Chapter 4: Morning Revs

  The safe house mattress was thin enough to feel the springs like rebar, but it beat the hospital bed by a country mile. Carson woke to the soft chime of the System, and an update at exactly 7:00 a.m.—the longest couple of minutes in Ridge Haven history.

  Reminder: Payment due in 13 days, 17 hours.

  An icon and number appeared in his left periphery—a red house symbol with $200 next to it, pulsed coming into focus, right under the red $3700. Each time the pulsed it felt like the grind of a gear.

  He stared at the ceiling for a long second, the number burning behind his eyelids. Thirty-seven hundred had felt heavy; thirty-nine felt like a drag-chute around the neck. But the clock was ticking, and hunger was already gnawing at his gut harder than any debt notification.

  He rolled out of bed, joints popping like old suspension bushings. The room was still dim—blinds half-drawn against the early light filtering through the alley. Window still open—he may never close it. The blind cord zipped. The plastic clapped as it was collected. Slapping harder than he had intended. The blind bay swung once and dropped to the floor. He looked out the window: down below was the alley leading into more alleys, pawn shop roog next door, a goblin smoking a cigarette. Way out there—beyond his maps allowance—the great blue mountain slept. Good morning, Ridge Haven.

  He splashed water on his face from the tiny sink, even drank some—not great—checked his pocket: $100 cash, creased and warm from sleeping on it. Enough for food, maybe a coffee if he was lucky. He didn’t know the prices.

  The System pinged again, quieter this time:

  [Daily Login Bonus: +25 XP]

  Experience for waking up? Nice. Every day is progress or the city was high stakes like that—he nodded at his own thought. Reading the HUD as it updated.

  Level Progress: 1 (240/500XP to Level 2)

  [New Daily Challenge: Fuel Up – Consume a meal before a shift at Rico’s Garage.

  Reward: +75 XP, Minor Stamina Regen Buff (2 hours).]

  He smirked. Even the System wanted him fed. “Fair enough System. You don’t have to tell me twice.” And his stomach grumbled, backing the statement.

  Down the narrow stairwell, past the snoring tenant on the second floor who always left his door cracked, and out into Lowtown’s morning haze. The city was pulsing just the same as it was the night before—delivery drones humming overhead, street cleaners sweeping mana residue off the gutters, the first early-shift racers gunning their engines on the access ramps above. The air carried the promise of exhaust and fried dough.

  Two blocks from the safe house, he spotted it. The food cart parked at the mouth of an alley: Mama Lin’s Quick Bites. Faded red awning, steam rising from griddles, a handwritten menu board propped against the wheel well. White chalk glowing in the sunlight.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Egg & Mana Bun – $4 (light speed buff, +5% reaction time for 30 min)

  Spicy Noodle Bowl – $6 (endurance +10 for 1 hour)

  Plain Toast & Coffee – $3 (no buffs, just calories)

  Carson weighed the options. Buffs sounded tempting, but $3900 debt meant every dollar had to stretch. The line down-shifted. He read the menu again. Hopefully the coffee was good. He stepped up.

  “Toast and coffee,” he told the wiry woman behind the counter—Mama Lin herself, judging by the name tag and the way she moved like she’d spent decades dodging hot oil and snarky comebacks.

  She eyed him while pouring. “New face. Hospital tag still on your wrist?”

  He glanced down—yeah, the faint holographic band hadn’t faded yet. “Got discharged yesterday. Starting at Rico’s today.”

  Mama Lin nodded like that explained everything. “Rico’s good people. Pays fair. Do yourself a favor, don’t let the grease get in your head—keep your eyes on the road, not the rearview.” She slid the plate over: two thick slices of grilled bread slathered in something that smelled like garlic butter, and a paper cup of black coffee strong enough to strip paint.

  “On the house,” she added when he reached for cash. “First-timers get one free. Consider it an investment. You look like you might actually stick around.”

  Carson hesitated—free—it hit harder than the debt wake up ever could. He then pocketed the bill he’d pulled out. “Thanks. Really.” Lips tugged gently as he dipped his head with a considerate nod.

  He ate standing at the cart’s flip-down counter—stools taken—wolfing the toast and washing it down with coffee that tasted like burnt rubber and salvation. Noticing the glowing runes etched into the handle of a very old looking spatula—curious. Warmth spread through his chest—not just from the food, but from the System:

  [Daily Challenge Complete: Fuel Up]

  Reward: +75 XP. Stamina Regen Buff +15% (2hours)

  Stamina Regen Buff has been applied.

  Level Progress: Level 1 (315/500XP to Level 2)

  The buff icon glowed faintly along in the right side periphery—a blue arm flexing its bicep, muscle throbbing dramatically with each flex—a soft green pulse that made his legs feel lighter, arms less leaden. Small edges, but in a city like this, edges were everything.

  He finished the last bite, crumpled the paper cup, and tossed it into the recycle bin that hummed appreciatively as it absorbed the trash—the system pinged politely:

  [Hidden Bonus Found: Recycler. – Recycle your garbage. (This bonus can only be collected once.)

  Reward: +10 XP. +5 Street Cred.

  Level Progress: Level 1 (325/500 to level 2.)

  Street Reputation: 5/???

  Nobody likes litterbugs. Keeping the streets clean means keeping your tracks clean. Race clean punk.

  Nice, another hidden bonus. Carson smiled at the system HUD. Thanked Mama Lin once more. She waved him off with her spatula. Flipping some golden hash in the process.

  Rico’s Garage was about a five-minute walk now. The black Supra from yesterday wasn’t there—not everyone fueled up daily—but the bays were already open, tools clinking, Rico’s voice barking orders at someone in the back.

  Carson rolled his shoulders. The buzz of the regen buff tingled up and down his spine. He was ready for the day. So was Ridge Haven. A pump chimed. A ‘97 Honda NSX—competitive sun yellow sat at one of the pumps. A jockey—hat backwards—was wiping the matte black rims while the car guzzled the rune-fuel—premium grade.

  He pushed through the door, bell chiming.

  “Morning, boss,” he called.

  Rico looked up from under the hood of a snarling RX-7, rag in hand. “You’re early. Good. Bay two’s got a drift missile that needs a full wash and wax before noon. Customer’s picky.” He studied the kid. Reaching for Mana-Wax.

  “And Carson?”

  “Yeah?”

  The silver in his fade seemed more relaxed in the mornings. “Don’t disappoint me.” His smile was warm. Worn. One that’s seen far too many blowouts but chooses to put the tires on anyways.