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The bell attached to the corner store door chimed as the stalk, tall, young man strolled into the bright, fluorescent lit building around three AM on a Sunday. "Hi, Mrs. Chen," he waved at the older woman taking inventory.
She lowered her glasses, "Hi, Gabe."
"How was your holiday?" He asked her, making eyes at the pretzels wheels. He was deciding between Utz and Snyder's.
"It was good, got to see the grandkids," she informed him. "How about you?"
He approached the check-out counter, placing the Utz on the counter, "Oh, y'know," he reached into his jacket pocket to pull out a film canister full of quarters. "The usual."
She watched as he stacked an exact amount of change and rang him up, "No offense, Gabriel, but — "
"I know, I know."
"You didn't let me finish."
He shrugged, "I've heard it all."
She positioned her glasses, looking him up and down, "You smell, hun."
He blinked, "Really?"
"Yeah."
"I haven't showered the last couple days," he told her. "I thought I was getting away with it."
"You're not."
"Noted," he lifted up the pretzels in a wave right as the news channel caught his attention.
One-hundred and twenty-nine more disappearances have occurred along the east coast within the last two years. Supposedly, nearly all of the cases link to Sweven, a virtual reality board game created by AvraSystems.
"Bye, Mrs. Chen."
The founder of AvraSystems, Teresa Avraham has yet to comment or make a statement.
"Bye, Gabe," he heard as the bell attached to the corner store chimed. He strolled out onto the sidewalk, looking both ways before crossing the street and walked into an apartment building.
The warmth from the air conditioning in the lobby wrapped around the nape of his neck and traveled its way around the hairs on the knuckles of his fingers when he tapped the elevator button.
Stepping into the shaft, he selected the twelfth floor and opened the bag of pretzels. The elevator dinged and he stepped out onto his floor, swiping salt off his hands before he reached into his jeans pocket to grab his keys.
His apartment was dimly lit. He turned on a lamp and set the pretzels on the coffee table with his keys right beside. His jacket went on the coat rack, leaving him in a Targaryen tee, though he never remembered where the coat rack even came from.
He picked the bag back up and walked down the hallway where he opened the door to his coat closet, shutting it behind him.
Folding the bag back up, he held it underneath his armpit and closed his eyes, clenching his fits. He ate a single pretzel before walking out of the closet and closed the door behind him. The hallway light was on, there was music playing, something by Frank Ocean. An aroma of pasta and tomato sauce filled his nostrils the more he walked towards the living room.
