A quiet, unearned confidence hummed in Chris's veins. The successful Nudge at the Shop 'n' Save had been a revelation. It wasn't just that he had power; it was that he had influence. He could gently prod the world into being slightly more convenient. The feeling was a low-grade, constant buzz of excitement.
Today's mission was, on its face, deeply mundane. A trip to the Kroger's on the other side of town. Misty's list, scrawled on a yellow sticky note, was a thrilling saga of domestic need: bread, coffee filters, and a specific brand of medium-heat salsa. But to Chris, it was another field exercise!
He walked through the automatic doors of the grocery store feeling less like a thirty-year-old man-child on an errand for his mom and more like a high-level rogue infiltrating an enemy stronghold.
The world, once a boring backdrop to his digital life, was now an endless stream of fascinating data. He pushed his shopping cart down the dairy aisle, playfully using his now-familiar [INSPECT] ability. The cost was so low for simple objects, he could do it almost indefinitely. He focused on a carton of eggs.
Ding.
[Item: Grade A Large White Eggs]
[Contents: 12. One (1) with a hairline crack.]
[System Note: Statistically average. Purchase with confidence.]
He smirked, grabbing the carton next to it instead. He felt a ridiculous surge of pride, as if he'd outsmarted the entire poultry industry. He continued to the produce section, a vibrant landscape of potential scans. He paused by the cantaloupes, a fruit he had never successfully purchased in a ripe state in his entire life. He focused on a particularly round one.
Ding.
[Item: Cantaloupe]
[Ripeness: Optimal]
[Flavor Profile: Sweet, with minor notes of disappointment.]
Chris snorted. Even when it was optimal, the System knew that a grocery store cantaloupe could only be so good. He tossed it into his cart anyway. The world was an open book, a game with tooltips for every item, and he was finally, blissfully literate. He had the salsa, he had the bread, he had the coffee filters. Mission complete. It was time to check out.
As he rounded the corner of the cereal aisle, heading toward the checkout lanes at the front of the store, a loud, booming voice shattered the quiet hum of fluorescent lights and bland, instrumental music.
"This coupon is perfectly valid! It says right here, 'good for any size.' Are you suggesting the Mayor's office is trying to defraud this establishment over seventy-nine cents?"
Chris stopped, his shopping cart squeaking to a halt. He peeked around the towering wall of brightly-colored cereal boxes. And there he was, in all his pompous glory. Mayor Bob Thompson.
He was a man who looked exactly like a small-town politician. He wore a crisp, navy blue blazer over a pale yellow polo shirt, and his khaki pants had a knife-edge crease. His graying hair was parted with a geometric precision that suggested it was a matter of public policy. He was leaning over a checkout counter, his face a mask of theatrical indignation, waving a small, crumpled coupon in the air like a battle standard.
On the other side of the counter was a teenage cashier who looked like she was about to be swallowed by the floor. Her name tag read "Jessica." She couldn't have been more than eighteen. Her face was flushed a bright, painful red, and her eyes were wide and watery.
"I... I'm sorry, sir," Jessica stammered, her voice barely a whisper. "It's just... my manager says we can't take coupons if they're expired. And this one... it expired yesterday."
"Yesterday? Yesterday!" Mayor Thompson boomed, loud enough for the entire front of the store to hear. "Young lady, do you have any idea how busy my schedule is? I am working for the fine people of this town! I don't have time to cross-reference every single coupon with the Gregorian calendar! This is an outrage! An insult to the democratic process!"
The entire checkout area had fallen silent. Other shoppers paused, pretending to examine the chewing gum displays. Another cashier at the next register suddenly became intensely interested in wiping down her conveyor belt. Everyone was trying their best to not make eye contact.
Chris felt a familiar, hot twist of annoyance and injustice in his gut. He hated this. He hated bullies. And Mayor Thompson, a man whose picture was in the local paper every other week cutting a ribbon for a new park bench, was the absolute embodiment of every self-important, petty authority figure who used their tiny sliver of power to belittle people who couldn't fight back. Jessica was just a kid, probably working her first job, and she was being publicly humiliated over an expired coupon for fabric softener.
The impulse to do something, to say something, flickered inside him. A weak, timid little flame. Hey, man, leave her alone. It's just a coupon. But the words died in his throat before they were even fully formed. He knew how this would play out. The Mayor would turn his blustering, righteous fury on him. He would be out-talked, out-maneuvered, and made to look like a fool. In a real-world confrontation, he was no match for a Level-Whatever politician with a lifetime of experience in public speaking and condescension. He was a "somewhat-loyal companion" to his own cat; he wasn't about to win a debate with the mayor.
He started to push his cart away, the familiar shame of his own cowardice settling over him. But then he stopped.
He wasn't limited to the ordinary anymore. He wasn't limited to clumsy words and sweaty palms. He had a back door. He had a cheat code.
A new, more daring idea began to form in his mind, a plan born of pure, digital vengeance. A slow, wicked grin started to spread across his face.
He angled his shopping cart to provide cover, parking it next to a large, rotating display of tabloid magazines. He leaned against the magazine rack, pretending to be deeply engrossed in a headline that screamed, "ALIEN BIGFOOT STOLE MY BABY!" But his eyes were fixed on the Mayor.
He focused every ounce of his concentration on Mayor Bob Thompson. He narrowed his vision, tuning out the rest of the store, pouring all of his intent into the [INSPECT] command.
The blue progress circle appeared in his vision, superimposed over the Mayor's navy blazer. It filled slower than it had for anyone else. Slower than for Pete. Slower than for Misty. The System was working hard on this one, churning through decades of data, processing a far more complex target. He felt a significant drain on his energy, watching the blue bar on his HUD visibly shrink. This was a deep scan. This was costing him.
He held his breath, waiting for the data packet to download into his brain. He felt like a hacker in a movie, waiting for the password to crack.
The circle completed. Ding.
The [INSPECT] window finally opened, and the information that flooded his vision was richer and more detailed than any scan he had performed before. His [INSPECT] ability must have leveled up with him.
[Name: Robert "Bob" Thompson]
[LVL 35]
[Class: Politician (Local)]
[Status: Agitated, Pompous, Self-Important]
[Current Mood: Righteously Indignant (Manufactured)]
[Dominant Thought: "This employee's incompetence reflects poorly on this store. A strongly-worded letter is in order. This will make a good anecdote at the Rotary Club meeting."]
[Active Buffs: [Well-Known Local]: +15 to Charisma checks with constituents.]
Chris's eyes widened. Level 35. The man was a practically a raid boss in comparison. And the Dominant Thought... it was even worse than he imagined. The Mayor wasn't just angry; he was composing a performance piece in his head. This was theater for him.
He mentally scrolled past the standard stats, his eyes scanning for something more. Something useful. Something he could use. And then he found it. Tucked away at the bottom of the main window was a new data tag, one he had never seen before. It glowed with a faint, intriguing light.
[PERSONAL HISTORY - FLAGGED EVENTS]
His heart skipped a beat. This was the jackpot. Below the tag, there was only one entry. But it was enough.
[Event: The Minuteman Musket Heist of '98. As a senior at Buckhannon-Upshur High, subject was the sole perpetrator in the unsolved theft of the bronze musket from the Minuteman statue at the rival Lewis County High School. The theft occurred the night before the annual rivalry football game. Musket is currently stored in a sealed PVC pipe buried in subject's backyard.]
Chris stared at the text, his mouth falling slightly open. The words seemed to hum with a secret, legendary power. The story of the missing musket was the stuff of local legend. It was Buckhannon's own little Loch Ness Monster, a piece of folklore that got retold every year before the big rivalry game. Pete still told the story with a wistful grin, about how the entire town of Weston had woken up to find the iconic bronze statue of the Lewis County Minuteman holding nothing but empty air. The insult had been so profound, so deeply felt by the rival school, that they'd played with a fiery, desperate rage, only to lose the game anyway, which made the legend even sweeter for the Buckhannon side.
The statue had stood there for years, its hands empty, a permanent symbol of a prank so audacious it had never been solved. The county had finally commissioned a replacement musket a decade later, but the original was never found. It had vanished into history.
Until now.
And the culprit, the legendary prankster who had pulled off the single greatest heist in the history of Upshur County scholastic sports... was the pompous, self-important man currently making a teenager's life a living hell over an expired seventy-nine-cent coupon. And the System even told him where it was buried.
The knowledge felt like a legendary weapon, an artifact of immense power, had just dropped into his inventory. He had the truth. He had leverage.
He looked from the blustering mayor, who was now demanding to see the store manager, to the intimidated cashier, who was visibly trembling, on the verge of tears. He had the means to bring a little humility, a little chaos, into Mayor Bob's perfectly manicured world.
The decision solidified in his mind, sharp and clear. This was no longer a simple grocery run. This was no longer about bread and salsa.
This was a side quest!