The digital clock on the laptop screen glared 10:17 AM. Rent was due today. Theodore Sterling stared at the marketplace listing for his "Eversharp Edge" knives, the page static, mocking him with its lack of notifications. $1580.09 sat in his account, a pathetic buffer against the $450 rent payment looming like an executioner's axe. Each click of the refresh button was a tiny prayer swallowed by the indifferent silence of his squalid apartment, punctuated only by the distant, rhythmic wail of sirens bleeding through the thin walls.
His power, the impossible +1 enhancement, was dormant. He could feel the emptiness where the internal hum had resided, a void left after depleting the ten charges during yesterday's frantic testing and hypothesis confirmation. Ten uses, seemingly recharging on a 24-hour cycle, but the first recharge wasn't due for hours yet, pegged to the time he'd enhanced that first glass tumbler. Waiting felt like torture, like watching water drip onto his forehead while strapped to a rack.
He paced the small, cluttered room, his expensive shoes crunching softly on grit near the doorway, fingers drumming an impatient tattoo against his thigh. Waiting for anonymous online buyers to stumble upon his listing for an unknown, unproven product… it was passive. It was leaving too much to chance. His corporate life had taught him aggression, proactive manoeuvring. Relying on hope was a strategy for fools and losers.
Think, Theo, think. Where could a superior knife make an immediate, demonstrable impact? Who valued sharpness, durability, and edge retention above all else, day in, day out?
Butchers.
The idea struck him with the force of necessity. Forget waiting for clicks. He needed to put the product directly into the hands of someone who would know the difference instantly. A single impressed professional could be worth more in word-of-mouth than a dozen anonymous online sales.
Decision made, the lethargy of anxiety was replaced by focused action. He selected one of the ten enhanced knives from the counter, one that felt particularly well-balanced after its +1 treatment. He couldn't just walk in waving a bare blade. Presentation mattered. He sacrificed one of the cardboard sleeves the knives had come in, cleaning it meticulously. He used a precious few dollars from his wallet, cash reserved for absolute emergencies, to buy a small, cheap whetstone and a piece of clean butcher paper from a corner store. Back in the apartment, he carefully wrapped the knife, creating a semblance of professional packaging. It looked… adequate. Functional. Hopefully convincing enough to get him past the initial scepticism.
Before reaching for the jacket, he caught his reflection in the dusty, full-length mirror propped against one wall, a jarring slash of order against the apartment's backdrop of chaos. He stood tall, deliberately straightening his spine, pulling his shoulders back to maximize his roughly 180cm height. His frame was lean, not skinny, honed perhaps by past scarcity and present stress, giving his movements a certain wiry tension. The white shirt he wore, though likely inexpensive, was crisp and immaculately clean. He ran a hand quickly over his dark hair, ensuring the neat, presentable style was perfect, image was paramount. Beneath the carefully styled hair, sharp cheekbones gave his face definition, leading down to a jawline set in practiced neutrality. Only his eyes, an intense, piercing blue, hinted at the storm beneath the surface, they were constantly scanning, assessing, holding a watchful energy that belied the manufactured calm of his expression. This was the facade he needed, the armour required for the outside world.
He put on his suit jacket, adjusting the knot of his tie. Armor for the battlefield. He needed to project confidence, expertise, even if he was just parroting half-remembered details from cooking shows and online forums. He grabbed the wrapped knife and headed out, the lucky coin cool against his palm inside his pocket.
The walk took him deeper into the neighbourhood's working-class heart. Past pawn shops with barred windows, bodegas advertising cheap beer, and boarded-up storefronts. Finally, he reached "Marello's Meats," an old-school butcher shop tucked between a laundromat and a discount tire store. The windows were slightly steamed, displaying hand-painted signs for weekly specials. The smell of sawdust and raw meat hung in the air.
Taking a deep breath, Theo pushed open the door, a small bell jingling overhead. Inside, the air was cool, the floor covered in fresh sawdust. A burly man with a stained white apron and formidable forearms looked up from behind a massive wooden chopping block, a cleaver paused mid-air over a side of beef. His expression was neutral, appraising.
"Help ya?" the butcher asked, his voice a low rumble.
Theo summoned his corporate persona, the smooth veneer he used for networking. "Good morning. I'm Theo Sterling," he said, extending a hand automatically before realizing the butcher's were likely covered in… well, butcher stuff. He let his hand drop smoothly. "I'm introducing a new line of professional cutlery, Eversharp Edge, specifically designed for demanding environments like yours. I believe we offer unparalleled performance at a competitive price point."
The butcher, Marello presumably, wiped his hands on his apron, his eyes narrowing slightly. He didn't look impressed by the jargon. "New line, huh? Never heard of it. What makes yours so special? Looks like a regular knife." He gestured vaguely at the wrapped object in Theo's hand.
"It's about the proprietary finishing process," Theo improvised, keeping his voice steady. "It results in a +1 enhancement to overall quality, superior edge retention, durability, and balance. It holds an edge significantly longer and withstands chipping far better than standard blades in this category." He hoped the "+1" sounded like believable marketing speak.
Marello grunted, unimpressed. "Heard that before. Everyone says their knives are the best. Got some Carvers myself. German steel. Do the job."
"Mind if I demonstrate?" Theo pressed, carefully unwrapping the knife. He held it out, handle first. The blade gleamed under the shop's fluorescent lights, looking sharper, more refined than its $25 origin suggested.
The butcher hesitated, then took the knife, his thick fingers testing the weight, the balance. He grunted again, a flicker of grudging interest in his eyes. "Feels okay. Bit light maybe." He turned to his block, grabbed a thick scrap of beef suet. With practiced ease, he drew the Eversharp Edge blade across it. The knife sliced through the tough, fatty tissue with almost unnerving silence, leaving a perfectly clean cut. Marello raised an eyebrow, surprised. He tried again, faster this time, making paper-thin slices. The knife moved like an extension of his hand.