A Glitch in Reality - Chapter 0005

Chapter 5

The apartment in San Diego seemed to have shrunk. The damp-stained walls reeked of mold, and the air carried the bitter residue of the burnt coffee Jack had made earlier. The lamp hanging from the ceiling swayed in the breeze that streamed in through the half-open window, casting long shadows on the worn linoleum.

Jack Williams paced back and forth, his hands gesturing incessantly as he tried to organize thoughts that seemed about to explode. His thin body, even more fragile under that yellowish light, conveyed an almost palpable urgency—shoulders hunched, fingers nervous, his hand repeatedly returning to his neck as if his skin were on fire.

On the other side of the room, Kevin remained on the worn sofa, his body relaxed, but his face marked by intense concentration. He had removed his old cap, revealing damp, disheveled hair, and kept his fingers interlaced under his chin, as if trying to contain his own doubts. His eyes followed his friend’s every movement, narrowing at each pause in Jack’s long, detailed explanation. Outside, the constant hum of port traffic served as a reminder that the world remained indifferent to the chaos unfolding within.

Jack paused, took a deep breath. When he spoke, his voice came out urgent, almost pleading—describing the multiverse, the comic books that seemed to have invaded reality, the subtle but profound changes that no one else seemed to notice. Sweat trickled down his forehead, and he scratched his neck again, the nervous tic that had accompanied him since his turbulent childhood in Huntington.

Kevin tilted his head slowly. When he spoke, each syllable came measured, deliberate.

“So you’re telling me that last night—or rather, even today, since it’s still the 11th—you had access to a multiversal force.” —Long pause.—”A force that altered the properties of our entire universe. And that these changes came from comic books.”

The words hung in the air, heavy. Kevin uncrossed his fingers from behind his chin, but kept his body leaning slightly forward, as if he wanted to pull Jack back to sanity. There was tension in his jaw, a slight tremor in his fingers that betrayed that, despite his controlled tone, he was struggling not to be swallowed by the shock.

Jack stopped walking suddenly and scratched his neck harder, leaving red marks on his skin.

“That’s exactly what I’m trying to explain,” he replied, his voice wavering at the end, heavy with frustration. He pointed with a trembling finger to the black folder on the coffee table. “And this here is proof.”

Kevin let out a long sigh, rubbing his face with his hands.

Dude, I think you need to relax.

Jack’s reaction was visceral. He let out a guttural sound—something between a nervous laugh and the neighing of a wounded animal—and his whole body trembled as he scratched himself with both hands, leaving red marks on his cheeks.

“I’m not going crazy.” The voice now echoed through the narrow walls. “Don’t you remember Batman? It’s 2002! I went to sleep last night in 2026. All that story about The Seven… an immortal in a beer can? And it all fell into place. Something changed in the structure of our universe.”

He stopped, his chest heaving, his glazed eyes fixed on his friend.

My life remains the same. If I call home now, my father will answer and yell. But other things have changed. Today’s newspaper reported an accident involving a Meta-human. That proves everything.

Kevin shook his head slowly, his expression hardening in a mixture of pity and impatience.

“Of course it proves it,” he replied, his voice firm, almost paternal. “It’s always been this way. You’re the one who’s forgotten how the world works.”

The words came out abruptly, but there was a glint of genuine concern in Kevin’s eyes—his longtime friend trying to stop Jack from falling into the abyss.

Jack felt the frustration boil like acid. He took a deep breath, the cold air filling his lungs, and decided that words would no longer be enough.

” Very well. There is a way to clear up all your doubts.”

Without hesitation, he began to take off his shirt, revealing his thin, pale torso, marked by old scars. Then he lowered his pants, leaving him in just his underwear in the middle of the room. The cold night air hit his skin immediately, causing an involuntary shiver.

“Dude, you’ve completely lost it!” Kevin sat up slightly in his chair, his hands open in a defensive gesture, his eyes wide. “What are you doing?”

“Sit on the sofa and watch,” Jack said, his voice low but firm, ignoring the blush of embarrassment rising up his neck.

She walked to the coffee table, her bare feet cold on the linoleum, and opened the briefcase with a metallic click that echoed like a gunshot in the silent room. Kevin watched her every move, his eyes fixed on her, still convinced he was witnessing a nervous breakdown.

The tension was suffocating — the smell of nervous sweat mixed with the humid air, the heavy breathing of the two, the flickering light of the lamp highlighting every tense muscle in Jack’s frail body and every wrinkle of worry on Kevin’s face.

Kevin watched his friend with a fixed, expressionless gaze, his brown eyes half-closed. He hadn’t expected Jack to have access to such refined clothes. Even he, the son of a family with considerable resources, knew how to recognize genuine quality at first glance.

The fabric was impeccable. The initial drape betrayed a handcrafted cut; the details in the stitching could only have been produced by experienced hands. Handmade , Kevin thought, frowning. That suit hadn’t come from any department store—it cost tens, maybe hundreds of thousands of dollars. Where on earth had Jack gotten something like that?

Worry grew like a slow tide. Overnight, his friend seemed to have lost entire parts of reality—selective memories, as if someone had erased crucial fragments of the world they shared. Forgetting GDA? Vought? The superheroes dominating the daily news, the intrusive advertisements, the Immortal emblazoned on beer cans?

Kevin knew about Jack’s vices—comics, anime, video games, understandable escapes for someone carrying such heavy family trauma. But this? The theory of an altered universe, multiversal changes caused by comic books? It was too much.

At the same time, a wave of emotional heat washed over him. Jack was his only true friend. Technically, he was his employee at the gas station, but the bond between them went far beyond that. Kevin had spent his entire childhood and adolescence in near-total isolation. His tastes—a fascination with conspiracy theories and nerdy narratives—repelled people like insect repellent. When he met Jack, he saw a reflection: the same isolation, the same sharp intelligence hidden behind a fragile and reserved appearance.

He’s my friend. My only friend. I can’t lose him to this.

Jack, oblivious to the other’s turbulent thoughts, finished dressing in the Elite Tuxedo. The white shirt slid over his thin skin, the black jacket rested on his narrow shoulders, and the trousers still hung loosely. He hadn’t even zipped them up, much less adjusted the bow tie that swung loosely around his neck. The fabric looked ridiculously small on his six-foot-three skeletal frame—sleeves too short, trousers that barely covered his shins.

Even so, there was a cold determination in his brown eyes, a spark of hope shining behind the chronic anxiety. He turned to Kevin, his body slightly hunched with insecurity, but his voice firm:

Are you ready?

Kevin arched a thick eyebrow, his face a mixture of pure disbelief and compassion. He’s worse off than I thought. It was clear the suit was several sizes too small for Jack’s frail frame—the sleeves almost a hand’s breadth short of his wrists, the trousers riding up to his ankles, the shiny shoes probably squeezing his skinny feet like a walrus.

He opened his mouth to say something — maybe a joke to ease the tension, maybe a plea for Jack to stop — but the words died in his throat.

Then, something completely defied logic.

In an instant, Jack’s body stiffened like a statue. His arms pressed against his sides, his legs snapped shut with an almost audible click, and his face contorted in an expression of pure shock—wide eyes, open mouth, arched eyebrows. A subtle tremor ran through his thin body, as if an invisible electric current had passed through every nerve.

Kevin blinked, leaning forward in his chair. The air in the room seemed to thicken, laden with static electricity, and a low, almost imperceptible hum filled the silence.

The suit began to transform.

The trousers lengthened smoothly, the black fabric flowing like living liquid, fitting perfectly around Jack’s long, slender legs. The sleeves repositioned themselves on his thin arms with surgical precision. The zipper rose on its own, in a fluid and silent movement. Then Jack’s hands sprang into action with superhuman speed—a blur of movements so rapid that Kevin could barely keep up. His long, pale fingers flew to his neck, tying the bow tie with a dexterity and asymmetrical perfection bordering on the impossible. Each loop, each adjustment, executed with artistic precision, resulting in an elegant and unique knot that no ordinary human could replicate in such a short time.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Kevin remained frozen in the armchair, his blue eyes wide, his mouth slightly open. His heart pounded hard enough to echo in his ears. He felt a shiver run down his spine, mixed with reluctant excitement—this wasn’t a hallucination. It wasn’t madness. It was real. The suit had adapted to his friend’s body like a living, technological second skin.

Jack, for his part, stared at his own hands in utter astonishment. His fingers trembled slightly as he slowly turned them over, examining them as if they belonged to someone else. His jaw dropped, his pale face turned even whiter with disbelief. His brown eyes gleamed with a mixture of terror, wonder, and a spark of empowerment he had never felt before. The weight of the suit was almost nonexistent, but the sensation of power—amplified reflexes, a subtle environmental analysis activating in his mind—left him breathless. He felt the fabric breathing against his skin, adapting to the exact temperature of his body.

The yellowish light highlighted every detail of the now perfectly fitted Tuxedo Elite: the impeccable cut, the subtle sheen of the fabric, the elegance that transformed the frail young man into something reminiscent of an elite agent straight out of a spy movie.

Kevin couldn’t look away.

Jack took a deep breath, his chest expanding against the fabric. He walked to the coffee table with precise movements, guided by an agility he was still learning to process. He took the watch from the briefcase—the cold metal against his thin skin—and slid it onto his left wrist with a satisfying click. Then, the thin-rimmed gold glasses, which slipped delicately down his nose.

When she turned to Kevin, the effect was immediate.

The eighteen-year-old boy who had fled Huntington, West Virginia, now appeared as an almost ethereal figure—six feet three inches tall, erect, with slightly disheveled blond hair falling over his forehead, thin glasses adding an intellectual and sophisticated air that contrasted with his humble origins. The tailored suit outlined an elegant silhouette, as if he had stepped straight out of a haute couture catalog.

Kevin couldn’t hide his fascination. He knew Jack as the poor guy, living in a miserable room near the port, working at the gas station in old clothes and with a look always filled with insecurity.

But what about that? The man in front of him looked like a professional model—someone who belonged to a world of luxury and power, not to the cycle of poverty and trauma that the two shared. A silent question echoed in Kevin’s mind: Is that really Jack? He felt a strange mix of pride, confusion, and a pang of insecurity—after all, he was the “rich” one of the two, but he had never possessed anything with that aura of exclusivity.

“Dude, something happened,” Kevin murmured, his voice low and heavy with reluctant admiration, gesturing vaguely toward the suit. “You’re telling me this came from some multiversal thing? I don’t even know the name of it…”

“ChaosGacha,” Jack replied promptly, a small, genuine smile curving his lips for the first time in that tense conversation.

“I don’t know,” Kevin retorted, shaking his head, his arms opening in a wide arc that cut through the humid air. He pointed directly at the suit. “Did a multiversal force provide this for you?”

Jack held his friend’s gaze for a long second, his gold glasses reflecting the yellowish light of the lamp. The smile remained, now more confident.

So watch.

With measured and deliberate steps, she walked to the worn wall on the other side of the room—an uneven surface, painted a faded beige, marked by fine cracks and damp stains. She lifted her right foot and, completely defying gravity, planted it against the vertical wall.

Then the other foot.

And he began to walk horizontally, as if the wall were the floor.

Each step was fluid, precise, the Tuxedo Elite activating its autonomous functions instinctively. Jack’s body remained parallel to the ground, suspended on the wall like a figure from an impossible action movie, his lean muscles working with an efficiency he had never possessed before.

Suspended there, just inches from Kevin’s eye level, Jack turned to his friend. His blond hair fell lightly over his thin glasses. A cautious yet triumphant expression lit up his face, his eyes gleaming with relief at finally having concrete proof.

So? What do you think?

Kevin froze. His jaw dropped in an expression of pure shock that relaxed his face almost comically. His eyes widened, his eyebrows shot up to his hairline, his body tilting slightly back as if he needed physical distance to process the scene.

“This has to be madness,” he murmured, his voice hoarse and low, almost a whisper.

The room plunged into a dense silence, broken only by the distant sound of waves in the harbor and the heavy breathing of the two young men. Jack, still suspended on the wall, the Tuxedo Elite gleaming subtly in the dim light, represented the turning point he so desperately needed. Kevin, standing in the center of the room, struggled internally with the collapse of his worldview—and with the weight of a friendship being tested, and strengthened, by the fire of that extraordinary revelation.

Neither of them yet knew how far ChaosGacha would take them in that shared universe of heroes, corporations, and monsters. But at that moment, the test was literally before them—defying all the rules of reality they knew.