A Glitch in Reality - Chapter 0008

Chapter 8

The yellowish light from the lamp hanging from the ceiling of the dilapidated apartment flickered faintly, casting elongated shadows on the damp, mold-stained walls. The air still carried the earthy, floral scent of Maomao’s cream, now mingled with the lingering smell of cold food, the distant diesel from the port, and the faint odor of nervous sweat from the two young men. Jack Williams stood near the half-open window, the Tuxedo Elite still perfectly fitted to his tall, now more upright frame—the glossy black fabric catching the dim light with a subtle iridescent reflection, giving him an almost unreal presence in that decaying environment. His long, pale fingers leafed through the worn notebook, rereading the detailed notes on the cream’s progressive effects—daily regeneration, evening out skin tone, gradual elimination of the marks of a life marked by stress and deprivation.

Kevin Harlan leaned back in the worn armchair, his broad body bent forward with his elbows resting on his knees. His round face still showed a slight flush from the previous exertion, and he alternated his gaze between his friend and the white porcelain pot on the table. They had both applied a thin layer of the cream to their faces minutes before, feeling the silky, cool texture penetrate their skin—a silent test, a concrete first step in the chaos unfolding ahead. The silence between them was comfortable but heavy with expectation, broken only by the distant hum of a truck at the port and the occasional flicker of a lamp.

Kevin scratched his poorly trimmed red beard, tilting his head with a curious smile that didn’t completely hide the seriousness in his brown eyes.

“So, man, what are you going to do now?” he asked, his voice hoarse and direct, echoing in the cramped space of the room.

Jack looked up from his notebook, blinking as if emerging from a deep trance. His tousled blond hair fell over his forehead, and he felt a momentary lapse—a sudden emptiness where the gears of his analytical mind normally turned endlessly. He closed the notebook slowly, the rough paper brushing against his fingers, and turned completely to his friend. He took a deep breath, feeling the humid San Diego night air stream in through the window, heavy with sea salt and the metallic smell of rusty shipping containers.

“I don’t know, Kevin,” Jack admitted, his voice low and reflective, laden with a raw honesty he rarely let show. His deep green eyes, still marked by permanent dark circles, met his friend’s. “You have to understand what hasn’t become clear to you yet. This world I now inhabit… it’s strange to me. While my life hasn’t structurally changed much—the miserable apartment, the job at the gas station, the exhausting routine—the entire universe has changed. Before, for me, there were no heroes flying through the skies. There were no supervillains with fake smiles selling soda while destroying cities. And apparently, there were no monsters either. Now I’m trapped in a world whose rules I don’t fully understand. The threats are real, and I don’t even have the life experience here to know how to navigate them.”

The words came out heavy, each carrying the weight of eighteen years of isolation and, now suddenly, the burden of a reality that mixed the banal with the catastrophic. Jack felt the familiar tightness in his chest—that chronic anxiety that arose in moments of pressure—but the Neural Synergy of the suit softened the discomfort, stabilizing his breathing and maintaining an upright posture. He gestured vaguely with his hand, indicating the surroundings, as if the small apartment represented the abyss between his old life and his new one—between the boy who had fled Huntington with nothing and the one who now wore a suit from another universe in a room that smelled of mold and the sea.

Kevin watched him silently for a moment, the initial smile transforming into something more sensible, deeper. His rounded shoulders rose slightly as he leaned further forward, the leather of the armchair creaking under his weight. There was a glint of unwavering loyalty in his eyes, mixed with the restrained excitement of someone seeing a door opening to something greater than anything he had ever experienced.

“Ah, that’s easy to solve,” said Kevin, his light tone contrasting with the seriousness of the conversation, but without sounding superficial. He offered a weak, almost shy smile, scratching the back of his neck where sweat was still drying. “You may not remember living in a world with people who have powers, with villains, with calamities that appear out of nowhere. But you, at least, have me.”

The silence that followed was brief, punctuated by the wind rustling the thin curtain of the window. Jack straightened his body slightly, his smile becoming more determined, though it still carried the vulnerability of his own disorganized life—of his broken childhood in Huntington, of the years of isolation in San Diego, of the miserable apartment that was the only address he could call his own.

Kevin remained in the worn armchair, his broad body leaning forward as if the weight of the conversation anchored him to the uneven floor of the apartment. The yellowish light cast an uneven glow on his round face, highlighting the beads of sweat still drying on his broad forehead and the poorly trimmed red beard that shaded his chin. When he spoke, his voice came out hoarse and firm, echoing in the confined space with a raw sincerity that made the words hang heavy in the air.

“I’ll help you, my friend,” said Kevin, his brown eyes—normally cheerful or distracted—now shining with deep emotional intensity, his eyebrows slightly furrowed in concentration. “I don’t know if I’m needed, but you’re my only friend. And if you die between today and tomorrow, who will listen to my nonsense? No. That’s non-negotiable. I’ll help you, no matter what trouble you get into.”

The words flowed naturally, laden with restrained emotion, the tone oscillating between honest vulnerability and unwavering resolve. Kevin gestured with open hands, palms up as if offering everything he had, the movement making his black shirt tighten over his prominent belly. He leaned even further forward, the cracked leather of the armchair creaking, and the faint scent of his nervous sweat mingled with the floral perfume of the cream they had both applied minutes before—a fresh, silky sensation on the skin that served as a tactile reminder of the impossible that had already begun.

Jack, still standing, felt a pang in his chest upon hearing that. The suit’s Neural Synergy detected the emotional surge, easing the tension in his narrow shoulders and stabilizing his breathing, but it couldn’t completely extinguish the inner turmoil. For the first time in a long time, he looked at his friend with truly new eyes—seeing beyond the facade of laziness, the mismatched clothes, and the impulsiveness that had led him to risk everything for a pack of marijuana. Behind it all lay a profound loyalty, an emotional resilience that Jack, with his traumas of family abandonment, had rarely found in another person. The elegant suit made him feel less fragile, but it was Kevin’s sincere gaze that gave him a real sense of support—the kind of support that didn’t come from a system or an item from another universe, but from a human being who had chosen to be there.

The humid Californian night air streamed in through the window, carrying the distant sound of waves crashing against the piers and the intermittent hum of sirens in the distance, reminding the two that outside, beyond that precarious room, a world of corporate heroes, sadistic villains, and unpredictable threats awaited them, the rules of which Jack was still learning to decipher.

Jack stared at his friend across the makeshift coffee table, the still-open jar of cream between them exuding that soft, out-of-place aroma of fresh herbs and dried flowers. He could no longer hold back his words—there was a responsibility weighing on him, and ignoring it would be a way of betraying the very loyalty Kevin was demonstrating.

“Dude,” Jack began, his voice low and hoarse, heavy with restrained emotion, reaching out to touch his friend’s shoulder in an almost hesitant gesture, his fingers feeling the rough fabric of the denim jacket. “I’m glad you’re really interested in all this. That you want to help me, and I appreciate that deeply, from the bottom of my heart. You have no idea what this means to someone like me, who’s always had to carry everything alone.” He paused, swallowing hard, his throat dry and his heart pounding against his ribs. Kevin tilted his head slightly, his brow furrowed in concentration, a glint of pride mixed with confusion passing across his sweaty face—he opened his mouth to reply something animated, but Jack raised his hand, continuing with growing urgency. “But I need you to understand something important. The hole I’m in is much deeper than you imagine.”

Jack gestured to his own body, displaying the Tuxedo Elite with a fluid movement of his arm—the glossy black fabric catching the dim light of the lamp and revealing that subtle iridescent sheen—and then pointed to the porcelain container on the table, the creamy filling sparkling innocently. “I have absolutely no control over my gacha. As you can see…” he indicated the pot with his chin, his voice deepening, almost resigned, “this is what came out after we risked everything. I don’t choose anything. I don’t decide if it’s going to be a weapon, some absurd power, or… this. I can only work with what the system gives me. And the mortality rate in all of this… is high. In this universe where the GDA and Vought actively hunt anomalies, where the Seven control the public narrative, and where anyone with anything unusual can become a target or a disposable asset overnight, every mistake has a cost that can’t be paid twice.”

Kevin’s face visibly changed. The initial excitement gave way to a shadow of sobriety—his eyes narrowed, his shoulders slumped slightly, and he leaned back in the armchair with a creaking of the old upholstery, running his large, chubby hand over his bearded chin as he absorbed the words. There was genuine concern there, mixed with a loyal desire to help, the sweat glistening more on his broad forehead under the yellowish light. Jack felt a pang in his chest at seeing his friend’s reaction; he didn’t want to be the one to drag Kevin into something that could destroy him.

“It’s not going to be easy, man. Far from it,” Jack continued, his voice even lower now, almost an urgent whisper, leaning forward until his knees almost touched his friend’s. The scent of the cream intensified between them, a surreal contrast to the palpable tension in the air. “And you, my brother… I don’t want to be the one to blame if something horrible happens to you. I don’t want to carry that on my conscience either. The mess my family has left, the escape, the fears—enough is enough. If you go into this with me, you need to know it could cost you dearly. Very dearly.”

Kevin remained silent for a long second, his chest rising and falling heavily, his fingers drumming nervously on the arm of the chair. His eyes met Jack’s, filled with conflict—loyalty, fear, a stubborn excitement that wouldn’t be completely extinguished even by the prospect of real danger. Then he nodded slowly, swallowing hard, his serious expression revealing that he had finally understood the depth of the abyss that opened before them both.

“Jack, Jack…” Kevin began, his voice possessing an unusually gentle firmness, his brown eyes fixed on his friend with a rare intensity. “You’re my friend. My only true friend. Sure, I know a lot of people—especially those who didn’t work out, people I shouldn’t have gotten involved with. But you’re the only one who truly sees me. We read comics together, play video games until late, drink cheap beer, and complain about life. For eighteen years I haven’t had someone like that. And now I do. Now my friend is in a huge mess, and I have the possibility to help. I have that possibility. So I’m going to help my friend.”

Kevin’s words echoed in the small room, thick with sincerity. His face, normally marked by a relaxed or lazy expression, now displayed a rare determination, his eyes slightly moist—not from tears, but from a contained emotion that was almost heavier than crying. His broad body seemed firmer, as if loyalty had given him a new posture, a center of gravity that hadn’t been there before.

Jack felt an unexpected warmth rise in his chest, relieving some of the tension that had accumulated in his thin shoulders. A genuine, slow, and grateful smile curved his pale lips. The Tuxedo Elite registered the emotional shift, a soft and comforting pulse against his skin.

“Thank you,” Jack murmured, his voice hoarse with restrained but sincere emotion.

Kevin simply waved his hand, dismissing the thank you with a casual, almost embarrassed gesture that made his shirt tighten around his stomach.

“No need, man. After all, we’re friends.”

The air in the apartment felt lighter for a moment, despite the dampness and the precarious conditions. Kevin rested his chin on his hand, his elbow planted on his knee, his brow furrowed in practical concentration, his fingers drumming slightly—a nervous habit that betrayed the brain working fast behind the relaxed facade.

“We need a plan,” he declared, his voice firm, cutting through the comforting silence.

Jack nodded slowly, closing his eyes for a second as he processed the enormity of what awaited them. The weight of the Tuxedo Elite, the jar of regenerative cream on the table, the memories of ChaosGacha swirling—everything converged on an uncertain future in a world of corporate heroes, sadistic villains, and existential threats whose rules he was only beginning to understand. Each roll had been proof that the system was real. Each item, a tool. And each tool, however small, represented a chance to build something where before there was only vulnerability.

“Exactly,” Jack replied, opening his eyes and meeting his friend’s gaze. “We need a plan.”

The two remained there, in the center of the cramped room, surrounded by the lingering scent of the cream, the hum of the night city, and the palpable electricity of a newly strengthened alliance. The chapter of their old lives was slowly closing, while the new—dangerous, unpredictable, and full of possibilities that neither of them could yet fully grasp—opened before them. The Tuxedo Elite gleamed subtly in the dim light, like a silent omen that, together, they might be able to navigate the chaos to come.