The memory hit Delvin like a fist to the chest.
That morning. The strange men. The whispered conversation he'd overheard behind the service elevator. His heart slammed against his ribs, each beat a hammer strike that made his vision pulse at the edges. His palms were slick with sweat.
"Thieves." The word crystallized in his mind with terrible clarity. 'They were casing the hotel.'
But who would be insane enough to steal from Mr. Parker? The man owned half the city. His name alone made politicians sweat.
Delvin's thoughts spiraled, fragmenting between the present moment—these armed men, the gleaming pistols, Jasmine's scream still echoing in his ears—and this morning's incident he hadn't fully processed. Hadn't "wanted" to process.
The system. That voice. That "thing" that had wormed its way into his skull.
He'd read about this in fantasy novels during late shifts when the hotel was quiet. Systems. Game-like interfaces. Power granted to ordinary people. But those were "fiction". Escapism. Not reality. Not "his" reality.
What if the voice got him killed? What if he died here, tonight, without ever spending that first legitimate paycheck? The one he'd earned with his own hands, his own honest work?
But then again... what if he succeeded? What if he actually defended Mr. Parker's hotel? He'd be a hero. Untouchable. Set for life.
The thought died as quickly as it sparked.
Because he had no idea 'how' to do that.
He'd never thrown a punch in his life. Never been in a real fight. And these weren't just thieves—they were professionals.
Criminals. Men who'd done this before, whose hands didn't shake when they pointed guns at innocent people.
'Do you want me to teach them a lesson?'
The voice sliced through his panic like a blade through silk. But it wasn't Andy's mechanical monotone. This voice was smooth. Amused. Almost... eager.
"What?" The word escaped as a whisper. Delvin's eyes darted to Mr. Ben, praying the older man hadn't heard.
Mr. Ben's gaze locked onto his. Those weathered eyes saw too much, understood too much. A subtle shake of his head. A clear message.
'Don't. Do. Anything.'
'Delvin, make up your mind.' The voice purred in his head, insistent now. 'Clock's ticking.'
"Who are you?" Delvin gripped his watch so hard the metal bit into his wrist. The pain grounded him, kept him from flying apart.
"What?" Mr. Ben hissed, face draining of color.
Delvin held up one finger. 'Wait. Quiet.'
'Oh, that's not cool, man. You can just "think" and I'll hear you. No need for the external monologue.'
A laugh rippled through Delvin's consciousness. 'Call me Zauzo. We share the same body now. But I'm my own person. My own identity. Don't forget it.'
Delvin's stomach dropped.
'For God's sake, what is happening?' His internal voice cracked with desperation. 'Has my mind been infected? Is this some kind of virus?'
'You're funny. I'll give you that.' Zauzo sounded genuinely entertained. 'I came with the system—bonus package, no extra charge. But we're running out of time, Delvin. Those guns? They're loaded. That pretty manager you've been mooning over? She's about five seconds from getting hurt. So I'll ask again: do you need my help?'
Delvin's breath came in short, shallow gasps. His vision tunneled.
He'd already accepted the system. Crossed that line. Opened that door. So what was one more step into the impossible?
'Alright.' He thought it clearly, deliberately. 'I'll... let you help.'
'Nope. You've got to "say" it properly.'
'Are you serious right now?'
'Dead serious.' Zauzo's tone shifted, harder now. 'Whatever happens to these people—whatever "they" do to them—you're responsible. Your choice. Your consequences. So say it right.'
Delvin's heart felt like it might burst through his chest. The thundering pulse in his ears drowned out everything else.
'Alright. I need your help.'
'Please.'
'Please.' The word tasted like ash.
'The complete sentence, Delvin. I'm not a mind reader—oh wait.' Laughter, sharp and mocking. 'Come on. Beg a little.'
Rage flooded through him, hot and sudden. If Zauzo had a physical form, Delvin would've thrown that first punch. Would've made it count.
'I need your help, please.' Each word was torn from him.
'Good boy.'
Then it happened.
A rush of something—euphoria? Electricity? Pure adrenaline?—surged through Delvin's body. His muscles tensed. His vision sharpened. Everything became hyper-real, colors too bright, sounds too loud.
And then he was... gone.
Not gone. Trapped.
He could see through his eyes, but they weren't his anymore. He tried to lift his hand—nothing. Tried to move his leg—nothing.
His body was a prison, and he was locked inside, pounding uselessly against walls he couldn't touch.
'I've lost control.' Panic clawed up his throat. 'My body—I can't move—is this paralysis? Am I dying?'
'Relax, roommate.' Zauzo's voice was languid, unconcerned. 'I just borrowed it for a bit. I'll give it back. Probably.'
'PROBABLY?!'
Across the lobby, the five men pulled pistols from their jackets in synchronized movements. The bartender froze mid-pour, the bottle still tilted, amber liquid splashing onto the counter.
The three women in evening gowns—guests from the wedding reception on the third floor—stopped mid-laugh. Their faces drained of color. One of them made a small, wounded sound.
"Everyone on the ground! NOW!" The bulked man—clearly the leader—aimed his weapon at the ceiling.
"Cooperate, and nobody gets hurt! We just want the money!"
"I—I—yes sir—" The bartender's voice shattered into pieces. Her hands shot up, trembling so violently her rings clinked together. Her breathing came in short, hyperventilating gasps.
The three women collapsed to the marble floor like marionettes with cut strings. Tears carved mascara rivers down their faces, but they made no sound. Pure terror.
Then Jasmine rounded the corner from the back offices.
"Security! SECU—"
"SHUT UP!" One of the robbers wheeled toward her and fired.
The shot cracked through the lobby like the world splitting open.
Jasmine stumbled backward, hitting the wall, eyes wide with shock. The bullet had gone high—a warning shot that punched a hole in the ornate ceiling. Plaster dust rained down like snow.
Inside his own head, Delvin screamed.
'I guess this is my cue.' Zauzo's voice was light, almost playful. 'Time to play hero. Shame she won't even know it's me doing this. Or... Us? This is confusing.'
Just do it!' Delvin's mental voice was ragged. He needed to get to Jasmine, needed to protect her, needed to "move"—
'Oh, now you're giving orders? That's cute.' But there was something darker underneath Zauzo's amusement now. Something hungry. 'Tell you what—let me make you famous.'
Without warning, Delvin's body moved.
But it wasn't how Delvin moved. His shoulders rolled back with a confidence he'd never possessed. His spine straightened. His hands clasped behind his back in a casual, almost bored gesture.
Zauzo studied the robbers the way a cat studies mice.
"Hand over all the cash, and we're out of here!" The bulked man's voice boomed through the lobby. "Dogo! Get behind that counter and empty the safe! Move!"
One of the thieves—a wiry man with a scar bisecting his eyebrow—vaulted over the bar. The bartender whimpered and pressed herself against the wall, making herself small.
And Delvin's body took a step forward.
Then another.
'What are you doing?!' Delvin's internal scream was white-hot panic. 'They have GUNS!'
'I know.' Zauzo sounded delighted. 'Isn't it exciting?'