GLITCH IN BLOODLINE

I’ve always had this theory that the universe is just one giant, poorly coded video game. Most people go through their lives following the NPCs, doing their daily quests, and never noticing the flickering textures in the sky. But when you’re sixteen, living in a dorm at St. Jude’s Home for Boys—which, let’s be real, is just a prison where they serve mystery meat and call it "stew"—you start looking for the glitches. You look for the shortcuts because the main path is a dead end. My name is Leo, and I’m a glitch-hunter. Or at least, I was until Tuesday. Tuesday started like every other day in this dump. The radiator in my room was clanking like a dying robot, and the air smelled like old sneakers and damp plaster. I pulled my black hoodie over my head—it’s three sizes too big, but it’s the only thing I own that doesn't feel like a uniform—and headed for the window. I don’t use the front door. Sister Margaret has ears like a bat, and she hates my face. I’m not a bad kid, honestly. I just have sticky fingers. It’s a habit I picked up when I realized that the "charity" at St. Jude’s didn't cover things like headphones or decent socks. If you want something in this city, you have to take it when the universe isn't looking. I dropped from the fire escape onto the rainy pavement of 5th Street. This part of the city is always gray. The neon signs from the vape shops and the 24-hour diners bleed into the puddles, creating this oily, rainbow mess that’s kind of pretty if you don't think about the trash floating in it. I was heading for "The Iron Market." It’s a place where you can find anything—stolen phones, fake IDs, and sometimes, the weird stuff. The fantasy stuff. You see, the world thinks it’s all iPhones and Teslas now, but there’s an undercurrent. You’ll see a guy in a tailored suit carrying a briefcase, but if you look closely, he’s got runes etched into his cufflinks. Or you’ll see a stray cat with glowing purple eyes that definitely isn't just a "stray." I was weaving through the crowd, my hands deep in my pockets. I felt invisible. That’s my superpower. Not real invisibility—not yet, anyway—just that "nobody cares about a scruffy orphan" kind of invisibility. Then I saw him. The Guy in the Gray Coat. He was standing by a stall selling "authentic" antique watches, but he wasn't looking at the watches. He was staring at a blank brick wall like it was a high-definition TV. He was sweating, his eyes darting back and forth. He looked terrified. Naturally, I followed him. He ducked into a narrow alleyway behind a noodle shop. The smell of ginger and burnt pork hit me, making my stomach growl. I stayed behind a dumpster, watching. The guy pulled a small, silver cylinder out of his pocket. It looked like a high-tech pen, but it hummed. Not a sound, exactly—more like a vibration that made my teeth ache. He pressed it against the brick wall, and the bricks... they moved. They didn't slide or open like a door; they pixelated. For half a second, the wall looked like a corrupted image on a broken monitor. He stepped through, but as he did, he tripped. The cylinder flew out of his hand, skidding across the wet concrete right toward my feet. The wall snapped back to solid brick. The guy was gone. I stared at the silver thing. My brain was screaming Don't touch it, Leo. Just walk away. But my hands? My hands had other ideas. I reached out and grabbed it. The metal was burning hot, then freezing cold. It felt like it was trying to read my pulse. "Hey! You!" A voice like gravel hitting a tin roof echoed from the mouth of the alley. I spun around. Two guys in dark suits, wearing sunglasses even though it was pouring rain, were standing there. They didn't look like cops. They looked like the kind of people who disappear you and then delete your social media accounts for good measure. "Give it here, kid," the one on the left said. He reached inside his jacket, and I saw a flash of blue light. Not a gun. Something worse. I didn't stick around to ask questions. I’ve been running from social workers and bullies since I was six; these guys were just a higher level of the same game. I bolted. I didn't run for the street. I ran for the wall. It was a total "hold my juice" moment. I jammed the silver cylinder against the bricks exactly where the Gray Coat guy had. The vibration hit my arm like an electric shock. My vision blurred. The world didn't just pixelate—it dissolved. I didn't fall through a door. I fell through reality. For a heartbeat, I was nowhere. There was no sound, no rain, no smell of pork. Just a white void and a feeling like my skin was being pulled off and put back on inside out. Then—THUMP. I landed hard on a floor made of glass. I was in a room that looked like a laboratory designed by a wizard on acid. Floating screens hung in the air, covered in glowing gold script that looked like a mix of computer code and ancient Latin. I scrambled to my feet, my heart hammering so hard I thought it would break a rib. I looked back at where I’d come through, but it was just a solid wall of light now. I looked down at the silver cylinder in my hand. It wasn't silver anymore. It was glowing a deep, pulsing crimson. And on my palm, right where the metal had touched my skin, was a brand. Three circles interlocking around a jagged line. "Subject 7 detected," a voice whispered. It didn't come from a speaker. It came from inside my own head. "Sequence initiated. Welcome home, Leo." My breath hitched. My parents... the only thing the orphanage ever told me was that they "disappeared" in a lab accident. But the voice in my head sounded just like the lullaby I used to dream about when I was little. I looked at the glowing screens. One of them had a photo of me. Not me now—me as a baby. And next to it was a DNA strand that was half-human, half... something else. Something that looked like static. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me," I muttered. I heard the wall of light behind me crackle. The suits were coming through. I didn't have a plan. I didn't have a weapon. All I had was a stolen "magic" pen and a sudden, terrifying feeling that my entire life had been a lie. I looked at the nearest floating screen and punched the first command I could find. "Let's see what happens if I break the rules," I whispered. The room began to shake, and as the suits burst through the light, their faces twisted in rage, I didn't run. I stood my ground. Because for the first time in sixteen years, I wasn't just a glitch. I was the virus.