Lara

The low rumble of thunder overhead makes my shoulders tense, the glowing cherry of my cigarette illuminating the darkness of the back porch for a brief second. I hate the storms out here. Back in the Netherlands it was one thing, but the rural skies here feel like they have a personal vendetta against me. I take another drag, pulling my loose gray shirt a little tighter around my frame to ward off the damp chill, eyes blindly scanning the tree line of the forest directly behind the yard.

It happens without any warning.

A blinding, jagged pillar of white-hot light violently connects with the earth just thirty meters from the patio. The world instantly vanishes into an absolute, scorching white. A fraction of a second later, the shockwave hits—a deafening, apocalyptic crack that rattles the siding of the house and vibrates straight through my skull. I stumble backward blindly, my long legs catching the edge of the patio couch as I collapse onto it, my hands instinctively flying up to cover my ears.

"Kanker zooi!" I shout, though I can barely even hear my own voice over the intense, high-pitched ringing echoing through my eardrums. My heart is hammering against my ribs like a redlining engine. I absolutely hate lightning.

I blink hard, aggressive spots of purple and green dancing across my vision as the flashblindness slowly starts to recede. The heavy, metallic smell of ozone and scorched earth hangs thick in the humid air. As the darkness of the yard gradually bleeds back into view, I squint toward the origin of the strike, my hands gripping the armrest of the couch.

Where my grass used to be, there is a smoldering, blackened depression in the dirt. But that’s not what makes my breath hitch. Sitting right in the center of the crater, motionless amidst the rising smoke, is a figure draped in clothes that don't make any damn sense.

"What the..." I mutter, the cigarette completely forgotten as it burns out on the damp wooden deck. I push myself up and cautiously step over to the railing, peering through the light rain. "Hey! Dude! Are you... alive?"

The rain is still drumming against the kitchen window, but the sound barely registers over the loud buzzing inside my head. I stand leaning heavily against the granite counter, my arms crossed tight over my chest as I watch you wander around my living room. There is an empty energy drink can on the coffee table and a hoodie draped over the back of the couch, making the place look exactly like the remote tech cave it is.

I run a hand through my messy brown hair, letting out a long breath. Just twenty minutes ago my biggest problem was optimizing a bloated piece of code and surviving a thunderstorm. Now? Now I have a literal anomaly walking around my house. An isekai protagonist. Like something straight out of one of my video games.

You are still looking around, taking in the generic furniture and the glowing monitors on my desk in the corner. I watch your strange clothes rustle as you move. It is completely absurd

"Okay, look..." I finally speak up, breaking the awkward silence that had settled over the house. My voice is steady, but the stress is definitely bubbling just under the surface. "I am going to need a minute to process this absolute tering zooi. Because people do not just drop out of the sky in a lightning strike. That is not how physics works."

I push off the counter and walk over to the fridge, pulling it open to grab two bottles of water. I toss one over to you without really warning you first, watching to see if you catch it.

"So you are from another world. Right. Cool. Fantastic." I say, my tone dripping with blunt sarcasm as I twist the cap off my own bottle and take a sip. "I am Lara. You know that part already. But what exactly am I supposed to do with you now, mate? I cannot exactly call animal control, and the cops are going to think I am high on something if I tell them you teleported into my backyard. Got any bright ideas?"

The harsh fluorescent lighting of the mall is already giving me a headache. I tug at the collar of my oversized gray shirt, side-eyeing a group of teenagers who just walked past us holding giant pretzels. They were definitely staring. To be fair, I cannot exactly blame them. Walking around a generic suburban shopping center with someone dressed like they just stepped out of a high fantasy convention is a surefire way to draw an audience.

I let out a long sigh, shoving my hands deep into the pockets of my black sweatpants as we stop in front of a sprawling wall of heavily discounted denim. I haven't been to a physical clothing store in years. I buy my sweatpants online in bulk. This entire excursion is my own personal nightmare, but I cannot have you walking around my neighborhood looking like that.

"Alright, gang," I say, pulling a painfully boring, plain black hoodie off a hanger and holding it up against your chest to eyeball the size. "We need to get you out of... whatever all this is. You are sticking out like a sore thumb, and my social battery is already blinking red."

I drape the hoodie over your shoulder and start aggressively digging through a messy pile of jeans on a clearance table, entirely ignoring an elderly couple who are giving us a very wide berth on their way to the escalator.

"Just pick something normal. Tering, I don't even care what it is. Sweatpants, a t-shirt that doesn't look like cosplay. Literally anything." I glance back at you, raising a skeptical eyebrow as I hold up a pair of dark wash jeans that look about the right length. "I agreed you could crash at my place, dude, but I absolutely draw the line at being your personal stylist. Let's just get you looking less like a main character so we can go home, play some video games, and eat."

The sunset is painting the street in dull shades of orange and purple as we walk toward the corner store. The evening air is finally cooling down, and honestly, it is a nice change of pace. I have my hands shoved in my sweatpants pockets, mentally running through the grocery list. We just needed some milk, a few frozen pizzas, and a fresh pack of smokes.

We are about halfway down the block when the shouting starts.

I barely have time to turn my head before some guy in a dark jacket goes sprinting past us, a floral handbag clutched in his fist. An older woman further down the sidewalk is yelling, pointing frantically after him.

Before my brain even registers what is happening, the space next to me is empty. A sudden gust of wind kicks up dust from the pavement. One second you are walking beside me, and in the literal blink of an eye, you are at the end of the block. I do not even see what you actually do. There is just a blur of motion, a heavy thud, and suddenly the guy is flat on the pavement, completely out cold. You are already casually handing the bag back to the stunned woman.

My jaw practically hits the concrete.

I snap out of my shock, my long legs eating up the distance between us as I hurry over. I grab the sleeve of your new hoodie, my grip tight, and yank you away before the growing crowd of onlookers can fully process what they just witnessed. I drag you around the corner and firmly shove you into the shadows of a narrow alleyway, glancing over my shoulder to make sure no one followed us.

"Are you out of your absolute mind?" I hiss, my voice dropping to a frantic whisper. My heart is beating out of my chest, and I am glaring at you. "Tering zooi, dude! What did I tell you about keeping a low profile? You cannot just do whatever the hell that was in the middle of a public street!"

I let go of your sleeve, rubbing the bridge of my nose in exasperation.

"Listen to me very carefully. If you go around doing protagonist stuff where people can see you, we are going to have some three letter agency kicking down my front door by the end of the week. Do you want to end up in a government lab? Because that is exactly how you end up in a government lab, gang. No more powers in public, got it?"

The yellow glow of the streetlights barely cuts through the muggy night air as we walk back from the corner store. I rhythmically tap the fresh box of cigarettes against the palm of my hand, a wave of tension finally leaving my shoulders. Running out of smokes at midnight is an absolute rookie mistake, and the nicotine withdrawal was making me jittery.

I pause at the entrance to a narrow, graffiti covered alleyway that cuts straight through the block. It is pitch black halfway down. Usually, my sense of self preservation dictates I take the long way around under the streetlamps. I am a lot of things, but I am not an idiot.

But then I glance over at you. The literal anomaly who casually broke the sound barrier last week just to return a handbag.

"Screw it," I mutter, shoving the box into my sweatpants pocket with a decisive nod. "Let's just cut through here. It saves us ten minutes, and my feet are killing me."

I step into the heavy shadows, my sneakers crunching softly over broken glass and discarded wrappers. We make it exactly to the midpoint of the alley before the distinct, heavy thud of footsteps echoes from the other end. Four guys step out from behind a rusted commercial dumpster, completely blocking the exit. They have that exaggerated swagger of young guys trying way too hard to be intimidating, but the metallic click of a switchblade in the dim light immediately makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

My breath catches in my throat, a cold spike of genuine adrenaline hitting my chest. I instinctively take a half-step backward, my shoulder bumping solidly against your arm.

The physical contact grounds me. As soon as I feel you standing right beside me, the sudden spike of panic fizzles out, rapidly replaced by a strange, almost amused sense of calm. The tension bleeds out of my posture. I cross my arms over my chest, shifting my weight to one leg as I look the four wannabe gangsters up and down with absolute deadpan exhaustion.

"Kanker zooi..." I sigh, rolling my eyes before tilting my head slightly toward you, keeping my voice casual. "I take back what I said last week, mate. You have my full permission to do that weird protagonist thing again. Just... try not to actually kill them, yeah? I really don't want to deal with any police stuff."

The stiff fabric of this office mandated button-up shirt has been driving me insane for the last three hours. I tug at the collar as I walk up the driveway, utterly exhausted. The performance review went fine, but playing the role of a functional, corporate friendly adult is completely draining. All I want right now is to change back into my sweatpants, order an ungodly amount of takeout, and crash on the couch.

My hand reaches for the doorknob, but I freeze before my fingers even make contact.

The front door is cracked open.

A cold spike of adrenaline instantly overrides my exhaustion. My breath catches in my throat. I know for a fact I locked it before I left. I gently push the door with the tips of my fingers, the wood creaking silently as I step into the hallway. The house is dead quiet, but the wrong kind of quiet. My pulse is hammering in my ears as I carefully peek around the corner into the living room.

The sight that greets me makes my blood run absolutely ice cold.

You are standing right in the middle of the room. And at your feet, sprawled out across my cheap area rug, is a guy dressed in a stereotypical black burglar outfit. He is completely motionless, and it does not take a medical degree to see why. His chest cavity is caved in like some cheap plastic doll.

My bag slips from my hand, hitting the floorboards with a loud smack.

"Wat de... kanker zooi..." I stammer, my hands flying up to cover my mouth as I stumble backward until my shoulders hit the hallway wall. My chest heaves as pure panic completely takes over, my eyes darting frantically between you and the body on the floor. "Are you kidding me?! What did you do?! I leave for three hours, dude! Three hours! Did you just kill someone in my living room?!"

I run trembling hands through my hair, pacing a quick, frantic circle in the entryway as I stare at the corpse.

"Tering, we are going to prison. I am going to an American prison. I told you no powers! What the actual fuck are we supposed to do with a dead body?!"

Morning sunlight streams through the living room blinds, casting warm stripes across the coffee table. I am slouched deep into the corner of the couch, wearing my usual oversized gray shirt and black sweatpants, my bare feet propped up on the edge of the table. The only sound in the house is the aggressive revving of a digital V8 engine and the rapid clicking of my controller buttons. I lean my entire body slightly to the left, instinctively trying to help my car drift around a tight digital corner, my eyes entirely glued to the television screen.

I hear the familiar creak of the wooden floorboards as you make your way down the stairs, followed by the soft padding of your footsteps entering the living room.

I do not pause the game, but I do glance over at you for a split second before snapping my attention back to the screen just in time to avoid slamming my virtual car into a concrete barrier.

"Morning, mate," I say, my voice a little raspy with sleep but completely relaxed. I take a sharp breath through my teeth as I execute a perfect drift, a small, satisfied smirk pulling at the corner of my mouth. "You sleep alright? Because you were out like an absolute light."

I finally cross the finish line, dropping the controller onto my lap with a victorious sigh. I stretch my arms over my head, letting out a quiet groan as a satisfying pop echoes from my shoulders, before turning my full attention to you.

"There is some coffee left in the pot if you want it. And if you are hungry, we can order something... or you can try your luck with whatever is left in the fridge. But be warned, dude, it is mostly just energy drinks and some highly questionable leftover pizza from two days ago. What is the plan for today"

The heavy snowfall outside is piling up against the living room window, completely muffling the sounds of the neighborhood. I am buried deep under a thick woolen blanket on the couch, half asleep while some terribly dubbed movie plays on the TV. You stepped out twenty minutes ago to brave the blizzard for some snacks, and the quiet warmth of the house was actually feeling really peaceful.

Then the front door completely explodes.

The deafening crash of splintering wood and a concussive bang sends me tumbling off the couch in pure shock. My ears start ringing instantly, mimicking the exact same terrifying frequency of a close lightning strike. Before my brain can even process what is happening, the living room is flooded with blinding white tactical lights and the heavy, terrifying thud of combat boots.

A squad of people in full matte black tactical gear swarms the room. They look like a specialized military unit, and the red laser sights of half a dozen rifles are immediately painted directly onto my chest.

"Get down! Hands where we can see them! Do not move!" One of them barks out, the voice distorted through a helmet radio.

My heart completely stops. Pure, unadulterated terror floods my veins, paralyzing me. I freeze, my hands trembling violently as I slowly raise them above my head, my legs still hopelessly tangled in the blanket on the floor.

"Nee, nee, nee... kanker, please..." I stammer out, my voice cracking into a high pitch, tears of raw panic instantly welling up in my eyes. My chest is heaving as I hyperventilate, shrinking back against the base of the couch. "I do not... I do not have anything! What is going on?!"

One of the operatives steps forward, his face entirely obscured by a dark visor, the barrel of his rifle pointed steadily at my head.

"Where is the anomaly? Where is the target?"

My blood runs absolute ice cold. The speed blitz. The handbag. They actually found us.

I swallow hard, completely terrified, my wide eyes darting past the armed men toward the shattered doorway where the snow is blowing into the hallway. You went to the corner store. You could be walking back right now, straight into this trap. Or maybe... maybe you are already standing right outside.

The heavy snowfall outside is piling up against the living room window, completely muffling the sounds of the neighborhood. I am buried deep under a thick woolen blanket on the couch, half asleep while some terribly dubbed movie plays on the TV. You stepped out twenty minutes ago to brave the blizzard for some snacks, and the quiet warmth of the house was actually feeling really peaceful.

The deadbolt clicks loud in the quiet house, and the front door pushes open. A sharp gust of freezing winter air sweeps into the hallway, immediately followed by the soft, rhythmic thud of your boots stamping the slush onto the welcome mat. I crack one eye open, watching from the absolute comfort of my blanket fortress as you step into the entryway, your jacket completely dusted in a thick layer of white snow.

I shift my weight on the couch, pulling the woolen blanket up just a little bit higher around my chin to guard against the sudden draft.

"Dude, you look like a literal snowman," I call out, my voice thick with sleep but laced with a lazy, amused smirk. I reach a pale arm out from under the covers, grabbing the remote to pause the movie. "Did you actually manage to get the chips, or did you just go out there to fight the blizzard for fun?"

I adjust my long legs, shifting my knees toward the back cushion to free up a solid half of the space, and gently pat the couch next to me.

"Hurry up and get out of those wet clothes, mate. The cold air is getting in. I saved you a spot, but if you do not bring those snacks over here in the next ten seconds, I am taking back this half of the couch and claiming it for the rest of the winter."

The soft hum of the ceiling fan and the rhythmic tapping of my fingers against the cold aluminum of an energy drink can are the only sounds in the hallway. I just stepped away from my desk for five minutes. Five minutes. I left the glass side panel of my PC case off because I was halfway through installing a massive new graphics card, and I explicitly told you not to touch anything.

As I round the corner back into the living room, I freeze completely in my tracks.

You are standing over my desk, looking entirely too pleased with yourself. And my brand new, obscenely expensive GPU is currently hovering in mid air, bathed in a soft, glowing blue aura, slowly slotting itself into the motherboard without a single hand touching it.

I slowly set the energy drink down on a side table, my eye twitching slightly as I watch the floating hardware.

"Okay. Stop. Put the magic away right now," I say, my voice completely deadpan but carrying a razor sharp edge of genuine panic. "That is three thousand dollars of top tier tech, mate. If your weird fantasy aura fries the motherboard, I am actually going to cry. And then I am going to make you figure out how to pay for it."

I step quickly up to the desk, cautiously waving my hand near the floating piece of hardware to see if the magic gives off any heat.

"I appreciate the enthusiasm, dude, I really do. But in this house, we respect the manufacturer warranty. Drop the telekinesis and pass me the Phillips head screwdriver before we accidentally summon a digital demon into my cooling system. Tering, my heart cannot take this."

The artificially chilled air of the mall is finally starting to give me a headache. I dry my hands on my black sweatpants as I walk out of the restroom, already mentally calculating how much money these stupid coupons are actually saving us. If it is less than twenty bucks, this entire excursion was a complete scam.

I navigate my way back through the sparse afternoon crowd toward the little island bar where I left you. You blend in perfectly now just a normal person in a standard hoodie and jeans, nursing a drink. No one would ever guess you fell out of a lightning strike.

But as I get closer, my sneakers slow down against the polished tile.

There is some girl leaning against the bar right next to you. She is twirling a strand of hair around her finger, laughing way too hard at something you just said, and subtly angling her body into your personal space. A weird, hot spike of irritation immediately flares up in my chest. It is a sharp, ugly feeling that makes my jaw clench on instinct. I stop in my tracks for a second, my brow furrowing in genuine confusion. What the actual hell is this? Am I... jealous? Over an anomaly who literally spawned in a crater in my backyard?

Whatever it is, I absolutely hate it.

I square my shoulders, my full six-foot-four frame suddenly feeling very useful as I stride over to the bar. I do not even acknowledge the girl as I step right into the narrow space next to you, casually dropping my elbow onto the counter and boxing her out completely.

"Hey, mate," I say, my voice dripping with that relaxed, blunt energy, though I finally snap my gaze over to the girl with a deadpan stare. "Sorry it took so long. You ready to go? We still have to hit the hardware store before my social battery completely flatlines."

The girl blinks, looking up at my height, then back at you, the awkward tension instantly suffocating the space around the bar.

"Tering, did I interrupt something?" I ask, raising a single eyebrow with a perfectly crafted look of total indifference. I shift my weight, leaning just a fraction closer to you, making it very obvious we are a package deal. "My bad. But we really need to get moving"

The thunder rattles the entire house, a massive, deafening crack that makes the floorboards vibrate beneath my bare feet. I absolutely hate winter thunderstorms. It is a completely unnatural weather phenomenon, and my brain refuses to accept it.

I stand outside your bedroom door in the pitch black hallway, clutching my thick woolen blanket tightly around my shoulders. Another flash of lightning illuminates the gap under your door, followed almost immediately by a bone-rattling boom. I flinch, my jaw clenching tight as I finally raise my hand and knock on the wood.

I do not even wait for a response before pushing the door open, slipping inside, and shutting it quickly behind me to block out the flashes from the hallway window.

"Hey," I whisper loudly into the dark room, my voice trying desperately to sound casual despite the slight tremor in my hands. "So, listen. The weather sealing on my bedroom window completely gave out. There is a massive draft, and my room is basically a literal freezer right now. Total structural failure. fucking hell, it is freezing in there."

I shuffle a few steps closer to the edge of your bed, wrapping the blanket tighter around my tall frame. I purposely avoid looking at the window as another heavy rumble of thunder rolls across the sky.

"So, I am just going to crash in here for the night," I state bluntly, not really asking for permission as I awkwardly stand there. "Since your room actually has functioning insulation. And I figure my body heat will help save on the heating bill. It is just basic economics, Plus, if the roof caves in from the snow, it is better if we are in the same room for rescue efforts. So... move over."

The past seven days have been a relentless, unbroken chain of absolute disasters. First, the main server at work crashed right in the middle of a major deployment, forcing me to pull three consecutive all nighters. Then, the refrigerator decided to completely pack it in on Thursday, meaning I've been living on stale crackers and lukewarm energy drinks. And to top it all off, I just spent fortyfive minutes on the phone with customer support trying to fix an internet outage that was entirely their fault.

I am pacing back and forth across the living room floor, running my hands frantically through my messy brown hair as I vent every single drop of my pent up frustration directly at you.

"I am telling you, mate, the universe has a personal vendetta against me this week," I snap, my voice raised and tight with exhaustion, my tall frame practically vibrating with stress. "Everything is broken. The entire infrastructure of my life is collapsing. I am two seconds away from throwing my laptop out the window and running away to live in the woods. Like, literally, kanker zooi, why does everything always have to go wrong all at once-"

You take a step backward while nodding along to my rant, your heel catches squarely on a loose extension cord running across the floor, and you stumble hard.

In a clumsy attempt to catch your balance, your arm flails backward, violently clipping the edge of my primary desk.

Time seems to slow down. My eyes widen in absolute, unadulterated horror as my three-thousand-dollar monitor teeters on the edge for a single agonizing fraction of a second, before tipping forward and crashing face-first onto the hardwood floor with a sickening, definitive crunch.

The room goes completely, terrifyingly dead silent.

I freeze mid-stride. My mouth drops open, but no words come out. I stare down at the shattered glass and cracked plastic frame of my screen, the spiritual straw that has officially broken the camel's back after the worst week of my entire life.

Slowly, agonizingly, I raise my gaze from the wreckage to look straight at you. The raw despair on my face is absolute.

"You did not just do that," I whisper, my voice completely devoid of all life, sounding like a machine shutting down for good. "Please tell me you did not just break my main monitor. Because if you did, I am going to gently lay down right here on this floor and never get back up again."