EP1 One Extra Large Pepperoni
1638 Words
June. Hot enough to melt asphalt.
One PM. Lunch had just ended. The school canceled the afternoon study hall.
Class 3, Room 204. Homeroom.
Most kids were reviewing. But in the back row, Jake Harper was asleep. Face up. Head tilted back. Completely out.
His hand was still curled around a pen. His notebook had half a page of notes. Neat. Careful.
This was a kid who worked hard.
Jake wasn't sleeping in class for fun. He'd been running DoorDash deliveries until 4 AM. He couldn't keep his eyes open.
"Mr. Hall, there are cameras in this room. If the office catches Jake sleeping, will they ding your pay? Shouldn't someone wake him up?"
The class study monitor's voice had an edge.
Jake wasn't snoring. He wasn't bothering anyone. But the monitor had made up her mind. No reason to go easy on a kid who'd given up on himself.
Riverside High had strict rules. Teacher performance reviews tied to student conduct. If the office saw a sleeping kid in Mr. Hall's class, he got the blame.
Other students stopped reviewing. They turned and stared at the back row.
Pity. Resignation. Sympathy.
Every pair of eyes told a different story.
The fallen rich kid. That's what happened to him.
"Leave him alone," Mr. Hall said. He shook his head softly, voice calm. "Let him rest. He doesn't do this every day. Jake's grades are fine."
Mr. Hall wasn't thinking about his paycheck. He was just tired.
Jake's situation was worse than the rumors said.
The kid had no mom. His dad got arrested and vanished. Assets frozen. Jake lived with his uncle in a wheelchair and a little kid who wasn't even blood-related. They were scraping by in a trailer park on the edge of town.
Mr. Hall felt sorry for him.
"Mr. Hall, Jake doesn't snore. Maybe we should wake him up. Student affairs office—"
"He'll be fine," Mr. Hall said. "Let him rest."
End of discussion.
Jake lay there. He was already awake.
He just didn't want to get up. Not yet. Not with everyone staring.
His dad is in prison. His whole life is upside down. An uncle who couldn't walk. A kid brother who needed feeding. Tuition payments due. And now this.
He listened to everyone talk.
He waited until the room went quiet. Then he sat up. Grabbed his pen. Kept writing notes.
Some students noticed. Nobody said a word. That was their way of saying: we see you, but we won't make it weird.
Mia Torres pulled the curtain shut. She wasn't about to get in trouble with the office either.
Tyler Greene looked at Mia. Then at Jake. He grits his teeth.
"Why'd you pull the curtain for him? It's not even that sunny."
"My skin gets dark in UV," Mia said. "If the office comes, I'll write an apology letter. Worry about your own grades, Tyler."
"My grades are fine. My ability score is fine. I'm making Elite Prep."
"Uh huh. So why are you still worried about Jake? You jealous?"
"I'm not jealous! I'm just saying—"
"You sound pretty invested."
"What? No! I'm just—"
"He's my friend," Mia said. "That's all."
Tyler Greene went red. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Didn't know what to say.
Mia was cold. But she was right about one thing—she didn't suffer fools. She had standards. High ones.
Jake wrote in his notebook: "My dad will come back someday. I'll find out what really happened. One day."
At 7 PM, school leaves.
Friday. No evening drill. Students could go home.
Jake went to the bathroom. Changed into his DoorDash jacket. Pulled out his phone.
Orders were already popping up. Each one was money.
His phone was the one thing the court hadn't taken. Good phone. Fast processor. Could grab orders quicker than most drivers.
His dad used to buy him everything. Now he bought his own meals.
"Jake! Come to the track!"
Tyler Greene appeared. He had a strange look on his face.
"Can't. Got orders."
"You're coming with me. Now."
"Jake—are you serious?"
Tyler reached into his bag. Pulled out a device. An Ability Power monitor. The kind that measured your true AP rating.
"Use this," Tyler said. "On your wrist."
Jake stared at the device. Then at Tyler.
"Tyler, that's worth like five grand."
"Just take it," Tyler said. "You need it more than I do."
Jake looked at the monitor. Then at Tyler.
"Why are you helping me?"
"I'm not helping you. I'm helping myself. If you make Elite Prep, our class average goes up. My teacher gets credit. I get credit. It's not charity. It's strategy."
Tyler walked away.
Jake looked at the monitor in his hand. It was warm. Like someone had been holding it close.
Jake strapped it on.
Six. His AP rating showed six!
That was low. Too low for Elite Prep. Way too low.
But Jake knew something nobody else did. He had three gene implants sealing his real power deep inside. Take them out, and that six became twelve.
Jake touched his stomach. The three implants sat quietly under his skin.
Nobody knew.
And that was the point.
But first—one more thing.
Jake found a quiet corner. Away from cameras. Away from everyone.
He pressed his fingers against his stomach. Found the first implant. Pulled it out slowly.
His body felt lighter. Just a little.
A soft ping from his phone.
New DoorDash order.
Jake read it:
One extra large pepperoni pizza. Extra cheese. No mushrooms. No green peppers. No olives. No onions. No pepperoni. Extra jalapeños.
Customer name: I Lift 300 Pounds.
Jake stared at the screen.
You order a pepperoni pizza with no pepperoni? Just bread and cheese?
Why not just eat a plain tortilla?
And with a name like that—shouldn't you be ordering double meat?
Jake strapped the first implant back in. Then the second. Then the third.
Sixty pounds settled back into his body.
He put his phone away. Grabbed his DoorDash jacket.
Started running.
Jake Harper ran deliveries on foot. Most DoorDash drivers had cars. Jake had two legs.
He wasn't complaining. Running was training. He could earn money and work out at the same time.
In this day and age, Ability Power was everything. It was the root of all strength, all speed, all power.
High AP meant a sharp mind. Quick thinking. No sickness. So strong you could headbutt a car. Lift a tank on your shoulders. Bite through a grenade. Swim to the bottom of the ocean and not feel the pressure.
Training was for killing. For the Front. Not for fun.
AP, Ability Power, was the foundation. The root of everything.
Once you break past twenty AP, you become a certified Ability User. Only then did the academies teach you real techniques.
Below that, you were just a pre-certified trainee. All you could do was grind. Push your body to the breaking point. Over and over. That was the only way to advance.
Run. Hit the bag. Do squats. Get hit. All of it counted. As long as you kept repeating.
Jake ran while delivering. A double win.
Money and training, both at once.
One night, last year, Jake got sick. Fever. Bedridden. Three days.
When he woke up, something was different.
In his head, there was a new screen. Like a transparent HUD floating in front of his eyes.
It was small. Barely there. But it was real.
He studied it for weeks.
Available Hard Work Points: 15
Hard Work Counter:
1. Sleep Exemption — (3 points = 1 hour off sleep) — Skill: You are the Night Owl King.
2. [Locked]
That was it. That was the whole system.
One feature unlocked. Just one. "Sleep Exemption." It let him skip sleep without feeling tired.
Jake had been running all night. Every night. For months. He traded rest for time. The system let him do that without dying from exhaustion.
Hard Work Points come from pain. From labor. The harder the work, the faster the points stacked.
One night of running deliveries earned him about twenty-one points. Getting the tar beat out of him at the underground fight club paid better, but it was also illegal for minors.
Doing squats and hitting the bag earned points too, but he couldn't make money doing those.
DoorDash was legal at sixteen. Barely. And it paid the bills.
"Sleep Exemption costs three points per hour. I should save up."
Jake looked at the glowing screen in his head.
He had fifteen points. Enough for five hours.
He spent all of it on one night run.
The effect was instant. His body went from dead tired to fully awake. Like he'd just had the best sleep of his life. But he was standing up. Running. Working.
At 1 AM, Jake was carrying a bag of takeout to an apartment on the fourth floor. No elevator.
He knocked. Waited.
The door opened. A woman looked out. Easily three hundred pounds.
"Hi! Thanks so much! You're so cute!"
Jake smiled his customer service smile.
She was old enough to be his mom. And she was heavy. But she was also just... a person. Buying late-night food. Trying to feel a little less alone.
"Five stars? Please?" Jake said.
"Five stars! You got it! Goodnight!"
Jake left.
He kept running.
At 3 AM, Jake passed a billboard. A massive screen cycling through the same face, over and over.
WANTED
Name: Big Bear
Age: 40
Height: 6'3"
Weight: 181 lbs
Reward: $1,000,000
Jake knew that face. He'd been delivering to that face for over a year.
Big Bear wasn't at the address on the delivery app anymore. Big Bear had moved.
But Jake still knew where he was.
- Writer
