Jack's apartment reeked of damp and despair, the peeling paint on the walls flaking like dead skin, a grim mirror of his crumbling life. The eviction notice from Mr. Oson Abiel, his stern but fair landlord in his late sixties, was clutched in his trembling hand, its bold red letters screaming *FINAL WARNING: PAYMENT DUE IN 72 HOURS*. Oson had stood in the doorway minutes ago, his weathered face lined with reluctant authority, his gray eyes soft with concern. "Jack, I've been patient, but you need to pay up soon, or you'll have to find a new place," he'd said, his voice heavy, almost fatherly, but unyielding. Jack had nodded, taking the note, its weight like a boulder on his chest, each word a reminder of his failure. He locked the door, the rusty bolt scraping, and sank onto his threadbare couch, the springs groaning under him. "What have I done with my life?" he groaned, his voice muffled as he pressed his head into the coarse fabric, the faint smell of mildew stinging his nose. "Why do I keep getting nowhere? Every damn time I try, it's just… nothing."
His phone buzzed on the warped hardwood floor, but he ignored it, too drained to care. Abdel's sneers from the coffee shop still echoed—*"Those Yeezys look like they've been chewed up"*—the spray of cleaner stinging his cheek, Thompson's "You're fired" cutting deeper than any fist. Sleep was his only escape, and it came fast, pulling him into a long, dreamless void where the world's weight couldn't reach him.
The shrill blare of his phone's alarm shattered the silence the next morning, yanking him from oblivion. "Oh, what the hell!" he yelled, voice hoarse with frustration, his throat dry as sandpaper. "Forgot to unset the damn thing. No job, no reason to wake up at this hour." He fumbled blindly, his hand slapping the cold floor, fingers brushing empty takeout containers before finding the phone. "C'mon, go off!" he muttered, swiping at the screen, but his half-asleep attempts failed, the alarm's relentless screech mocking him. Groaning, he rolled onto his side, the couch creaking, and brought the phone into view, its cracked screen glowing faintly. He swiped the "turn off" animation with a grunt, his fingers clumsy. "Done," he sighed, breath heavy with exhaustion, his heart still racing from the jolt.
Lowering the phone, a notification caught his eye: *Important: Time to put your life…* He clicked it without thinking, expecting spam for a shady loan or fake job. The screen flashed, revealing a garish banner: *Important: Time to put your life together!* Jack snorted, his bitter laugh echoing in the dim room. "Jack, can you put together what you don't have? You sure do have a life, huh?" The text shifted, now reading: *You sure do have a life, Jack!* His name, in bold, glowing like a threat. His heart skipped, a cold sweat prickling his skin. "What the hell?" he gasped, tossing the phone to the couch's far end, its frayed cushions swallowing it with a thud.
He stared, pulse hammering, his mind screaming *prank* or *hack*. The room felt smaller, the walls leaning in, the faint drip of a leaky faucet amplifying his panic. The screen flickered, a spinning wheel appearing with bold text: *Experience the rich system! Click the link for instant fortune! Join and never be broke again!* Jack's skepticism battled a flicker of curiosity, fueled by desperation. The eviction notice loomed in his peripheral vision, Abdel's laughter still burning in his ears. "I've got nothing to lose," he muttered, steadying his shaking hands, his fingers slick with sweat. "Probably a scam, but let's see what you've got." He retrieved the phone, its weight heavy with possibility, and clicked the wheel, half-expecting a virus to brick his only lifeline to the world.
Instead, a metallic voice erupted, chilling and precise: "Not for the faint-hearted, not for the faint-hearted, not for the faint-hearted." The words faded, the screen going black, leaving only the hum of the room's silence. Jack's breath caught, his reflection distorted in the dark glass. "What? Is it off? I had charge! Did I just get hacked?" He brought the phone closer, squinting, his eyes straining to see anything in the void.
The phone vibrated violently, the screen flaring yellow, a quest box popping up with a congratulatory jingle that sent a shiver down his spine. The metallic voice returned, reading aloud: "Welcome, Jack, to H.U.N (Humans Unite Now)! I am Taylor, your new girlfriend, guide, and assistant. I will provide all you need to join us."
Jack's confusion exploded. "What the hell? How do you know my name? How'd you get into my phone? Am I being—" His voice cracked, panic rising like bile.
"Shhh, it's okay, Jack," Taylor interrupted, her voice sharp yet oddly soothing, like a blade wrapped in silk. "You're safe… as long as you do exactly what I say. Consequences are severe—minor to major, including death."
Jack's stomach lurched, his grip tightening on the phone, its edges digging into his palm. "Death? This is insane! Your voice hurts more than it helps!" he blurted, nerves fraying, his heart pounding so hard he felt it in his throat.
Taylor's tone lightened, almost playful, but the edge remained. "Oh, sorry, we'll fix that soon. See? We're already getting along! But don't forget, I'm a jealous girlfriend. Ha ha ha." The mechanical laugh sent ice through his veins, making his skin crawl.
"This is too weird," he muttered, the phone trembling in his hand. The screen shifted, moving on its own, apps rearranging like pieces of a puzzle he didn't understand. "Let's start, shall we?" Taylor said. "Watch what I do so you learn." The phone vibrated again, icons sliding across the screen. Jack yelped, "Goddammit, you hacked it!"
"Oh, geez, yelling at a lady?" Taylor retorted, mock offense dripping from her voice. "You should've yelled like that at Abdel, huh?"
Jack froze, his blood running cold, Abdel's name a dagger in his gut. "Don't say that name. I'm reporting this to the cops. You hacked my phone!" His voice was raw, serious, his face flushed with anger and fear.
Taylor's tone turned sarcastic, biting. "Go on, Jack. What'll you say? 'Hello, Officer, my phone's talking'? They'll ask if you've heard of Siri. Focus, darling. Do this right, and you'll have the money and power you've always wanted." The promise dangled like bait, tantalizing yet dangerous.
Jack's jaw clenched, his mind racing. Money. Power. The words sang to the part of him that wanted to make Abdel pay, to rise above the ashes of his life. But Taylor's next warning hit like a hammer. "We strive to make this fun, but we don't tolerate misbehavior. Disobey, and the consequences are severe." The word *severe* lingered, heavy with unspoken threats, conjuring images of dark alleys and worse.
The phone moved again, launching an app. Its icon was a split "U" in white, set against a red circle on a yellow background, labeled *H.U.N*. Taylor's voice cut through his daze. "I've installed our app. It's hidden—swipe twice on your menu to find it. If you can't reach me, check there for directions."
Jack stared, the surreal scene feeling like a fever dream, the phone's glow casting eerie shadows on the peeling walls. The app opened, half the screen a map, a quest box pulsing with animated ripples like a heartbeat. A menu drawer sat at the top left, sleek and ominous. "What's in the box?" he asked, his voice shaky, barely above a whisper.
"Click it and see," Taylor replied, her tone almost teasing, but with a sharpness that kept him on edge. "It's something nice."
Jack tapped the box, and it opened with a *whoosh*, the sound jarring in the quiet room. A tooltip appeared, showing wireless earphones and text: *Head to Apple Store, 23B Oksana Street. Further details inside. 15 minutes.* A countdown timer started ticking at the top of the app, each second a stab of urgency.
"We've got to go," Taylor sang, her voice lilting but laced with menace. "The clock's ticking."
"Now?" Jack protested, scrambling to his feet, his bare feet cold against the floor. "I haven't even washed my face! I don't know what I'm doing there!"
"I'm napping," Taylor said, her voice fading like a signal dropping. "I'll wake when you arrive. Be late, and there's consequences. Don't go, and it's worse." A beep sounded, and a chat bubble with a human avatar marked *offline* appeared, leaving him alone with the ticking timer.
Jack's mind raced, his heart hammering. "What just happened? She sounded dead serious about consequences. This has to be a joke." But the timer ticked down—14:32, 14:31—each second tightening the noose around his resolve. "I've got to go. What's there to lose? I've got nothing left." He stumbled to the bathroom, splashing cold water from a dented bucket onto his face, the icy shock waking him further. He brushed his teeth hastily, the toothpaste's mint sting grounding him for a moment. "What do I need?" he muttered, grabbing his frayed backpack, its zipper catching on loose threads.
He unzipped it, digging through crumpled receipts and a half-eaten granola bar, finding $5—the last of yesterday's tips from the coffee shop. "Shit, this won't even get me there," he cursed, his voice echoing in the empty room. The timer read 11:12. He bolted for the door, the eviction notice glaring as he passed, its red ink a taunt. He raced down the stairs of his crumbling building, the wooden steps creaking under his worn shoes.
"Jack, what's wrong? Is it fire?" Mr. Oson yelled from the second-floor landing, his voice thick with worry, memories of a past blaze in the building flashing in his tired eyes.
"No, it's not! Morning, Mr. Oson!" Jack called, not breaking stride, his breath puffing in the cold stairwell.
"Then it's my money!" Oson shouted, half-serious, his voice fading as Jack hit the street.
The city's morning chaos swallowed him—honking cars, shouting vendors, the acrid stink of exhaust mixing with the greasy aroma of street food. Jack took a left, sprinting toward the next junction, his shoes slapping the cracked pavement, each step jarring his bones. A bus pulled away from the terminal ahead, its engine rumbling. "Hey! Stop!" he screamed, waving frantically, his arm flailing like a distress signal.
The driver, Oustin Kimberl, a grizzled man in his sixties with a face like weathered leather, spotted him in the side mirror and slowed, the bus's brakes hissing. "Only you, Jack," Oustin said, holding the door open, his creased face splitting into a grin that crinkled his eyes.
Jack climbed aboard, gripping the handrail, panting, sweat beading on his forehead. "Not always my fault, Mr. Oustin. Time's running fast today."
"Excuses, kid," Oustin shot back, his tone laced with familiar sarcasm. "Young folks always got 'em."
Jack managed a weak smile, steadying himself as the bus lurched forward, its worn seats creaking. "Thought you retired by now."
"Retired? So I can move in with you?" Oustin chuckled, his voice warm despite the jab. "Who's gonna feed you, Jack?"
Jack laughed, the sound brittle but genuine, a rare moment of lightness. Oustin was the one person in this miserable neighborhood who didn't treat him like garbage. Free rides, a bag of apples or carrots here and there—Oustin had known Jack since he was a scrawny kid, back when hope wasn't just a faded memory. "You got me," Jack said, their laughter mingling, a brief shield against the chaos in his head.
The bus neared his stop, but traffic clogged the road ahead, cars honking in a snarl of metal and impatience. Jack checked his phone—4:02 left. "Shit, no, no!" he muttered, his pulse spiking. "Mr. Oustin, I've got to get off here. Can't wait for this traffic."
"Hold on, let me pull right—it's safer," Oustin said, weaving the bus toward the curb, other passengers grumbling as they, too, prepared to escape the jam.
"Free ride today, right?" Jack asked, flashing a hopeful grin, his heart still racing.
Oustin sighed, mock-exasperated. "How'm I supposed to retire? Fine, go on, kid."
"Thanks, you're the best!" Jack called, leaping off the bus, his shoes hitting the pavement with a thud. Oustin's voice followed him. "Where you rushing to, Jack?"
Jack didn't answer, his feet pounding the pavement as he sprinted toward Oksana Street, weaving through pedestrians, his backpack bouncing against his spine. The timer ticked down—3:15. His lungs burned, his shoes barely holding together, the soles flapping with every step. Taylor's warning echoed: *Consequences are severe… including death.* Was it a bluff? A scam? He didn't know, but the pulsing chip from last night, H.U.N's cryptic promise of power, and the weight of his empty life pushed him forward. Abdel's face flashed in his mind—those smug eyes, the sugar on his shoes, the laughter that haunted him. If this was real, if H.U.N could give him a fraction of what they promised, maybe he could make Abdel pay. Maybe he could be more than the loser of Gumma Street.
The Apple Store's sleek glass facade loomed ahead, the number 23B glowing in neon, a beacon in the morning haze. Jack checked his phone—1:07 left. He burst through the doors, heart hammering, sweat dripping down his face, stinging his eyes. The store was a maze of polished displays, customers milling about, their chatter a dull roar, oblivious to the storm in his chest. His phone vibrated, Taylor's voice crackling through, sharp and commanding. "Right on time, Jack. Good boy. Now, find the AirPods display. You'll know what to do."
Jack's eyes darted around, the timer at 0:45, each second a hammer blow. The AirPods display gleamed across the store, its white cases lined up like soldiers. What the hell was he here for? A pair of earphones? A trap? A test? His mind raced, but a strange calm settled over him, born of desperation and defiance. This was no prank. H.U.N was real, and they were watching. Whatever came next, he was in too deep to turn back. His hand tightened around the phone, the timer ticking down, and he stepped toward the display, ready to face whatever H.U.N had waiting.