Orion's Rise: From Zero to Hero in Two Worlds

Thirty-Seven Bricks

The worst part isn't the fear. It's how normal this feels.

"Well, look who it is."

Jared's voice carries down the hallway, and my stomach does that thing where it tries to crawl up into my throat. I keep walking. Maybe if I make it to English class... but no. His footsteps are already getting closer. That familiar rhythm of expensive sneakers on linoleum.

Don't look up. Don't look up. Don't look-

"Didn't I tell you not to look at me, Sergio?"

Shit. Must've glanced up without thinking. Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid. Now he's got a reason.

I stare at my shoes instead. They're falling apart at the seams - probably why Derek called them 'homeless chic' last week. The whole cafeteria laughed. Even Mr. Peterson smirked, pretending he was coughing into his hand.

Someone shoves my shoulder. Not Jared - one of his friends. The impact sends me stumbling back until I hit the wall. Cold brick bites through my thin t-shirt. Always the same spot. I wonder if there's a permanent impression of my back in these bricks by now.

"Asked you a question." Jared's closer now. I can smell that cologne he douses himself in. Probably some expensive brand. Everything about him is expensive. "You deaf or something?"

My tongue feels like it's made of cotton. Say something. Anything. Just open your mouth and-

"Maybe he's stupid," someone says behind Jared. Callum, I think. His voice always has that edge to it, like he's auditioning for the role of 'generic bully' in a bad teen movie. "You know what they say about the special ed kids."

Laughter. Not just from Jared's crew - from the small crowd that's starting to gather. Vultures circling. Everyone loves a good show, as long as they're not the main attraction.

"I-" My voice cracks. Fantastic. Because this situation needed to be more pathetic. "You did. Tell me. About... looking."

Smooth. Real smooth. Maybe I should just punch myself in the face and save Jared the trouble.

"Yeah?" Jared steps closer. Personal space isn't a thing that exists for guys like him. "So what's your excuse this time, huh?"

His hand shoots out, grabs my collar. The fabric twists, cutting into the back of my neck. My head bounces off the brick. Not hard enough to really hurt - Jared's careful about that. Never leaves marks where teachers might see.

I should say something. Make a joke. Play it cool. That's what they do in movies, right? The underdog always has some witty comeback that-

"You gonna cry about it?"

Am I? Maybe. Probably. My eyes are burning and my throat's so tight it hurts and god I hate this I hate this I hate this-

"Or maybe you'll run off like you always do." His breath hits my face. Mint gum barely covering the smell of the energy drinks he pounds between classes. "That's your thing, right? Running away?"

More laughter. Someone down the hall yells "Just hit him already!" Great. I've got fans.

My back's pressed so hard against the wall I swear I can feel every individual brick. Thirty-seven and a half in this section. I've counted them before. Many times. Sometimes I name them, give them personalities. The one digging into my shoulder blade right now is Harold. Harold's kind of a dick.

"Let him go, man." That's Derek. He sounds bored. Like this is all beneath him somehow. "Bell's gonna ring soon."

Jared ignores him. His fingers dig deeper into my collar. "Look at me."

I don't want to. Really, really don't want to. But my head tilts up anyway, like he's got me on puppet strings. Maybe he does.

Our eyes meet. His are brown. People always talk about bullies having cold eyes, empty eyes. But Jared's are warm. Friendly, even. Like we're just two buddies hanging out. That's almost worse.

His smile widens. Something shifts in his expression - something ugly trying to wear a pretty mask.

"Yeah." His voice drops lower. Almost gentle. "That's more like it. C'mon, Sergio. For once in your life, act like a man."

That's what my dad used to say. Before he left. Different context, same words. Same disappointment.

I want to look away. Want to disappear. Want to be literally anywhere else. But I can't move. Can't speak. Can't even breathe right. Just stand here, waiting. Always waiting.

Jared steps back. Lets go of my shirt. For a second - one stupid, hopeful second - I think maybe that's it. Maybe today's just a warning.

Then his fist comes up.

"Let's see that tough guy act again." He cocks his head, still smiling. Still friendly. "You're good at that, right?"

I know what comes next. We all do. It's a script we've performed so many times I could probably recite everyone's lines. In about three seconds, his fist is going to-

Something... changes.

Wait.

What the hell?

---

Time... breaks.

That's the only way I can describe it. One second Jared's fist is coming at my face, and then everything just... stops. No, not stops. Slows down? Even that's not right. It's like someone pulled reality sideways.

My first thought is that I'm having a stroke. That's a thing, right? Time feeling weird before you die? My cousin had a panic attack once and said everything felt unreal. Maybe that's what this is. Maybe I've finally cracked.

Then I see it. At first I think it's a reflection off someone's phone screen or maybe the fluorescent lights glitching. But it's... hanging there. In front of me. Like one of those heads-up displays from video games, except I'm not wearing anything. No VR headset, no glasses, nothing.

What the actual fuck?

I try to blink it away. It doesn't work. I squeeze my eyes shut hard enough to see spots. Still there when I open them. The... whatever it is... has words on it. They're crystal clear, clearer than anything should be floating in mid-air:

*System Activated*

System? What system? Am I hallucinating? Did Jared already hit me and this is some kind of concussion dream?

My hand moves before I can think better of it. I expect my fingers to pass through whatever this is, like trying to grab a sunbeam. Instead... I feel *something*. Not solid, exactly. More like... static? Like when your foot falls asleep, but concentrated in my fingertips.

More words appear. They know my name. My full name. Nobody knows my first name is Orion. I haven't used it since third grade. Even my teachers call me Sergio.

My throat closes up. This isn't real. This can't be real. But I can still feel Jared's breath, see the tiny droplet of sweat rolling down his temple in impossible detail. Everything is too sharp, too clear, like reality got turned up to maximum settings.

The... screen? Display? Whatever it is shows me options. Like a menu in a game, except this isn't a game. This is the hallway at school and Jared's about to rearrange my face and I'm standing here having what has to be the most elaborate mental breakdown in history.

*Benefits include increased strength, speed, and perception.*

My finger hovers over "Perception Boost" because... why? Because it sounds less crazy than super strength? Because at least being able to see better doesn't break the laws of physics quite as much? I don't know. I don't know anything anymore.

I tap it.

The sensation hits me like I just grabbed an electric fence. Every nerve lights up. It's not exactly painful, but it's intense enough that I almost miss Jared's fist starting to move again. Almost.

Everything's different. Wrong. *More*. I can see the individual fibers in Jared's letterman jacket. Hear the squeak of his shoes on the linoleum. Smell that stupid cologne he wears mixed with fabric softener and sweat and the grease from the cafeteria.

Information floods my brain faster than I can process it. Angles. Trajectories. The way Jared's weight shifts before he throws a punch. Things I shouldn't know, couldn't know, but suddenly do.

My body moves. I don't tell it to. I don't even think about it. Just a slight tilt of my head and...

Jared misses.

Holy shit.

*Holy shit.*

---

He misses.

Holy shit, he *misses*.

My brain can't process what just happened, but my body's already moving again. Everything's too sharp, too clear, like reality's been cranked up past HD into something else entirely. I can see the moment Jared realizes he hit wall instead of face. The microscopic widening of his pupils. The twitch in his jaw. The small bead of sweat rolling down his temple.

"What the-?"

His voice sounds different through whatever's happening to my senses. I can hear the confusion in it, yes, but also the undertones - frustration, disbelief, and something else. Something I've never heard in Jared's voice before.

Uncertainty.

He comes at me again. Slower this time - or maybe I'm just faster? His movements are so... obvious. Like he's telegraphing every punch with flashing neon signs. *Right hook coming. Stepping with his left foot. Opening his guard on the right side.* Knowledge I shouldn't have floods my brain, making my head spin.

I lean back. Just a little. His fist whistles past my nose close enough that I can feel the air displacement. Can actually *see* the air displacement, tiny ripples in reality that shouldn't be visible but somehow are.

"Stop-" Punch. Miss. "fucking-" Another punch. Miss again. "moving!"

My body flows around his attacks like water. I'm not doing it. At least, I don't think I am. It's like watching myself from outside - seeing my body calculate angles and trajectories that my brain barely understands. Physical geometry written in a language I shouldn't know but suddenly do.

"Dude, what the hell?" That's Callum. He's backed up three steps. I can hear his heart racing from here. Wait - I can hear his *heart*? "How's he doing that?"

I wish I knew, Callum. I really wish I knew.

Jared's getting sloppy. Frustrated. His next punch is wild, uncontrolled. Time slows down again - or maybe it's just my perception speeding up? I watch his fist approach in fascinating detail. The way his knuckles whiten. The small scrapes on them from where he hit the wall. The thread hanging loose from his sleeve.

Step to the left. Simple. Easy. Like I've done this a million times before.

He stumbles past me. Actually stumbles. Jared Voss, star quarterback, pride of Winston High, stumbling like a drunk at prom. The crowd's gone dead silent. Even the ambient noise of the school seems muted, like reality's holding its breath.

"What..." Jared turns back to me, and his face - god, his face. I've seen that expression before. In mirrors. On other kids' faces. Never on his. "What the hell are you?"

The words hit me like a physical thing. *What* am I? Not who. What.

That floating screen flashes in my vision again: *Level 1: Complete*

Level 1? Like this is some kind of game? Like I just unlocked an achievement for "First Time Not Getting Your Face Rearranged"? A hysterical laugh bubbles up in my throat. I swallow it back down.

"I don't know," I tell him. My voice sounds strange to my own enhanced hearing. Calmer than I feel. Steadier. "But I'm gonna find out."

He takes a step back. *Jared Voss* takes a step back from *me*. The world's flipped upside down and the scary part is... it doesn't feel wrong. It feels like waking up. Like I've been watching life through a dirty window and someone finally wiped it clean.

The bell rings. The sound hits my heightened senses like a physical blow, making me wince. By the time I recover, Jared and his friends are gone. The crowd disperses like smoke, everyone suddenly remembering they have places to be.

I'm alone in the hallway. My heart's still racing. My hands are shaking. That electric feeling is fading, leaving me drained but... different. Changed.

My reflection catches my eye in a classroom window. Same messy dark hair. Same too-big hand-me-down shirt. Same face I've seen every morning of my life. But my eyes...

My eyes look like they belong to someone else. Someone who just woke up and realized they've been dreaming their whole life.

*What the hell are you?*

Good question, Jared.

Good question.