Max and Levi stepped into the lobby of their shared apartment building, the quiet space echoing their footsteps as they made their way to the lone elevator. Max's eyes swept the room, alert for any hint of trouble. Levi quickly reached out and pressed the call button before Max could, and Max couldn't shake the uneasy thought that Vespera might be waiting inside. When the doors slid open after about thirty seconds, he felt a wave of relief—she wasn't there at all.
'Maybe it was my imagination after all... wrong time, wrong place? Nah! No way! That shit was super weird! I'll press her for answers if she actually shows up at the shop tomorrow. I'll have home-field advantage too...'
The two took the elevator to their floor, and Max decided to step inside Levi's place and have a quick chat with the kid's mom and dad, explaining the close call they just had. He figured they'd be livid with Levi showing up so late and decided to make this easy for him. Levi interrupted excitedly from time to time as Max was explaining.
"Max saved me! I lost my new hat, though, Mom. Sorry!"
Upon hearing what happened—or rather, what nearly happened—both of their eyes widened.
They'd just seen the incident on the local news, but Max and Levi had left before any media showed up. For some reason, the coverage was slow to start, which was unusual since news crews were usually right behind emergency responders.
Strangely enough, no paramedics or firetrucks appeared until long after the police had already arrived as well...
Levi's mother hugged him while his father shook Max's hand in appreciation.
Max talked with the grateful, now-relieved couple for a short while longer, finally excusing himself. He headed to their main entrance with Levi disappearing inside his own room after waving issue one of the Power Rangers comics at Max.
Max smiled as he stood at the door, saying goodnight before turning to walk down the hall toward his apartment. The door clicked shut behind him, and he leaned against it for a moment, letting out a slow breath—kind of wishing he had another cigarette to smoke.
He kicked off his shoes and dropped his keys on the counter, then made sure to run back and lock the front door carefully.
The balcony door was slid open, the familiar scent of evening air mixing with the faint hum of city nightlife outside. He pulled out his phone and went for his playlist, hitting play as he threw on his headphones, letting the music fill his headspace.
Max tried his best to shake off the thoughts of earlier events and moved to the corner where his workout gear was set up.
After slipping out of his jeans and into the shorts he'd left on the sofa after the workout the night before, he cracked his neck and gave his body a good stretch.
He grabbed a pair of dumbbells and started the classic '21s' bicep workout. First, he did two sets of seven reps, beginning with half curls—lifting halfway up, then back down; switching to halfway down to back up—focusing on control. For the last set, he added the full range of motion, feeling the burn settle into his arms. Max repeated this process three times.
After finishing his bicep workout, he stepped into the more open living room, pushed the coffee table aside, and began doing push-ups.
"Ugh... water..." Max forced out a few extra pushups, his mouth parched and arms on the brink of giving out. When he couldn't manage another, he rolled onto his back, focusing on steadying his breath. After half a minute, feeling a bit recovered, he got to his feet, grabbed a glass from the kitchen, turned on the faucet, and filled it. He gulped it down and quickly refilled the cup, downing another.
Walking back to the corner, Max shook out his arms and launched into some shadow boxing, throwing quick, sharp punches, imagining an opponent in front of him.
Whap! Du done du done du done du done...
His fists connected with his speed bag next, rhythm steady, then he finally moved to the heavy bag suspended in the corner of the living room. He threw powerful hooks and jabs, sweat starting to bead on his forehead.
Feeling the burn after a couple of rounds, Max eased into some final stretches—reaching for his toes, twisting at the waist, arm across the chest, etc.
Feeling satisfied, he headed to the shower, cranking the water up to a super-hot, skin-roasting temperature, hoping it would wash away the day's fatigue. Either way, the heat felt amazing on his body after the workout.
As he toweled off, he glanced at himself in the mirror through some of the steam still clinging to it. The reflection showed a man in his late twenties, with tired, slightly shadowed bags under his greenish hazel eyes—hinting at sleepless nights and long days.
A few streaks of greyish-white hair had begun to appear here and there. By now, the chances of anyone asking for his ID when buying alcohol were pretty much nonexistent.
Brown hair still fully covered his head, though. Max had managed to avoid the fate that some bald men in his family had been cursed with—his hairline still firmly in place, just as it had been when he was a teenager.
Before the endless grind of long work hours began to chip away at his energy, some might have even called him downright handsome... Sure, the wear and tear of exhaustion eventually caught up with him, but somehow, slap a pair of sunglasses on his face, and he still looked like he was auditioning for the lead role in a low-budget spy movie—mysterious, slightly tired, but effortlessly cool.
Max had a decent build, too, hitting his home gym a couple of times a week and always keeping up with his boxing. He made sure he was fit enough to outrun a zombie horde if it ever came down to it. Honestly, half the reason he did any cardio at all was thanks to watching way too many zombie movies growing up.
Refreshed, yet somehow still running on fumes, Max whipped up a simple but hearty dinner: grilled chicken breasts paired with roasted vegetables and a quick garden salad—basically the culinary equivalent of a warm hug. It was easy to make, substantial enough to refuel his empty tank, and downright heroic considering his breakfast habits—or lack thereof. Being a night owl extraordinaire, he was late to bed, late to rise, and usually sprinting out the door clutching a sad muffin or a lonely granola bar, if he had any left in the pantry at the moment anyway.
He ate in front of the TV, catching up on a few episodes of the latest Kamen Rider series. A stick of incense was lit, and he savored the taste of the food. Max was actually a pretty decent cook.
After finishing his meal, he cleared his dishes, washed them, and put them away. The TV was shut off, leaving only the lamp in the living room on.
While the dim lamp cast shadows on the walls, Max closed and locked the balcony door, then turned around and finally headed into his bedroom. He closed the door behind him and sank into his chair, pulling out his laptop.
Opening his email, he was met with disappointment—another rejection letter. He'd been trying to launch a few new games, pitching ideas... but they never worked out, even though many of his concepts were pretty great!
He even had a card game idea that was stolen right after he pitched it. Frustration bubbled up—at times like these, he missed heading over to his parents' house to work on the Porsche with his father... Sadly, his old man was gone, and the Porsche? Who knew where it ended up... lost to pay off some back taxes tied to his parents' estate. That memory... simply sucked for Max.
He didn't really feel like watching more TV or playing video games right now, but he still needed to unwind for the night.
He logged onto Discord, scrolling through channels dedicated to Jumpchains and Choose Your Own Adventure books.
This was something he always enjoyed doing when he wanted to let his mind wander. He uploaded some new Jumpchain documents he'd created last week and suggested to one user that they make their Body-Mod supplement more generous with CP—choice points.
Usually, role-playing and creating fun characters helped take his mind off things, but not tonight.
His thoughts drifted back to the strange encounter from earlier. Vespera's face haunted him—the enigmatic smile, the scent of her perfume, the way she looked at him like she knew something he didn't. Something dangerous. The feeling that this wasn't over lingered—deep and unsettling.
Honestly? This felt like the setup to some third-rate Isekai anime, and it was unnerving to him. It felt surreal. He'd tried to distract himself with his workout and TV earlier, and it had worked for a while, but now he just couldn't stop thinking about it.
He leaned back in his chair, eyes closed for a moment, sensation prickling at the back of his neck as he pondered it... Whatever that woman was—she was more than she appeared.
As the night deepened, Max couldn't shake the feeling that shadows were moving just out of sight, watching.
And we all know that some secrets, once glimpsed, refuse to stay hidden for long.