The walk back to his rented room was a blur. The world felt too loud, too bright, too much. A car engine three streets away sounded like a bee buzzing in his ear. A stray cat and a stubborn squirrel argued in a yard, and Leo felt a wave of petty anger and sharp anxiety wash over him. He kept his new sense—the ten-meter sphere of awareness—tugged tight like a muscle he was trying to hold still. Letting it run wild would be like reading a thousand street signs at once while running a marathon.
He reached his building, a tired, peeling place that smelled of damp concrete and old regrets. His room was a single, with a bed, a mini-fridge, and a bathroom so small you could practically shower, shave, and use the toilet at the same time. He needed to feel normal. He needed a shower.
He peeled off his salt crusted clothes and stepped under the spray. The hot water felt like a blessing, washing away the salt, the sweat, and the lingering scent of ozone. He stood there a long time, just breathing, trying to process the impossible.
I can find things. I can fix animals. I can understand them. The thoughts looped through his head, each one more ridiculous than the last.
He cupped his hands under the stream, watching the water pool in his palms. He brought them to his chest, a small, tired gesture as he rubbed the water over his skin. Then it happened.
There was a faint, almost imperceptible shift inside him. A sense of something opening. The water in his cupped hands vanished. Not dripping away. Disappeared.
Leo froze, hands hovering in the air.
"What now?" he whispered to the steam-filled room.
He turned inward the same way he turned to activate his scan. And there it was. Not a physical place, but a sense of space. A void waiting to be filled. The dimensions came to him as instinctively as the range of his scan: ten cubic meters. A perfect, personal pocket universe.
His heart beat hard in his chest. He shut off the shower, water still dripping from his hair, and wrapped a towel around his waist. He stepped back into his room, his eyes landing on the gold bracelet from the beach, sitting on his rickety nightstand.
He picked it up. It was solid, heavy, real. He focused on the bracelet, then on that inner space. He willed it to go there.
It vanished from his palm.
A jolt, both thrilling and terrifying, shot through him. He focused inward again, and he could feel the bracelet sitting in the center of his void. He willed it back. It reappeared in his hand with a slight, cool pressure.
"Okay," he breathed, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Okay. That's new."
For the next twenty minutes, he experimented. He stored a book, a shoe, his entire pillow. He pulled them out, sometimes in his hand, sometimes directly onto the bed. There was no weight, no strain. The space was just there. A limitless, weightless pocket.
The gnawing hunger in his gut, momentarily forgotten in the shock of discovery, roared back with a vengeance. The long healing had taken a toll, and his body was screaming for fuel.
He got dressed and pulled a rusty tin box from under his bed. His life savings, four hundred seventy-two dollars, all crumpled and worn, sat inside. He stored the entire box in his personal space. The feeling of security was immediate and deep. No one could ever rob him again. Not really.
He knew where he needed to go.
---
The KFC was bright and loud, overlit, the air thick with grease and herbs. The girl at the counter looked bored.
"What can I get you?" she asked, barely looking up.
Leo's stomach growled loud enough to shake the moment.
"What's the biggest combo you've got?"
"The Ultimate Feast Box. It's eight pieces of chicken, two large sides, four biscuits, and four drinks."
"I'll take three," Leo said, without blinking.
That got her attention. Her eyes widened. "Three? For… here?"
"To go," Leo said, already pulling sixty dollars from his pocket—he'd taken it out before storing the rest.
He carried the three giant, grease-splattered boxes out of the store, the cashier's bewildered stare pressed into his back. Around the corner, out of sight, he willed two of the boxes into his storage space. The weight in his hands disappeared. He left with one box intact.
He opened it as he walked, pulling out a drumstick. He took a huge bite. The crispy skin, the juicy meat—it exploded in his mouth. It wasn't just hunger being met; it felt like pouring high-octane fuel into a drained tank. Energy spread through his limbs, the fog of exhaustion lifting with every chew.
By the time he reached his door, he'd finished half the box. He spread the rest out on his bed—a feast of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, coleslaw, and biscuits—and dug in.
As he ate, his mind sharpened, fueled and bright. He began to race through possibilities, the big question forming and tightening in his chest.
What can I do with this?
The legal paths were obvious, but they sounded small. Treasure hunting? Find lost shipwrecks with his scan, store the gold in his pocket. Miracle veterinarian? Heal pets for a price. A job in logistics, moving sensitive materials without anyone knowing. A good, safe, quiet life.
But his life had never been good, safe, or quiet. He thought of the foreman at the docks who shorted his pay, the guys on the big yachts who looked at him like he was trash.
The illegal possibilities unspooled in his mind like a dangerous ribbon.
He could walk into any bank, any jewelry store. His scan could find vulnerabilities, the forgotten vents, the locations of the most valuable items in the safe. He could walk in empty-handed and walk out with millions in his pocket. No one would ever know. He could be a ghost.
He could be a smuggler. Weapons, documents, people? No, not people. He wouldn't do that. But anything else. He could walk it right through any customs check in the world.
He finished a biscuit, licking the butter from his fingers. The law had never done him favors. The system had left him an orphan, a nobody. Now he was something else. Something more.
He sat there, the scraps of his meal around him, and wondered why on earth he would ever play by the rules again. The power hummed in his chest, quiet but insistent.
"Why not?" he whispered to the empty room. "Why not, if I can have it all?"