AN: Guys need more power stones
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[9:03 PM – Bakery – Back Door]
Max kicked the back door open with her foot, juggling the cash box, a half-empty coffee cup, and her dignity.
"Closing time, baby!" she shouted into the night like she was announcing the end of prohibition. The three girls they hired left early due to their exam. So, it was just two of them doing the final chores.
Caroline, locking the door behind them, sighed. "You make it sound like we run a speakeasy, not a cupcake shop."
Max spun around, already dragging Caroline toward the battered old car parked by the curb. "Shut up and get in. If we hustle, we can still catch late-night sales at Big Lou's Market."
Caroline hesitated. "Max. We don't need to shop clearance anymore. We're not... poor."
Max opened the car door with a flourish. "Habit. Thrill. Adrenaline. I'm like a raccoon with a coupon book. Don't judge me."
Caroline climbed in, muttering under her breath. "We're gonna end up on one of those hoarder documentaries."
Max cranked the engine, grinning. "Only if we lose."
[9:17 PM – Big Lou's Market]
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like an angry beehive. Big Lou's was a madhouse. People zigzagged through the aisles like it was Black Friday, baskets swinging, carts crashing. An old woman wielded a coupon book thicker than a Bible. Somewhere, a toddler screamed the national anthem of chaos.
Max grabbed a shopping cart and threw Caroline a wicked smile. "Battle stations."
They pushed into the fray like warriors entering a mosh pit.
Caroline gasped first, pointing toward a rack by the freezer section. "Jackets! Seventy percent off!"
She made a sharp left, abandoning Max like a lifeboat ditching a sinking ship. Max rolled her eyes and kept moving until she spotted them.
Discounted boots.Big, chunky, Max-core boots. Price tags were slashed like they owed somebody money.
She lunged for a pair just as a hipster-looking guy reached for them too. Their eyes locked. No words. Just war.
Max hip-checked him so hard he stumbled into a display of organic jam.
"Survival of the fiercest," she muttered, tossing the boots into the cart like a victorious gladiator.
Caroline came skidding back, arms full of two puffy jackets, both pink and both way too extra.
"Help me pick," she panted.
Max pointed. "That one says 'I'm cute but might stab you.' Definitely that."
Caroline nodded solemnly and shoved the other one into a random freezer bin.
Then it got worse.
A huge clearance sign blinked above Aisle 5.
Chocolates.Ice cream.Bread.Butter.Cheese.
It was like the universe was apologizing for their suffering.
Max and Caroline locked eyes, an unspoken agreement flashing between them.
They abandoned all dignity and sprinted.
Max body-checked a guy in a cheese hat. Caroline yeeted a basket out of her path like a Mario Kart pro.
Caroline dove first, snagging blocks of sharp cheddar and a wheel of brie like she was looting an abandoned castle.
Max quickly grabbed the last three remaining ice cream tubs.
The cart was filling fast.
Then Caroline spotted the household aisle.
"Batteries!" she screamed, breaking left like a running back.
Max swerved right. "Shampoo! Soap!"
They split up.
Max was seen lobbing three bottles of conditioner into the cart like she was on a game show. Caroline was fighting a grandmother in a sparkly visor over the last family pack of AA batteries.
"Back off, Nana," Caroline hissed. "I've got remotes that need love."
The grandmother hissed back, something about the war and dignity. Caroline snatched the batteries and ran like hell.
They met back at the cart, breathless, sweaty, victorious.
Max surveyed the haul.
"Boots, jackets, cheese, soap, batteries, chocolate... ice cream... shampoo... bread..."
Caroline bent over, hands on her knees. "I think we blacked out. Did we win?"
Max checked the cart again.
It was stacked so high it looked like they robbed an entire family of five.
Max patted the cart proudly. "We won, alright. We just committed legalized looting."
A lady next to them muttered, "You should be ashamed." (She didn't get her ice cream thanks to Max.)
Max smiled sweetly and tossed another pack of discounted Twinkies into the cart. "Nah. I sleep fine on my bed of discounted luxury."
Caroline looked around at the chaos they'd left behind and whispered, "Should we feel bad?"
Max shook her head, pushing the cart toward the checkout like a conquering general returning from war.
"Feel bad? Caroline... this is America. We don't apologize for winning."
Behind them, a trail of angry customers, abandoned baskets, and confused employees marked their glorious path to the registers.
It was a beautiful disaster.
Max wiped imaginary sweat from her brow and smirked.
"God bless late-night clearance."
Caroline just laughed and grabbed a discounted churro from the impulse buy rack.
They had survived another shopping war.
[Checkout line]
The line snaked through the store like it had no beginning and no mercy. Max slammed the cart into park and pulled a battered envelope from her jacket pocket, thumbing through a stack of coupons with the focus of a surgeon prepping for battle.
Caroline leaned heavily against the cart, nibbling her churro. "This is gonna take a year. Maybe two."
Max shushed her, eyes narrowed. "Don't break my focus. This is high-stakes grocery warfare."
Ahead of them, a woman was arguing with the cashier over a two-for-one pudding cup deal that expired sometime around the invention of email. Max didn't even flinch. She was ready. She was built for this.
She flicked through the stack with ruthless efficiency.
"Buy one, get one bread? Check. Two dollars off that suspiciously large cheese block? Check. Shampoo discount if you fake a smile? Nailed it."
Caroline muttered around her churro, "Do we have a coupon for pain and suffering?"
Max smirked. "No, but I have one for batteries if you wrestle a grandma."
Caroline scowled but said nothing, too tired to fight the truth.
They shuffled forward slowly, the cart wheels squeaking under the weight of their questionable treasure.
Max rechecked her stack, whispering like she was reciting a survival spell.
Finally, after what felt like the world's slowest parade, they reached the register.
The cashier, a teenage boy with an eyebrow piercing and the permanent expression of someone who hated everyone equally, barely glanced at them.
"Hey," he grunted.
"Hey yourself," Max replied, tossing the first item onto the belt with flair. "Let's make some magic."
The cashier barely blinked. "You got coupons?"
Max smiled the way a wolf smiles at a limping deer. "Oh, I got artillery."
She slapped the coupon stack onto the belt with a dramatic thud that made the woman behind them jump.
Caroline slid her sunglasses on like she was witnessing a crime.
The scanning began. Beep. Beep. Beep.
Max handed coupons over like she was dealing cards at a high-stakes table.
"$2 off." "$1.50 off." "Buy one, get one free." "Clearance dairy discount, applied."
The cashier's dead eyes flickered once. Maybe respect. Maybe fear.
Caroline counted silently on her fingers. "She's shaving dollars like a butcher."
Max never looked up. "I'm an artist. Respect the craft."
The cart emptied, the battlefield of savings left behind.
The cashier blinked at the final number.
"$46.82."
Max grinned like a fox in a henhouse.
She pulled a crumpled fifty from her pocket and dropped it onto the counter like she was buying the building.
"Keep the change," she said.
The cashier handed her the receipt like it was a declaration of independence.
"Respect," he muttered.
Max winked. "Stay dangerous, soldier."
They piled the bags onto the metal bench by the exit, the stack wobbling dangerously.
Caroline fumbled for her phone. "Calling a cab. Make it a big one."
Max hoisted two overloaded bags onto each shoulder. "Tell 'em to send a tank."
Caroline booked it. "Ten minutes."
...
[Ten minutes later...]
The cab pulled up with a squeal that sounded suspiciously like protest. It was a battered yellow van that looked like it had survived both a hurricane and three divorces.
Max tossed the bags into the back with the grace of a drunken seal, then flopped into the seat. Caroline climbed in after her, groaning as she slammed the door.
The cabbie glanced back at them through the scratched plexiglass. "You ladies rob a grocery store or just fund a small nation?"
Max grinned. "Little of both."
The cabbie grunted and pulled into traffic.
Max leaned her head back against the seat, eyes closed, looking oddly peaceful for someone buried under a mountain of junk food and clearance jackets.
Caroline peeked over her churro. "So... your birthday's tomorrow."
Max cracked one eye open suspiciously. "Don't remind me."
Caroline nudged her. "Come on. You're dating Captain Moneybags. What do you think Alex is planning?"
Max snorted. "Knowing him? Something insane."
Caroline smirked. "Like... romantic insane or flashy insane?"
Max thought for a second, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.
"Honestly? He's a wildcard. He might do something normal, like a candlelit dinner. Or he might rent a helicopter and drop cheeseburgers over Brooklyn."
Caroline laughed. "That's oddly specific."
Max shrugged. "Man loves chaos. And also cheeseburgers."
Caroline tapped her chin thoughtfully. "What if he takes you skydiving? Birthday jump. Full adrenaline. You screaming all the way down."
Max deadpanned. "I don't trust anything that involves falling and trusting physics. I'd rather wrestle a raccoon for the last slice of pizza."
Caroline giggled. "Flash mob?"
Max rolled her eyes. "If more than three people start dancing near me at the same time, I'm lighting a fire and disappearing into the smoke."
Caroline leaned back, grinning. "Stripper cake?"
Max cracked a slow, wicked grin.
"Stripper cake?" she said, voice low and teasing. "Nah. If Alex pops out of a cake, I'm not sharing."
Caroline choked on her churro.
Max stretched lazily, the kind of stretch that said I know exactly what I'm thinking and you're not ready for it.
"I'd lick all the cream off him," she said casually, like she was talking about ordering pizza.
Caroline made a strangled noise. "Max!"
Max laughed, tossing her head back against the seat.
"What?" she said innocently. "He's hot, he's rich, and if he covers himself in frosting, it's basically charity at that point."
Caroline buried her face in her hands. "You're broken. You're actually broken."
Max grinned wider, pulling her phone out and scrolling mindlessly.
"You're just mad you didn't say it first."
Caroline peeked through her fingers. "I didn't want to say it."
Max winked. "Liar."
The cab hit a pothole and jolted them both, scattering a few stray Twinkies across the seat.
Caroline sighed, gathering them up. "You're impossible."
"And proud of it," Max said, stuffing a Twinkie into her bag. "Besides, he likes it."
Caroline shook her head, defeated. "I hope whatever he's planning tomorrow involves caution tape. You're gonna need it."
Max smirked at the window, watching the city lights blur by.
"Maybe," she said. "Or maybe... I'll need a fire extinguisher."
Caroline didn't even bother answering. She just slumped against the window, clutching her churro like a prayer bead.
Max closed her eyes, a satisfied little smile on her face.
Tomorrow was her birthday.
And whatever Alex had planned?
She was ready.
Or at least, she thought she was.
Because if there was one thing she knew about Alex Wilson, it was this:
Normal was never an option.
...
[11:55 PM – Max's Apartment – Bedroom]
Max locked the door with a satisfying click.
The world outside could wait. Phones off. Lights dimmed. Just her, a loose idea of peace, and five minutes left of being 23.
She took off her clothes without ceremony, letting everything drop where it fell. Her hoodie hit the floor. Bra flung across the bedpost. Shorts somewhere near the door.
Naked, she walked across the room to the giant mirror that sat propped against the wall. It was a cheap find from a thrift store, now her favorite confession booth. She stood there, bare under the soft yellow light, hands on her hips, studying herself like an artist judging their best work.
Full, round breasts that defied gravity and good sense. Curves that didn't apologize. A stomach tight but real, the kind you could sink your hands into. Legs built to kick ass and break hearts.
Max smirked at herself.
She cupped her breasts lightly, checking them the way some people checked new tattoos.
"Still got it," she muttered, giving a little bounce just to amuse herself.
Then her gaze slid lower. She brushed her hand across the small trail of pubic hair she'd lazily trimmed a few days ago. She leaned closer to the mirror, inspecting it like a jeweler appraising a diamond.
"Well, I'll trim the bushes tomorrow."
Max leaned in slightly, cocking a brow at her own reflection.
"Who's gorgeous?" she asked, voice low and lazy, a smirk curling at her mouth.
She pointed at herself, tapping the mirror with one finger.
"Yeah, you are."
She gave a slow, approving nod, then flexed her arms like a boxer warming up for a fight.
"Those celebs? Those runway girls? They don't even stand a chance against who?"
She flashed herself a winning, wicked grin.
"Me."
Then she jumped onto the bed, stretching like a cat. Her eyes fell on the table clock. Just a few minutes late...
"Haaa... There goes another year. But gotta say, this was the best year of my life so far," She mumbled to herself.
She watched as the seconds kept blinking away and the clock hit 12.
"Happy Birthday to me," Max said to herself.
And then she heard a knocking sound from the window.
"What the?!"
Her apartment was on the third floor. So, who the hell was knocking at her window at this hour? And how?
Max jumped down, grabbed the robe lying on the chair, put it on then she grabbed the baseball bat from her bedside and the big kitchen knife from under the pillow. 'Alright. Let's see who you are." She was ready for anyone... except ghosts.
....
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[6 advance chs] + [14 chs of Two and a Half Men: Waking up as Charlie Harper] [All chs available for all tiers]