Chapter 1: The Parking Prick and the Karma Engine

The rejection email was a special kind of masterpiece. It was so blandly polite, so utterly devoid of actual feedback, that it felt more insulting than a string of curses. “While we appreciated the unique vision of ‘Cosmic Grit’… not the right fit for our current catalog.”

Elara Vance, who went by Ellie, slammed her laptop shut. The sharp clap echoed in her tiny apartment, a sound punctuated by the gurgle of an empty stomach. “Unique vision,” she muttered to the dust bunnies congregating under her drawing table. “That’s agent-speak for ‘too weird to make money.’”

Twenty-four years old, armed with a fine arts degree and a mountain of student loan debt, Ellie was a freelance graphic novelist perpetually on the verge of either a big break or a complete breakdown. Today felt dangerously like the latter. Her bills were piling up like unread comics, and her magnum opus, a gritty space opera about a sardonic starship janitor, had just been shot down for the seventh time.

She needed an escape. A real one, not the digital kind that left her eyes burning and her self-esteem in tatters. She needed the smell of old paper and fresh ink. She needed the quiet sanctuary of stories that had already found their home.

“Alright, Comet,” she said, grabbing her keys and a worn-out tote bag. “To the bookstore we go. Retail therapy, but for the soul.”

The Comet, her twenty-year-old Honda Civic, coughed to life with the rattling protest of a loyal but exhausted steed. It was dented, the color of a faded bruise, and the driver’s side window had to be coaxed up with a special combination of prayer and brute force. But it was hers, and it got her where she needed to go.

The mall parking lot was a concrete jungle in the sweltering afternoon heat, a chaotic ballet of harried shoppers and circling SUVs. After ten minutes of hunting, Ellie finally spotted a single open space, a blessed little slot tucked away at the far end of the row. It was a bit of a walk to the entrance, but for a guaranteed spot, she’d have hiked through a desert.

An hour later, her mood had improved drastically. The bookstore, “The Printed Page,” worked its usual magic. She’d lost herself in the aisles, running her fingers over embossed covers and inhaling that sacred scent of paper and glue. With her last twenty dollars, she’d bought a used copy of a classic sci-fi novel and a new indie graphic novel with a cover so stunning it made her heart ache with envy and inspiration.

Clutching her bag, a small smile finally gracing her lips, she stepped back out into the blinding sunlight. The heat hit her like a physical blow, but she didn't care. She had her treasures. The rejection still stung, but the world felt a little less hostile now.

Until she got to her car.

Ellie stopped dead, her smile dissolving. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Where there had once been a clear path of exit, there now sat a car. No, not a car. A monster. A predatory beast of engineering forged from shadows and arrogance. It was a Lamborghini, so sleek and black it seemed to drink the light around it. And it was parked, with breathtaking audacity, directly behind her car, completely and utterly blocking her in. He hadn't even taken a spot. He'd just… stopped, straddling the yellow line that marked the driving lane, not a single care given to the world around him.

She was trapped. Boxed in by a vehicle that cost more than her entire college education, probably more than her entire building.

Rage, hot and immediate, flooded her veins. It wasn't just the inconvenience. It was the entitlement. The sheer, unadulterated arrogance of someone who believed the rules, the basic courtesies of society, simply did not apply to them. This person didn't just own a car; they owned the world, and this parking lot was just a tiny piece of their kingdom.

She stomped over to The Comet, threw her new books onto the passenger seat, and laid on the horn. The sound that came out was a pathetic, wheezing meep, completely swallowed by the vastness of the lot. It was the squeak of a mouse trying to challenge a panther.

Her gaze flickered over the Lamborghini. No parking pass. No note. Nothing. Just gleaming, untouchable perfection. Her fingers twitched with the primal urge to drag her keys along its pristine side, to mar that obscene flawlessness. But that wasn't justice; that was just vandalism. And probably a felony.

“Come on, you gilded scumbag,” she seethed, pacing back and forth. “Show your face.”

She leaned against The Comet’s sun-warmed hood, feeling the familiar sting of helplessness. This was her life in a nutshell. Constantly getting blocked, pushed aside, and made to feel small by bigger, richer, more powerful forces. Rejection letters, overdue bills, and now, a literal one-percenter’s phallic symbol on wheels holding her hostage.

Her heart hammered in her chest, a drumbeat of pure, undiluted fury. She clenched her fists, her knuckles white. It was the unfairness of it all that truly galled her. There were no consequences for people like this. They just did what they wanted, and people like her were left to deal with the fallout.

If only there was a way to actually make them pay. To balance the scales, just once.

As the thought crossed her mind, something impossible happened.

Ping.

The sound was soft, clear, and seemed to originate from inside her own head. A pane of translucent blue light flickered into existence in her field of vision, hovering about two feet in front of her face. It was sharp and clean, like a high-tech user interface from one of her sci-fi comics.

Ellie blinked. She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again.

It was still there.

White, minimalist text began to type itself across the screen.

[Karma Engine Initialized]

[Welcome, User. You have been selected as a beta tester.]

[The universe craves balance. Good deeds are rewarded. Bad deeds must be punished. You are now an agent of that balance.]

Ellie stared, her jaw slack. This had to be a hallucination. Heat stroke. A sudden, stress-induced psychotic break. She was seeing things.

The screen shimmered, and new text appeared.

[Injustice Detected: Extreme Vehicular Entitlement]

[Perpetrator: Unidentified Male]

[Infraction: Willful and flagrant disregard for public parking etiquette, causing distress and inconvenience to a fellow citizen.]

Her own frustration was being cataloged and displayed back to her like a bug report. It was so specific, so absurd, that a bubble of hysterical laughter tried to force its way up her throat.

[New Mission Available!]

[Mission: Teach the Parking Prick a Lesson.] [Objective: Enact a fitting, non-violent karmic retribution upon the owner of the offending vehicle.] [Rewards for Completion: 100 Karma Points, Minor Boon Crate (Common)] [Accept/Decline]

She read the words three times. Karma Points? A Boon Crate? This was the language of a video game, not reality. But the blue screen was unwavering, and the rage simmering in her gut felt very, very real.

This was insane. Utterly, certifiably insane. She should ignore it, find a security guard, and deal with this the normal, boring, and likely ineffective way.

But a wicked little spark ignited in her chest. The rejection email, the bills, the constant feeling of being an underdog… it all coalesced into a single, defiant thought.

What if this was real?

What if the universe had finally gotten tired of the cosmic joke her life had become and decided to hand her a punchline of her own?

Her eyes flicked from the glowing blue screen to the smug, silent Lamborghini. A slow, predatory smile spread across her face, mirroring the aggressive lines of the supercar. It was a smile filled with the promise of chaos.

Her finger lifted, trembling slightly, and tapped the air where the word [Accept] glowed.

The screen flashed a brilliant green.

[Mission Accepted! Good luck, Agent.]

The blue box vanished as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving nothing but the shimmering heat haze of the parking lot. But something inside Ellie had shifted. The feeling of helplessness was gone, replaced by a giddy, terrifying sense of purpose.

She looked at her beat-up Honda, then at the automotive monstrosity pinning it in. A plan, brilliant in its simplicity and pettiness, began to form in her mind.

The universe had just handed her a crowbar. It would be rude not to use it.