Book One - Chapter One: A Good Day to Brew Hard

I fell from the sky wearing a tattered apron and absolutely no dignity. The wind slapped my bare ass like it owed it money, and my apron whipped around wildly in front—the world's least effective parachute.

I've had bad Wednesdays before. Once, the espresso machine at Perky Beans exploded and gave me second-degree burns. That Wednesday sucked. But this? Plummeting face-first toward a stampede of space-goblin marauders, beneath a sky the sickly pink of pepto bismol? Yeah, this Wednesday might take the cake.

A message flashed urgently in my vision:

[Terminal Velocity Achieved!]
[Pro Tip: Consider slowing down or aiming for something soft.]

The System was helpful as always.

"Todd!" I screamed into my earpiece, wind shoving the words back down my throat. “Little help here? I need options!”

Todd’s nasally voice crackled in my ear. "Could you be more specific? Are we talking car insurance options? Hairstyle options? Better life choices, perhaps?"

"I’m about ten seconds from turning into pavement paste. Got anything for that?"

Below, the green-skinned goblins poured through a shimmering portal, scattering terrified civilians like bowling pins. From a thousand feet, they almost looked cute—like murderous green hamsters wielding oversized ray guns. Then I got closer, and the teeth-to-goblin ratio became horrifyingly clear.

Frantically, I flicked through my skills menu as the ground approached way faster than what felt consensual.

I shoved my hands into my apron pockets—the ones that gave physics the middle finger—and triggered [Espresso Cloud Deployment]. My apron shimmered, burbled, and spat out a steaming metal canister right into my palm. I hurled it downward, watching as it exploded into an enormous, fluffy cloud of espresso foam.

I hit the cloud hard, bounced three times like a Temu crash dummy, and finally rolled to an undignified stop on the hot asphalt.

I stood up, adjusted my apron, and took stock of the absolute dumpster fire around me.

A soldier in black tactical gear raced toward me, firing short bursts into the approaching aliens. Her helmet identified her as SGT. RILEY. She skidded to a halt and scanned me up and down, lingering uncomfortably long on my lack of pants.

"So, you’re the backup? They told me to keep an open mind but… "

I tried to strike a heroic pose, realized just how exposed I was, and shuffled awkwardly instead. "That's me."

She fired past my shoulder, blowing a goblin's head clean off. "Where are your pants?"

"Interdimensional travel hazard," I said. "Long story."

Riley’s radio crackled. "Riley! Report!"

"I've got him, Colonel," she answered. "The, uh, specialist is on site."

My HUD lit up:

[THREAT ASSESSMENT: XARNATHI INVASION]
[Hostiles: 400+]
[Objective: Secure dimensional anchor]

"Todd," I said, ducking behind a wrecked Kia as alien blaster-fire scorched the pavement around us, "give me the CliffsNotes."

"They’re Xarnathi," Todd said. "They're opening a bigger portal for their overlords. If that happens, humanity becomes the galaxy's new all-you-can-eat buffet."

"Well, that's deeply unfortunate," I muttered. "Guess it's hero time—again."

"Excellent plan. Ten out of ten, would recommend."

Riley gave me a frown that said, all at once, “we’re absolutely doomed,” and “there go my last hopes for humanity,” and “I wouldn’t date you if you were ten feet tall and proportionally gifted.”

Okay, maybe I was reading into it a little. But that’s what it looked like to me.

"Are you always this... well, this?" she asked, gesturing at me like I was an interpretive dance she didn’t ask to witness.

I shoved a hand into my apron pocket, pulled out a fistful of glowing pods, and tossed one up casually. "Riley, I need cover fire."

She eyed my hand skeptically. "What are those?"

"Coffee bombs," I said.

"Seriously?"

I grinned, stepped out, and threw the pods into the alien ranks. They exploded into scalding geysers of dark roast destruction. The goblins shrieked and melted, flesh bubbling like cheese in an overpowered microwave.

I yanked open my apron pocket of holding and it coughed up a can the size of a thermos and twice as angry. The label read:

INCREME™ – Triple Shot Combat Brew
Warning: May induce invincibility, uncontrollable quips, and spontaneous murder ballet.

The can hissed when I cracked the seal. Steam rolled out smelling like scorched caramel and burnt hair. I didn’t think. I never do when I drink this stuff. That’s part of the charm.

I chugged it.

It hit my bloodstream like a riot. Muscles locked, teeth clenched, pupils wide enough to download the moon. My vision went neon. My thoughts split into two lanes—one screaming, one laughing—and my feet were already moving before I realized I’d left the ground.

System notification blinked across my HUD:

[BATTLE BREW CONSUMED: INCREME]
Buffs Applied: +300% Speed / +400% Strength / +∞% Regret
Catchphrase Protocol: ENGAGED.

I screamed, voice three octaves too high. “It’s time to espresso my violent tendencies!”

I did not mean to say that. I never do.

I landed in the middle of a goblin squad, shattered the ground beneath my boots, and punched the first one so hard its torso spun completely around before the rest of it exploded.

One tried to shoot me. I slapped the bolt out of the air with my bare hand and screamed, “Decaf is for cowards!”

Why am I saying this? I hate this. I don’t even believe in decaf shaming. But the System does. It feeds off it. It wants this.

Another goblin lunged, and I sidestepped, grabbed its ankles mid-air, and used it to bat four others out of the sky like I was playing Whack-A-Mole with live ammunition.

They scattered. They ran.

I ran faster.

A cluster of them piled into a ruined bus for cover. I sprinted through the windshield, didn’t even duck. I was already inside, spinning like a blender of rage. Goblin limbs bounced off the walls. I kicked open the back door and shouted, “Hope you like your beans... crushed. And by beans, I'm referring to... oh never mind!”

The last wave regrouped, forming a tight semi-circle around the anchor point. Maybe fifty of them. Bigger ones too—warlords with glowing skull tattoos and shoulder pads made of human bones. Real “I come before the final boss” energy.

“Any last words?” one hissed, leveling a plasma halberd.

I cracked my neck. My skin was steaming.

“Yeah,” I growled. “How do you take your tea?”

They just stared at me confused.

"One lump or two!?"

“You really need to work on your catchphrases,” Todd said in my earpiece.

Then I threw my hands wide, and my apron belched out twin mugs of molten espresso. I chugged one, hurled the other. It exploded midair like a napalm frappuccino, lighting up the front line.

I hit the first warlord with an uppercut that sent his jaw over his forehead. The next got a knee to the gut and a headbutt straight through his helmet. I spun through the crowd like a tornado wearing a name tag.

They fell. All of them. In screams and froth and a lot of splatter. The last one tried to crawl away, whimpering something about surrender.

I stepped on his head.

It popped like a balloon full of green paint.

Silence.

Steam rose from the street. Ash drifted in the breeze. My fists were still clenched, and my teeth felt like they’d fused together.

System flashed again:

[STAT BONUS EFFECTS EXPIRING IN 3… 2… 1…]

Shit shit shit.

I collapsed against a smoking car, panting, shaking, soaked in sweat and gore and goblin goo.

I didn’t say a word.

Inside, I was screaming.

Because I hate this part.

But it works.

God help me, it works

Riley stared, slack-jawed. "That's not normal coffee."

I wiped a smear of something green from my cheek, still catching my breath. "Yeah… definitely an acquired taste. Like revenge. Or gas station sushi."

Then the portal flashed red and belched out a gigantic figure—an absolute unit of a goblin, at least twelve feet tall, with four arms, a glowing chest tattoo shaped like a screaming face, and weapons that hummed louder than my grandma’s hearing aid.

“WAR PRIEST!” Riley shouted, already backpedaling.

The thing roared, a guttural, bone-shaking howl that rattled windows, teeth, and possibly a few internal organs. “YOUR WORLD WILL FEED OUR MASTERS!”

I stepped out from behind cover and called up to him, “How about a nice chai latte instead? We also have seasonal biscuits.”

It responded by firing a blast of purple energy that turned a pickup truck into slag. Riley and I dove in opposite directions as molten shrapnel hissed past.

“Todd,” I growled, scrambling behind an overturned dumpster, “I need something stronger.”

"There is always The Blend." Todd said, far too chipper.

“Oh, hell no! Last time I took that, it rearranged my internal organs alphabetically,” I snapped. “Pretty sure shit is still in the wrong place.”

The War Priest stomped forward, crushing soldiers like ants, blasts of energy reducing their cover—and their bodies—to ash. Riley kept firing, but her shots bounced off its armor like spitballs against a tank. I saw the panic creeping into her eyes, the way her grip tightened, the moment she realized her rifle wasn't going to save her.

“Oh god,” I muttered, heart pounding. “Fuck it.”

I mentally selected the ability and reached into my apron pocket again and pulled out a vial of swirling purple-black chaos. The glass pulsed like it had a heartbeat. A skull-and-crossbones label helpfully read: FINAL BLEND.

My HUD flashed a bright red warning:
[DANGER: FINAL BLEND is unstable. You are already approaching Over-Caffeinated status. Are you sure?]

I slammed the override button with my mental thumb. "Let’s goooo!"

Then I chugged it.

The flavor hit hard—burning, regret, and just a hint of cherry cough syrup. For a second, nothing happened.

Then lightning roared through my veins, and reality slowed to a crawl.

Alien lasers crawled past, inching forward slower than bureaucratic paperwork. Casually, I strolled toward the War Priest, sidestepping beams of death

"You think you're a match for me?" it bellowed.

Or at least, I think that’s what it was bellowing.

To my enhanced hearing, it came out more like, "Ooooouuu ffffinnnk yuuurrrrr..."—slow, drawn-out nonsense slurred by time dilation.

I stood there, waiting patiently for it to finish gargling through the threat. About halfway in, it fired—a blinding barrage of raw, searing energy.

I let the blast hit me square in the chest.

It tore past me and obliterated the building behind, leaving a perfect, smoldering silhouette in my shape—arms mid-shrug.

The creature froze. "Huh?" it managed, just starting to react.

“You’re not special,” I said, already walking toward it. “You’re not even seasonal.”

Then I gently tapped it on the forehead.

The War Priest shot backward like it had been punted by an angry god, crashing through three buildings and landing like a meteor.

I didn’t bother checking if it was dead—the System pinged with a confirmed kill.

Also, its head had taken a different exit route and was arriving behind the rest of the body.

I turned and approached the glowing dimensional anchor, calm as ever.

Seven pinpoint strikes, clean and fast. The whole thing shuddered, flickered, and collapsed in on itself with a final, echoing shriek.

The potion wore off, leaving me staggering back toward Riley. She stood in the middle of a smoking goblin massacre, jaw somewhere near the ground.

"What the hell was that?" she whispered.

I shrugged, exhausted. "Just a little pick-me-up."

"You flicked their War Priest across town with your finger."

"All in the wrist."

Riley holstered her weapon, shaking her head. "I’ve been fighting these bastards for weeks, lost half my squad, and you took them down in, what? Five minutes? And without pants."

"I’ve had practice," I admitted.

My HUD pinged:

[MISSION COMPLETE]
[XP Gained: 12,400]

Riley sighed and unzipped her tactical jacket, revealing a sweat-damp tank top. She handed it to me.

“Tie this around your waist before someone calls in a public indecency charge.”

“Appreciate it,” I said, then hesitated. “But I can’t. Covering the apron deactivates the dimensional pockets. I can only equip one thing to my Pants Slot at a time. And we’re not out of this yet.”

She paused, then took the jacket back with a faint frown—wordless, but thoughtful.

The world was still adjusting. The System hadn’t been around long, and only a few thousand people had awakened any abilities, fewer still with access to a functioning HUD. Most didn’t even know what an Ability or Equipment menu looked like.

I was one of the first—got a head start thanks to my... unusual circumstances.

Helping people adapt had kind of become my thing. Not by choice. Not how I saw my life going. But here we were.

“So,” I said, brushing ash off my apron. “What’s next?”

“We head to Command,” Riley said. “Colonel’s gonna want a word with his new favorite War Toy.” She started walking, then glanced back with a smirk that almost looked impressed. "Come on, Coffee Boy."

I was halfway through my best casual-hero strut when my stomach twisted.

[SYSTEM ALERT: OVER-CAFFEINATED. EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY OR DIE SCREAMING.]

“Wait, no—”

I doubled over, violently projectile-vomiting in shades Earth hadn't invented names for yet. Neon puce? Ultraviolet funk? Whatever it was, it glowed.