Chapter 3: The Hunter of the Parking Lot

Chapter 3: The Hunter of the Parking Lot

The thrill of that first victory didn't fade. It settled into Leo’s bones, a simmering warmth that pushed back against the chronic chill of his anxiety. The next day at work, the monotonous hum of the MegaMart’s fluorescent lights sounded different—not like a dirge for a wasted life, but like the low thrum of a powerful engine waiting for his command. The fear that had been his shadow for seven years was still there, but it no longer walked in front of him. Now, it trailed a few paces behind.

One act of rebellion was a fluke. A pattern was a campaign.

That evening, Leo bought a small, black, hard-covered notebook and a fine-tipped pen. Under the dim light of his desk lamp, he opened it to the first page. At the top, he wrote: Project Retribution. It felt a little dramatic, but it was honest.

He documented the first strike from memory: Date. Time. Violation Code 1: Unauthorized Disabled Bay Use. Target: THORNE-1. Status: Karma Delivered.

He realized he needed more data. Revenge, he was discovering, was a science. The next day, he started observing. He learned the delivery schedules, the peak shopping hours, the shift patterns of the other cart-collectors. The parking lot, once a blur of anonymous vehicles, resolved into a grid of patterns and possibilities. It was his chessboard, and he was finally learning the rules.

A week later, on a blustery Tuesday afternoon, the blue Mercedes truck appeared again. It prowled the lanes with the same predatory arrogance, and with a sense of grim inevitability, swung into the exact same disabled bay. Thorne hadn't even noticed the first ticket yet, or if he had, he didn't care. The sheer, unadulterated entitlement of it sent a jolt of cold fury through Leo.

This time, there was no hesitation. No trembling hands. He grabbed the Karma Collector, walked out with a practiced, casual air, and performed the now-familiar ritual.

Identify Target: THORNE-1. Choose Judgment: Code 1. Execute Sentence.

The little printer whirred, spitting out its verdict. He tucked the ticket under the wiper, a silent, damning message. As he walked away, he checked the screen.

Karma Delivered.

The words were a balm to his soul, a confirmation from his newfound digital deity. He was doing the right thing.

Friday came, and so did Thorne. Like clockwork. It was almost as if he were daring the universe to challenge him. The universe, in the form of Leo Vance, was more than happy to oblige. Another ticket was printed, another judgment served.

Leo was changing. The shy, hunched posture he’d adopted for years began to straighten. He made eye contact with customers. The weary resignation in his eyes was being replaced by a focused, electric intensity. He was no longer a ghost drifting through the aisles; he was a hunter, and his territory was the 20 acres of asphalt outside.

This transformation did not go unnoticed.

“Okay, spill,” Sarah said one afternoon, cornering him in the breakroom as he meticulously wiped down the Karma Collector’s screen. “What is going on with you?”

Leo feigned ignorance. “What do you mean? Just doing my job.”

“Don’t give me that,” she said, leaning against the lockers, her arms crossed. Her sharp eyes missed nothing. “A month ago, you looked like a lost puppy who’d been told Christmas was cancelled forever. Now, you walk around like you’ve got a secret that could bring down the government. And you’re weirdly protective of that ticketing thing. So, what’s the deal?”

He felt a flash of panic, the old Leo flinching from the spotlight. But the new Leo, the hunter, held his ground. He couldn't tell her the truth—the story was too personal, too strange. But he couldn't lie to her either; she was too smart for that.

“Let’s just say I’ve found a new hobby,” he said, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “Something that makes the day go by faster.”

Sarah studied him, her head tilted. She didn't believe him, not for a second, but she was intrigued. The puzzle of Leo Vance had suddenly become far more interesting than stacking shelves.

“A hobby, huh?” she said, a playful smirk returning to her face. “Alright, Secret Agent Leo. Keep your secrets. But I’m watching you.”

She walked away, leaving Leo with a strange mix of relief and a nascent sense of camaraderie. For the first time, he felt seen—not as the timid retail drone, but as the person he was becoming.

---

Miles away, in a large, cluttered office smelling of sawdust and stale coffee, Marcus Thorne slammed his fist on his oak desk. He wasn't a man given to quiet contemplation. His world was one of loud noises: the roar of diesel engines, the crack of hammers, the sound of his own voice shouting orders. Silence was for the weak.

But the stack of letters on his desk was a quiet, insidious attack.

The first one had arrived two weeks ago. A plain white envelope with a clear plastic window. Inside, a “Penalty Charge Notice.” A fine for parking in a disabled bay at the MegaMart. He’d laughed, crumpled it up, and tossed it in the bin. Some mistake. A camera glitch.

Then, a week later, a second one arrived. Identical to the first. For the same offense. At the same damn store. Annoyance began to curdle into anger. He paid it online with a grumble, cursing the council and their overzealous enforcement.

Now, a third envelope sat before him, delivered that morning. He had torn it open with a sense of dread. Another one. And then a fourth, which had arrived alongside it. Two in one day. The dates corresponded perfectly with his last two trips to the store.

This wasn't a glitch. This was targeted.

“Some little pencil-pusher,” he roared to the empty room, his face turning a blotchy red. “Some faceless bureaucrat hiding behind a computer thinks they can harass me?”

He swept the pile of invoices and blueprints off his desk in a cascade of paper. He built things. He commanded crews of rough men. He bent the world to his will with concrete and steel. And he was being brought low by flimsy pieces of paper, by fines that felt like a thousand tiny cuts.

He stormed around the office, his mind racing. Who? Who was doing this? Was it that new automated camera system the town was installing? Some rival company trying to mess with him? He had no idea. The enemy was invisible, intangible, and that’s what infuriated him the most. He couldn’t punch a camera. He couldn’t intimidate a computer system.

He stared out the window at his blue Mercedes truck, his pride and joy, parked—as always—right by the entrance to his own building. It looked less like a symbol of power now, and more like a target.

Back at the MegaMart, Leo took his final break of the evening. He stood by the main entrance, looking out over the parking lot as dusk settled, the orange lamps flickering to life. He held the Karma Collector in his hand, its screen dark. He didn't need it to be on to feel its power.

He was no longer just a cart-pusher or a checkout clerk. He was the parking lot's unseen judge. Its silent jury. He was the executioner of etiquette, the arbiter of asphalt. Thorne was feeling the pressure, Leo could sense it. The first phase of his plan was a resounding success. But this was just the beginning. The hunter knew his prey would eventually learn, adapt, and try to flee. And he would be ready.