolling and crashing through the boarded up remains of the old, missing shopkeepers front window.
Once he stopped, his body felt numb and he was clinging to consciousness. He could see the empty, dusty shelving units and flickering fluorescent lamps above him. Something was keeping him awake, some feeling calling to him.
Then — a glow. Faint. Flickering. Coming from beneath one of the shelving units.
"Is that… a phone?"
He reached for it, fingers trembling. It was just out of reach. He groaned and shuffled forward, pain burning through his ribs as he stretched. When his fingertip finally brushed the screen—
Agony.
Not heat. Not shock. Something deeper. A systemic pain, like every nerve had been overwritten. His breath caught. His vision blurred.
And as the light faded from his eyes, he saw the woman standing over him. "Huh," she said, tilting her head. "Guess I went a little overboard. You alive, kid?"