Metro-7 was rarely quiet, but usually, the noise was predictable: traffic, sirens, construction. This was different. This is the start of an exciting adventure short tale, featuring a man named Skip. He possessed a power most could only dream of, yet life felt like a flat line. This tale follows his uniquely dull perspective on incredibly strange events. He didn’t seek thrills; he sought peace, quiet, and maybe a good bargain bin. But trouble had a way of finding him, usually loud, messy trouble.
Chapter 1: The Rumble
Skip hated Mondays. His job involved watching boxes move. Big boxes. Small boxes. Brown boxes. They moved on belts. He watched them. Sometimes, a box fell. He picked it up. Today, the building rumbled. Not an earthquake rumble. More like a giant cat purring. Deep. Vibrating. Annoying. His supervisor, Grip, ran in. Grip was always sweating. Even in winter. “Skip! Did you feel that?” Grip panted. Skip nodded slowly. “Hard to miss.” “It’s downtown! Sector Four! Some kind of… thing!” Skip sighed. Sector Four was near his favorite noodle place. They had a special on Tuesdays. This might disrupt that. “What kind of thing?” Skip asked, not really caring. “Big! Metal! Lots of clanking!” Grip waved his hands. “The Agency wants someone nearby to check it out. That’s you.” The ‘Agency’ was a low-budget hero dispatch. Mostly dealt with lost pets and minor vandalism. Skip got paid minimum wage plus a small ‘hazard’ bonus. The hazard was usually boredom. “Fine,” Skip said. He clocked out. The rumble continued. It was louder outside. People were pointing downtown. Smoke rose. Skip started walking. No rush. Maybe the noodle place was okay.
Chapter 2: Bolt Arrives
A streak of yellow and blue zipped past Skip. It stopped abruptly, kicking up dust. It was Bolt. Real name: Cindy. Hero name: Bolt. She wore a custom-made suit with small rocket boosters on her boots. And lots of pouches. Probably filled with gadgets. “Skip! Heading to the disturbance?” Bolt chirped. Her voice was always too loud. “Grip called me,” Skip replied flatly. “Me too! Backup request!” Bolt beamed. “Isn’t it thrilling? Reports say it’s a Class 3 Anomaly!” The Agency had classes for things. Class 1 was a stray dog. Class 3 was usually a malfunctioning construction bot. “Thrilling,” Skip echoed, deadpan. “Let’s go!” Bolt activated her boot rockets. With a whoosh, she shot forward, then wobbled, overcorrecting. She zoomed off, slightly crooked. Skip continued walking. He passed a group of people huddled around a phone. “…giant washing machine…” one person whispered. “…threw a car…” said another. Skip sighed again. Tuesdays were looking unlikely.
Chapter 3: The Urban Aggregate
Sector Four was a mess. Lampposts bent. Cars overturned. Dust everywhere. In the middle of the plaza stood the ‘thing’. It looked like a giant ball of scrap metal and concrete. Old washing machines, broken pipes, chunks of pavement, rusty bikes. All fused together. It rolled slowly, absorbing more debris. Clank. Grind. Rumble. Bolt was zipping around it, firing small energy blasts from wrist-mounted cannons. Pew! Pew! The blasts hit the Aggregate and did nothing. Sparks flew off. The Aggregate ignored her. It rolled towards a building. “Bolt! Status?” Grip’s voice crackled over a cheap radio Skip carried. “Engaging the target! Minimal damage inflicted! It’s tough!” Bolt yelled back, dodging a piece of rebar the Aggregate shed. “Skip, are you there?” Grip asked. “Here,” Skip said into the radio. “Can you… you know… handle it?” Grip sounded hopeful. And cheap. He didn’t want to pay for property damage. Skip watched the Aggregate lumber forward. It was about to hit the noodle shop. His noodle shop. “Yeah,” Skip said. “Annoying.”
Chapter 4: Full Stop
Skip walked towards the giant metal ball. Bolt zipped past him again. “Skip! Stay back! It’s dangerous!” Skip ignored her. He kept walking. The Urban Aggregate sensed him. Or maybe it just rolled in his direction by chance. It picked up speed. Clanking grew louder. Dust billowed. People screamed from the sidelines. Bolt prepared another blast, gritting her teeth. Skip reached the path of the Aggregate. He raised one hand. Palm facing the rolling mass. He didn’t brace himself. He didn’t change his expression. The Urban Aggregate, tonnes of metal and concrete moving with building-crushing force, rolled forward. It hit Skip’s hand. And stopped. Instantly. No crunch. No skid. No sound except the sudden absence of rumbling. It just stopped. Dead still. As if it had always been a statue. A few loose pebbles trickled down its side. Silence fell. Bolt hovered, mouth open, energy blast fizzling on her wrist. Grip’s voice crackled on the radio. “Skip? What happened? Did it break down?” Skip lowered his hand. “No,” he said. “It stopped.” He looked at the Aggregate. It was directly in front of the noodle shop entrance. “Great,” he muttered. “Now how do I get noodles?”
Chapter 5: The Aftermath
Bolt landed beside Skip, her helmet retracted. “How… how did you do that?” she stammered. Her usual energy was gone, replaced by awe. “I pushed back,” Skip said. It wasn’t a lie. Just not the whole truth. His power was Perfect Inertia Control. He could make anything stop. Or start. Or keep going. Effortlessly. Stopping the Aggregate was like tapping a balloon. “Pushed back?” Bolt looked at the massive, motionless junk pile. “It must weigh hundreds of tons!” Skip shrugged. “Maybe.” He walked around the Aggregate. The noodle shop door was blocked. He sighed. Grip arrived in a sputtering Agency van. He saw the stopped Aggregate, then Skip standing calmly beside it.
“Incredible, Skip! Incredible!” Grip wiped sweat from his brow. “Minimal property damage! Well, except for everything before you stopped it.” He pulled out a clipboard. “Okay, report time. How did you neutralize the threat?” “It stopped moving,” Skip said. “Right, but how? Did you find a weak spot? An off switch?” Grip pressed. “I told it to stop,” Skip said, hoping Grip would leave him alone. Grip stared. Bolt stared. “Right,” Grip said slowly, writing something down. “‘Subject ceased hostile actions upon verbal command.’ Good enough for the paperwork.” He looked at the Aggregate. “Now, how do we get rid of this thing?” Skip pointed. “Maybe push it that way?” Away from the noodle shop. “Push it?” Grip looked horrified. “We’ll need heavy lifters! Cranes! This will cost a fortune!” Skip walked over to the Aggregate. He placed his hand on it again. He gave it a gentle nudge. Mentally. The massive sculpture of junk slid sideways. Smoothly. Silently. It glided across the plaza, dodging obstacles, until it rested neatly in a designated construction debris zone half a block away. It stopped perfectly within the painted lines. Skip put his hands in his pockets. Grip and Bolt stared again. Their jaws were practically on the pavement. “Huh,” Grip finally said. “Maybe the ground here is just really slippery.” Skip walked towards the now-clear noodle shop entrance. Closed. ‘Closed due to Giant Metal Ball Emergency’. He sighed. No noodles today.
Chapter 6: Tuesday Special
Skip went back to work the next day. Tuesday. The boxes moved. He watched them. The news played on a small TV in the breakroom. Footage of the Urban Aggregate. Experts baffled. Heroes praised. Bolt was interviewed. She looked excited. “…a coordinated effort,” she said, “with vital assistance from other Agency operatives…” Skip wasn’t mentioned by name. Suited him fine. Grip gave him his paycheck. The usual amount. No bonus. Stopping city-threatening Anomalies wasn’t technically in his job description. Lunchtime. Skip walked to the noodle shop. It was open. The ‘Tuesday Special’ sign was proudly displayed. Pork ramen, extra broth. Skip ordered two. He sat at the counter. Slurping noodles. Watching steam rise. This was better than fighting scrap heaps. Peaceful. Normal. A news report flickered on the shop’s TV. “…bizarre weather phenomenon reported over Sector 7. Eyewitnesses describe clouds shaped like angry cats…” Skip finished his noodles. He paid. He walked outside. Looked towards Sector 7. Faintly, in the distance, he thought he heard a meow. A very, very loud meow. He sighed. Just another Tuesday.
Chapter 7: Cloudy with a Chance of Paws
Sector 7 housed the city’s main power grid. Important place. Now, it was being overshadowed by literal storm clouds shaped like giant, grumpy cat heads. Lightning flashed from their eyes. Thunder rumbled like cosmic purrs. Rain fell, but it felt weirdly… fuzzy. Like static. Bolt was already there, flying in erratic circles below the cloud cats. She fired energy blasts upwards. They dissipated harmlessly in the cloud mass. “Grip, this is weird!” she yelled into her comms. “My sensors are picking up massive static discharges, but also… catnip?” Skip arrived, hands in pockets. He looked up. The clouds did look like angry cats. One even seemed to be batting playfully at a tall antenna. The antenna sparked violently. “Skip! Thank goodness!” Grip scurried over, holding an umbrella that did little against the static rain. “Any ideas?” “They’re clouds,” Skip stated. “Yes, but they’re angry clouds! And cat-shaped! They’re disrupting the power grid!” Grip pointed frantically. “Can you… disperse them?” Skip considered. Dispersing clouds seemed complicated. Making them stop seemed easier. “Stop what?” he asked. “Stop… being angry cats? Stop the lightning? Stop the static rain? Stop existing?” Grip sputtered. Skip focused on the nearest cloud cat. It let out a thunderous hiss. He focused his power. Not pushing. Not stopping movement.
Just… stopping the phenomenon. Stopping the ‘cat-ness’ of the cloud. The grumpy face on the cloud wavered. The sharp ears drooped. The form softened, losing definition. In seconds, it was just a regular, dark grey storm cloud. The angry cat face was gone. The lightning stopped. The static rain faded. Skip moved his focus to the next cloud cat. Same result. One by one, the angry sky felines reverted to normal, boring clouds. Bolt hovered, watching the transformation. Grip lowered his useless umbrella, rain now just normal water. “How…” Grip started. “They calmed down,” Skip said. He started walking away. “But… the catnip readings?” Bolt called after him. Skip shrugged. “Maybe they were just hungry.”
Chapter 8: Promotion?
Grip cornered Skip at the warehouse the next day. “Skip, we need to talk,” Grip said, holding a file. He wasn’t sweating as much. Maybe progress. “Okay,” Skip replied, watching a box labelled ‘Fragile’ tumble off the belt. He didn’t bother picking it up. “The Agency is impressed. Very impressed. Stopping the Aggregate, calming the Cat Clouds… you’re efficient.”
Skip waited. “We want to offer you a promotion,” Grip announced, puffing his chest slightly. “More pay?” Skip asked. That was the only part of ‘promotion’ that mattered. “Well… a new title! ‘Senior Field Operative’!” Grip beamed. “Does ‘Senior Field Operative’ get paid more?” Grip coughed. “It comes with… more responsibility! Priority dispatch! Maybe a slightly newer radio!” Skip looked at his current radio. It crackled even when off. “No thanks,” Skip said. Grip deflated. “But… why not? It’s a step up!” “Sounds like more work. Same pay,” Skip explained simply. “I like watching boxes.” Sometimes. “Right,” Grip sighed. He made a note in the file. “‘Subject declined promotion. Prefers current duties.'” He looked up. “You know, Bolt asked about you. She wants to train with you. Learn your techniques.” Skip imagined trying to teach Bolt how to ‘nudge’ reality. It seemed tiring. “Tell her I’m busy,” Skip said. “Busy doing what?” Grip asked, exasperated. Skip pointed at the conveyor belt. “Watching boxes.”
Chapter 9: The Silent Zone
Weeks passed. Things were relatively quiet. A few minor incidents. Sentient puddle. Aggressively organized pigeons. Skip handled them with minimum fuss. Mostly by making them stop being sentient or aggressive. Then came the Silent Zone. In the middle of the busiest shopping district, a perfect sphere of absolute silence descended. About fifty feet across. Inside, sound just… ceased. Cars made no noise. People opened their mouths, but nothing came out. Music players went mute. Explosions (tested by the Agency’s less careful members) were utterly silent. It was deeply unsettling. Bolt tried flying through. Her rockets made no sound. Her comms cut out instantly. She flew out quickly, looking pale. Grip set up a perimeter. Experts scratched their heads. “Skip,” Grip said, voice tight. “This is beyond weird. It’s creepy. Can you… stop the silence?” Skip walked to the edge of the sphere. He poked his hand in. The usual city noise vanished from his hearing on that side. It felt like thick cotton in his ear. He stepped fully inside. Silence.
Absolute, profound lack of sound. He could feel his heart beat, but not hear it. He breathed, but heard nothing. It wasn’t peaceful. It was oppressive. He looked around. People inside were panicked, mouths moving, gestures frantic. He focused. What to stop? The effect? The sphere itself? He decided to just… stop the ‘zone’ aspect. Make it not be a zone anymore. He applied his power. A subtle mental nudge. Pop. Sound rushed back in. A cacophony of car horns, yelling, crying, music, all hitting at once. It was jarring after the silence. People inside stumbled, covering their ears. The sphere was gone. Sound was normal again. Skip walked out of the now-noisy crowd. “Report, Skip?” Grip asked anxiously. “It’s noisy again,” Skip said. “How did you do it?” Skip considered. “Turned the volume back up.” Grip just sighed and made another note.
Chapter 10: Just Another Anomaly
Life went back to its usual rhythm. Work. Noodles. Occasional reality glitches. Skip found a sale on instant ramen. Ten percent off bulk purchases. A good week. Bolt still tried to learn his ‘secrets’. She left complicated diagrams on his locker. Flowcharts titled “Hypothetical Anti-Inertia Combat Techniques”. Skip recycled them. Grip stopped offering promotions. He just dispatched Skip with resigned acceptance when things got weird. One afternoon, a geyser of luminous, multi-colored paint erupted from a manhole cover downtown. It painted buildings in clashing neon stripes. Reports said the paint moved with unnatural speed and precision, actively dodging cleaning crews. Grip’s voice came over the radio, tinny and tired.
“Skip… Sector Two. Paint problem.” Skip was on his lunch break. He was eating a sandwich. Tuna salad. He finished his bite. Chewed slowly. He looked in the direction of Sector Two. He could see the neon glow reflecting off clouds. He sighed. Packed up the rest of his sandwich. “On my way,” he said into the radio. Just another day. Just another anomaly. Maybe he’d try the spicy noodles tonight. If the shop wasn’t painted shut. The adventure continued. Not that Skip found it particularly exciting. But the city kept throwing things at him. And he kept stopping them. Full stop.
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