The automatic doors of the convenience store hissed open, letting Eliot into a place of bright lights and fake cheer. The smell of old coffee and hot dogs hit him, sharply reminding him how hungry he was. His stomach rumbled loudly, an embarrassing sound in the quiet store.
He saw the only worker behind the counter, a bored-looking teenager glued to his phone. Eliot's heart pounded. This was it. His one chance.
He walked past shelves piled with chips, candy, and colorful drinks. The urge to grab something was huge, but he fought it. He needed to focus. He picked up a small, empty plastic bottle from a display, the same kind he'd tried to lift in the park. This would be his prop.
He went to the counter, the teenager barely looking up. Eliot cleared his throat, his voice rough. "Excuse me."
The clerk slowly looked up, a hint of annoyance in his eyes. "Yeah?"
Eliot's mind raced. He had to be quick, subtle, and convincing. He couldn't afford to use too much energy trying to float something heavy. He also couldn't make it so unbelievable that the kid thought he was crazy.
"I… I'm in a bit of a tough spot," Eliot began, trying to sound as normal as possible. "Lost my wallet. I know this sounds wild, but I have a… special skill. Maybe we can help each other out?"
The clerk raised an eyebrow, a smirk on his face. "A special skill, huh? Like what, juggling bananas?"
Eliot ignored the sarcasm. He held up the empty plastic bottle, placing it carefully on the counter. He took a deep breath, putting all his remaining energy into it. The faint blue glow was almost impossible to see now, just a tiny hint of light around his hand. He pictured the bottle, not just lifting, but spinning. A controlled, complex movement that would show more than just simple floating.
"Like this," he mumbled, eyes fixed on the bottle.
He poured every last bit of his will into the command. The hum in his bones grew stronger, but it was weak, sputtering. His head throbbed.
The bottle shook. Then, slowly, it began to spin on its base, getting faster, twirling with impossible precision, like a tiny plastic tornado. It spun for three full seconds before falling back onto the counter, the power gone.
Eliot swayed, holding onto the counter for support. He felt completely drained, the faint blue light totally gone from his hand. The System's display, which had briefly shown (ABILITY USED. HOST ENERGY CRITICAL.), now went dark.
The clerk, however, was no longer smirking. His eyes were wide, staring at the bottle, then at Eliot, then back at the bottle. His phone, forgotten, lay on the counter.
"Whoa," the kid breathed, his voice a low, disbelieving whisper. "How'd you do that?"
Eliot managed a weak, shaky smile. "Like I said, a special skill. Look, I just need a couple of sandwiches, maybe a drink. I'll… I'll come back and work it off, or pay you back. I just need to get back on my feet." He hoped the urgency in his voice showed how desperate he was without sounding like a threat.
The clerk stared at him for another long moment, his young face a mix of wonder and confusion. He seemed to be weighing the impossible thing he had just seen against the store rules. Finally, he stood up straighter.
"Alright," he said, his voice still a little shaky. "Just... don't tell anyone about this, okay? And just this once." He vaguely pointed at the food aisle. "Grab what you need. No, wait. Just pick two sandwiches and a juice. And, uh, something quick to eat now."
Relief washed over Eliot so strongly it almost made his knees give out. He nodded, a real, grateful smile breaking through his tiredness. "Thank you. Thank you so much."
He quickly grabbed two pre-packaged sandwiches and a bottle of orange juice, then, at the clerk's unsaid suggestion, a small bag of chips. His hands trembled as he held them. It wasn't a feast, but it was his salvation.
"Go on," the clerk said, still looking a little dazed. "And remember what I said."
Eliot mumbled another thank you, barely able to hide his eagerness to get out of sight and eat the food. He stumbled out of the store, the automatic doors hissing shut behind him, leaving the stunned teenager to wonder about the impossible.
He found a hidden spot behind a large dumpster (not the one from last night, he made sure) and tore into the chips first, stuffing them into his mouth. The salty crunch was a symphony to his starving body. Then the sandwich, eaten in mere seconds. The juice was like heaven.
As he ate, a powerful realization settled over him. He had just used this mysterious power not for big shows or revenge, but for survival. And it had worked. He was still weak, still vulnerable, still hunted. But he was no longer completely helpless. He had taken the first step towards getting something back.