Chapter 2: The Squeeze Play

The world snapped back into focus. The oppressive heat, the distant hum of mall air conditioners, the faint smell of hot asphalt. The blue screen was gone, but the ghost of its promise lingered behind Ellie’s eyes. Mission Accepted.

For a moment, she was paralyzed by the sheer insanity of it all. Had she really just accepted a supernatural quest to inconvenience a rich jerk? Was this what a mental breakdown felt like? It was certainly more interactive than she’d imagined.

But the Lamborghini was still there, a monument to arrogance parked insolently behind her battered Honda. Real or not, the mission objective resonated with a part of her soul that was tired of being stepped on. The part that had been meticulously ground down by seven rejection letters and the looming threat of next month's rent.

"Okay, Karma Engine," she whispered, a wry grin tugging at her lips. "Let's see what you've got."

Her plan was simple, elegant, and beautifully petty. The Lamborghini was parked in the driving lane, but it was positioned just behind her space. To its right was another parked car, a sensible-looking sedan. To its left was a currently occupied spot, filled by a family-sized minivan. If that spot were to become empty…

Ellie's grin widened. If that spot opened up, she could get into The Comet, back out of her own space, and then pull forward into that spot, parking so close to the Lamborghini’s driver-side door that not even a ghost could slip through. The supercar would be sandwiched, its driver forced to perform a humiliating feat of contortion to get in through the passenger side—if they even could.

The only problem was the minivan. It looked settled in for the long haul, a faded ‘Baby on Board’ sticker mocking her from its rear window.

This was the first test. Was the universe, or this mysterious "Engine," on her side? Or was this just a cruel joke? She decided to wait. Patience wasn't her strong suit, but for this, she could make an exception.

She found a sliver of shade by a concrete pillar twenty yards away, giving her a perfect vantage point. She pulled out her phone, pretending to scroll through social media while her eyes remained fixed on the scene. Every minute that crawled by felt like an hour. The sun beat down, making the air shimmer above the cars. A couple walked by, pointing at the Lamborghini and shaking their heads in disapproval before moving on. They saw the injustice, but like her, they were powerless to do anything about it.

Until now.

Just as a sliver of doubt began to creep in, a family laden with shopping bags emerged from the mall entrance, heading directly for the minivan. A frazzled-looking mother wrangled two toddlers while the dad fumbled with the keys. Ellie held her breath. This was it. The stroke of luck she needed.

The minivan’s reverse lights flashed on. With a sigh of relief, it backed out of the space and drove away, leaving a perfect, Lambo-adjacent void.

“Thank you, universe,” Ellie breathed, a thrill shooting through her.

She didn't waste a second. She strode to her car, her heart thumping a frantic rhythm against her ribs. This was happening. She slid into The Comet's driver seat, the worn fabric hot against her skin. The engine turned over with its signature reluctant groan. She took a deep, steadying breath, her artist’s eye for spacing and dimension taking over. This wasn't just parking; this was a masterpiece of passive aggression.

She backed The Comet out slowly, the steering wheel whining in protest. Then, she shifted into drive, her gaze locked on the sliver of space beside the black supercar. She eased forward, her foot feather-light on the accelerator. Closer… closer… The Honda’s passenger-side mirror was nearly kissing the Lamborghini’s driver-side window. She craned her neck, judging the distance with a professional’s precision.

With a final, gentle nudge, she parked, pulling the handbrake with a satisfying ziiiiip. She had left maybe three inches. Not enough to scratch the paint, but certainly not enough to open the door. It was perfect.

She killed the engine and got out, walking around to the front of her car to admire her work. The Comet, with its myriad dents and faded paint, looked like a scruffy terrier squaring up to a panther. The juxtaposition was so hilarious, she had to stifle a laugh. She took out her phone and snapped a quick picture. For posterity.

Her part was done. Now, all she had to do was wait for the grand finale. She retreated to her observation post behind the pillar, the anticipation making her giddy. Who was this person? Some trust-fund kid showing off Daddy's new toy? A flashy movie star?

As if reading her mind, the familiar ping sounded in her head. The translucent blue screen reappeared.

[Objective Complete: Offending Vehicle has been successfully immured.]

[Waiting for perpetrator to witness karmic retribution…]

Then, a new notification window popped up over the first one.

[System Update: Target Profile Acquired.]

Ellie leaned forward, her curiosity piqued. The screen populated with information, arranging itself like a player profile in one of her video games.

[Target: Damien Blackwood] [Title: CEO, Blackwood Innovations] [Threat Level: Extreme] [Profile: Tech mogul, billionaire, corporate predator. Known for ruthless business tactics and zero tolerance for incompetence or disrespect. Subject is notoriously private and litigious. Engagement is not advised.]

The name hit Ellie like a physical blow. Damien Blackwood. Even she, a person who actively avoided business news, knew that name. Blackwood Innovations was the titan of the tech world, their logo plastered on everything from smartphones to advanced military hardware. And Damien Blackwood himself was a local legend—a phantom of wealth and power, rarely seen in public but whose influence was felt everywhere. His face, severe and impossibly handsome, occasionally graced the covers of magazines she saw at the grocery store checkout.

Her blood ran cold.

This wasn't some random rich kid. She hadn't just inconvenienced some arrogant fool. She had picked a fight with a god of the corporate world. A man who could probably buy her entire apartment building with his lunch money and have it bulldozed out of sheer boredom. A man whose profile came with a warning label: Threat Level: Extreme.

The giddy triumph she’d felt just moments before curdled into pure, stomach-dropping dread. The stakes hadn't just been raised. They'd been launched into the stratosphere.

Her little act of petty revenge had just become an act of war against the most powerful, untouchable man in the city. The Karma Engine had given her a mission, but it had conveniently left out the part where the final boss was a dragon in a bespoke suit.