Carrie's residential home
Periun city, Kettlia Region
Ashtarium Nation
North American Continent
30th September, 2019
Jack stood at the bottom of Carrie's driveway, fidgeting with the cuff of his borrowed jacket while holding on to the bag across his shoulder. The dusk was just beginning to settle, painting the street in dreamy shades of violet and blue. When Carrie emerged from her front door, a flutter of nerves rose in his chest. She wore a simple sundress under a light cardigan, her hair loose for once, the ends catching the last golden traces of sunlight. Her smile, hesitant and bright, made the world feel smaller, quieter, as if this evening belonged only to them.
"Hey," she greeted, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she stepped down toward him.
"Hey," Jack echoed, suddenly shy. He managed to hold her gaze, and for a moment, neither spoke—until Carrie's laugh broke the spell.
"So, what's the plan, Mr. Secretive?" she teased, bumping her shoulder lightly against his.
"You'll see," Jack replied, his grin growing, "but you'll need this." He handed her a single token—an old arcade coin, polished and warm from his palm. "It's your ticket."
Carrie turned it over in her fingers, delight flickering across her face. "Lead the way."
They walked to the train station, the city's evening hum filling the air around them. On the platform, they found a quiet bench beneath a flickering lamp. The train's arrival was marked by a cool wind and the distant screech of metal on rails. Inside the carriage, they sat side by side, knees nearly touching. Jack pointed out the passing neighborhoods through the window, filling the gaps with stories of city legends and old jokes. Carrie giggled, leaning in, the world outside blurring into streaks of neon and shadow.
Their stop came sooner than Jack wanted, and together they climbed the narrow stairs to street level. The retro arcade was hidden among forgotten shops and shuttered storefronts, a sliver of light and sound alive with the buzz of old machines. Above the door, a faded sign read Electric Avenue in flashing blue and pink.
Inside, nostalgia hung thick in the air—pixels and pop music, the clatter of buttons, the sharp metallic scent of change. Rows of vintage cabinets blinked with games: Star Invaders, Wack-Man, Mortal War, City Fighter II. Somewhere, a pinball machine chimed a winning streak.
Jack exchanged a few bills for a heavy handful of coins. "Alright, what's your game?" he asked, trying to sound casual.
Carrie surveyed the machines with exaggerated seriousness. "I'm told I'm a legend at air hockey," she announced.
Jack laughed. "I accept your challenge."
The game was fierce. Carrie's eyes sparkled with competitive mischief as she scored the first point, then the second, and Jack had to resort to a little well-timed banter just to keep up. They shouted and laughed, sending the puck ricocheting off the walls. When Carrie finally clinched the win, she threw her arms up in mock triumph, and Jack bowed theatrically.
They drifted from game to game—Carrie squealed in delight when she got her initials onto the Wack-Man leaderboard, Jack surprised himself by winning her a neon-pink keychain from the claw machine. In a shadowed corner, they battled side by side against hordes of pixelated zombies, the rhythm of teamwork drawing them closer than they realized.
By the time they stepped outside, the city was deep into night. The arcade's neon glow cast their shadows long on the pavement, and Jack felt a new, easy warmth between them, their laughter lingering even as the noise faded behind them.
"Ready for part two?" Jack asked, his eyes shining with anticipation.
Carrie raised an eyebrow. "There's a sequel?"
Jack grinned, gesturing to the bag that he had kept with him throughout their date.
"Of course. Trust me." He said.
They walked for a few blocks, talking about favorite games, old cartoons, and Carrie listing out her dreams of college and becoming a lawyer. Soon they reached a quiet park at the city's edge, where the streetlights gave way to an open field bordered by whispering trees.
Jack led her onto the grass, laying out a checkered blanket. From his bag, he produced two thermoses—one filled with homemade cocoa, the other with chilled lemonade—along with a box of bakery pastries. "For fuel," he said, a little embarrassed, but Carrie only smiled wider.
Above them, the sky was endless, flecked with the first bright stars. They lay side by side, shoulders touching, eyes turned upward as the darkness deepened and the constellations sharpened against the velvet sky.
"There's Orion," Carrie murmured, pointing, her finger, trembling with the chill. "And the Seven Sisters—my mom used to tell me stories about them."
Jack listened, his breath slow, the soft grass cool beneath him. "My mom knows all the stars, too," he said quietly. "But I always liked just…looking. It makes everything else seem small."
They talked about the universe and all the little lives spinning below, their hands finding each other in the dark, tentative and true. When Carrie turned to face him, her hair spilled over her shoulder, and the starlight caught in her eyes.
"Tonight was perfect," she whispered.
Jack squeezed her hand, his voice barely more than a breath. "So are you."
The silence that followed was gentle and unhurried, the world holding its breath around them. And as the night wore on, they lay together beneath the stars, hearts thrumming in quiet harmony, the city's noise far behind and the arcade's colors fading into memory—a beginning, bright and fragile, stitched in laughter and starlight.
Carrie turned her head, the grass whispering beneath her, and found Jack watching her—his brown eyes steady and unguarded in the pale starlight.
"I've talked about my dream," Carrie said softly, her voice barely more than a murmur. "But what about you, Jack? What college do you want to go to?"
Jack was quiet for a moment, the silence swelling between them as he searched the night sky, as if the answer might be written in the constellations. "I'm planning to start at Periun Community College," he said at last, his voice quiet and certain. "Then transfer to Periun Medical University. That way, I can stay close to my mom."
Carrie felt her heart tighten at his words, an ache blooming beneath her ribs. She remembered all the whispered stories about the tragedy from nine years ago—how Jack and his mother had survived when so many hadn't. It was one of the things she admired most about him: the quiet strength beneath the surface, his resilience in the face of heartbreak.
"So you want to become a doctor?" she asked gently.
Jack nodded. "Yeah."
"For your mom," Carrie said, her words barely above a whisper.
He hesitated, then nodded again, something raw flickering in his gaze. "Most of the doctors we saw… they wouldn't take her case. Said it was too delicate, too risky. They gave up before they even tried. So I decided—I'll become the kind of doctor who never turns someone away. I'll help her myself."
Carrie's throat tightened, her words catching. She reached for him, fingertips brushing his hand. "I'm so sorry you had to go through that," she said, her voice trembling with the depth of her feeling.
Jack managed a tentative smile, the corners of his mouth lifting in the moonlight. "It's okay," he said quietly. "I'm going to make it happen. For her. I owe her everything."
As they spoke, their bodies had unconsciously drawn closer together on the blanket, the air between them charged and tender. Jack looked into Carrie's emerald eyes, clear and luminous in the dark. He could see the hope, the sorrow, and the quiet yearning in her expression.
Carrie leaned in, her breath mingling with his, the world narrowing to this single, fragile moment. Jack's heart hammered in his chest as he leaned in too, his hesitation falling away. Their lips met—soft, uncertain at first, then deepening with the quiet promise of everything unspoken. The stars above spun silently on, bearing witness to the beginning of something real and beautifully uncertain, their kiss a vow sealed beneath the endless night.
****
The train rumbled gently beneath them as they headed home, Jack and Carrie seated side by side, their hands intertwined. Jack animatedly recounted a childhood misadventure with Mark and Eli—how the three of them had once tried to run a lemonade stand, only to drum up business by performing clumsy dance moves for passing neighbors. Carrie laughed, her head tipped back, the sound light and easy. Jack claimed it was all Eli's idea, carefully omitting his own enthusiastic participation, his cheeks flushing at the memory.
When the train slid into their station, they rose together, exchanging shy smiles as they stepped onto the platform. The city's pulse was quieter now, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead as they made their way through the station.
Ahead, a pack of older college students wandered toward them, swaggering with the careless bravado of the bored and privileged. Their eyes caught on Carrie—one of them let out a low, mocking whistle, another tossing a crude remark in her direction. The group paused, expectant, their leering smirks hanging in the air.
Jack's gaze flickered to them, and something subtle shifted. There was no aggression in his posture, just a quiet certainty—a weight behind his eyes, an undercurrent of power that rippled through the space between them. The nearest student faltered mid-step, his confidence evaporating as if a shadow had passed through his soul. One after another, the group recoiled, stumbling over their own feet and landing on the tile with graceless thuds, their bravado replaced by confusion and muttered curses. They scrambled away, casting nervous glances over their shoulders.
Jack turned to Carrie, expecting concern or surprise, but she only looked at him with an understanding smile, as if she'd seen more of him tonight than words could express. They continued on, hand in hand, the incident slipping into the past as they emerged into the night.
When they reached Carrie's porch, the hush of the evening gathered around them. Carrie paused at the steps, turning to face Jack, her fingers brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Her smile was nervous, glowing with something unspoken.
"This was a really great first date," she said, voice soft and sincere.
Jack's heart thudded. "I'd like to do it again," he replied, the hope in his words shining clear.
Carrie nodded, her eyes bright. "I'd like that."
Without hesitation, Jack stepped closer, slipping his arm gently around her waist. Their lips met in a kiss—tender, lingering, full of promise beneath the porch light. For a moment, time seemed to hold its breath, the world shrinking to the space between them, where only warmth and possibility remained.
****
Night pressed heavy on Jack's sleep. Somewhere in the dark, he began to dream—the dream he could never quite escape.
He was a child again, small and frightened, stumbling through streets drenched in shadow and blood. The air was thick with smoke, choking and hot. Flames clawed at broken windows, painting the sky in furious orange. Sirens wailed—a distant, hopeless sound, already swallowed by chaos.
Around him, the world was ruin. Bodies littered the cracked pavement—neighbors, strangers, faces he half-remembered from the playground or the grocery store, twisted in pain or stilled forever. Ash drifted down like dirty snow, catching in his hair and lashes.
"Mom!" Jack's voice was thin, lost amid the roar. He ran, tripping over fallen bricks and scorched toys, calling her name. Every heartbeat hammered with terror. He remembered the weight of the world pressing in, remembered the stink—coppery blood, burning plastic, the sharp, final scent of something precious torn away.
A flash of memory—his mother's voice, desperate, calling for him in the smoke. He turned, wild with hope, but the street twisted in his vision, stretching and warping. Shadows stalked between the flames, faceless, hungry. Hands reached for him from the gloom, grasping, pulling him toward the darkness.
Jack's feet were heavy. He ran, and the world shrank to tunnels of fire and fear. Someone screamed—a high, wordless sound—and he wasn't sure if it was his mother or himself. His hands were slick with sweat and soot. A sob tore from his chest as he tripped, sprawling to the ground. The impact sent pain jolting through his body, but he pushed himself up, searching, always searching—
A figure lay ahead, collapsed beneath a ruined lamppost. Jack's breath caught. He ran to her—please, let it be her, please—and as he drew close, the figure turned. It was not his mother, only a blank face, eyes empty and mouth open in a silent cry.
The flames grew brighter, closer, roaring in his ears. Jack screamed again, desperate, alone—his mother's name lost in the firestorm.
And then—silence. The world turned to ash, the colors draining away. Jack was left in the hollowed darkness, shivering, heart pounding, the echo of loss ringing through him.
He woke with a sharp gasp, tangled in sweat-soaked sheets, the phantom heat of the fire still burning behind his eyes. His breath came ragged and uneven as he pushed the covers away, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed until his feet touched the cool floor. For a long moment he sat there, head bowed, forcing himself to breathe deeply, to steady the thundering in his chest. The dream's heat clung to his skin, an echo of terror that refused to fade.
These nightmares had returned with a vengeance. Jack had convinced himself he was past it—that he'd stitched the wounds closed, buried the memory beneath years of routine. But lately, the past kept clawing its way back into his nights, dragging him through smoke and ruin all over again.
He rose, moving through his room with quiet urgency, slipping into the kitchen. The silence there was a balm—dim light, humming fridge, the soft clink of glass as he poured water into a cup. He drank slowly, hoping to wash away the taste of ash and fear, trying to ground himself in the ordinary, the present.
His mind wandered, unbidden, to Carrie—to her laughter, the softness in her eyes, the perfect clarity of their night together. He clung to that memory, but even it carried the weight of their conversation: the promise he'd made, the reason for everything he fought for. He wanted to heal his mother, to help others, but the old question gnawed at him—why should he wait? He wasn't like everyone else. Not anymore.
He had power. He could move faster than thought, endure wounds that should have killed him, cross space with a flicker of will. If he could fight, survive, protect—couldn't he heal? Shouldn't he be able to?
Before the doubt could grow, Jack set his glass down and moved through the apartment, silent as a ghost. He didn't use his Zone to slip through walls or vanish into shadows. Tonight, he opened the door to his mother's room by hand, easing it quietly on its hinges.
Inside, Lucy slept peacefully, her breath even and gentle. Her wheelchair sat by the bed, a silent sentinel in the faint glow of the hallway. Jack crossed to her side, his heart tight in his chest. He let his Internal Sense unfurl—a ripple of mental energy that expanded his awareness, reaching out to probe the delicate intricacies of her body, searching for the place where old pain lingered.
Hey, Codex, Jack called out inwardly, directing his thought to the artificial construct woven into his being. Mind giving me a hand with this? At the same time, he activated his Zone, letting his spatial awareness sharpen the world around him, seeking any hint, any possibility, that healing could be within his reach.
The air shimmered with the quiet hum of Jack's ability, spatial awareness overlaying his senses with countless subtle impressions: the soft breath of his mother, the intricate lattice of her bones, the silent scars where nerves no longer answered the body's call.
Then, deep within his consciousness, he felt the presence awaken—a pulse of knowing, ancient and unhurried. The Codex, the artificial intelligence twined into his very soul, spoke to him in a voice that was neither sound nor thought, but something in between.
"Analysis complete," the Codex intoned, its tone cool and measured, like the turning of a page in a long-forgotten book. "Subject: Lucy Ryan. Diagnosis: Severe spinal cord trauma, thoracic region. Neural pathways partially severed. Standard medical intervention: insufficient. Probability of recovery through conventional surgery: negligible."
Jack's heart stuttered. He already knew the answer, but hearing it stated so clinically reignited the old helplessness. Is there anything I can do? he thought, desperation flickering behind the question.
A moment's pause—then the Codex responded, a faint glimmer of possibility threading its words.
"With the current parameters of your Ability Factor—Zone Drive—complete restoration is not feasible. However, projected evolution of Zone Drive will allow for targeted spatial and soul-level reconstruction. Probability of success: increases exponentially with advanced cultivation and further mastery of your spatial and healing arts."
Jack's breath caught, hope and frustration warring inside him. "So you're saying I can heal her… just not yet?"
"Correct. You possess the foundational capability, but your current cultivation is insufficient. To reconstruct damaged neural tissue and restore functional pathways, you must refine your Ability Factor—expand your mastery of spatial manipulation, soul resonance, and healing intent. Further training and advancement are required."
He stared down at his mother's sleeping form, feeling the weight of the future settle onto his shoulders. The answer was both a promise and a challenge—he could heal her, but only if he kept growing, kept fighting. He could no longer afford to wait passively for the world to change. He had to shape it with his own hands.
The Codex's voice softened, almost gentle. "If you continue to cultivate, there will come a day when your power can reach what medicine cannot. The pathway exists—follow it."
Jack drew a trembling breath, resolve hardening in his chest. He reached out, brushing his mother's hand with his fingers—light, careful, but full of promise.
"I will," he whispered, more to himself than anyone. "I'll get stronger. I'll heal you, Mom. I promise."