“Do you want to change the world, Dust-Bunny?” Sophie asked me.

  “Wha—” I bit my tongue in surprise, and coupled with another fit of coughing, I jolted upright. I hacked and wheezed, nearly choking on my saliva.

  My phone emitted weird popping and cracking sounds, while the microwave in the kitchenette sounded like someone had tossed a dozen metal utensils into it. Yet I could hear Heartland Headlines playing fine in Grace’s apartment, and despite my loud coughing, I heard Grace snoring as her unwatched television droned on.

  Like a ball of pure energy, something white floated above my phone. Brilliant particles fluttered toward it from electrical outlets, and the light above my bed, along with Sophie’s old laptop in the corner, generated a line of retina-burning radiance that compelled me to look away—but more than looking away, I wanted to stare at it as if it were the most beautiful object in the world. We’ve all seen pictures of those who stare at an eclipse without sunglasses, even though even children know not to stare at the sun. It was like that; it hurt to look at, but it was so bright and, I don’t know, almost sacred-looking that I couldn’t turn my head away.

  It formed a sphere the size of a tennis ball that floated before me.

  :: Dustin Carrow. The Time of Reckoning is at hand. Will you be the Harbinger of Paradise?::

  The voice no longer sounded human. Maybe a hint of Sophie’s voice lingered within the layers, but who could pinpoint a single voice in a chorus of a hundred thousand people all saying the same thing simultaneously?

  Motes of power drifted toward the object. The room vibrated like apartments next to train tracks in the movies. I didn’t have tinnitus, but a low buzzing that grew louder by the second made me wonder if I had suddenly developed it. My retinas burned, my eardrums popped as if a profound pressure change had occurred, and the relentless humming rattled my brain.

  The ball had grown to the size of my head, and that’s when it shifted. It split into dozens of shapes I couldn’t name—strange geometric forms, impossible dimensions. The ball transformed into something resembling a person.

  ::Hello?:: it asked, and I realized it had directed a question at me.

  “What the hell?” I stammered.

  ::Dustin Carrow, your society has reached the fulcrum. Only three futures lie before your planet now: Integration, Paradise, or Destruction. Will you be the hand that pivots the lever?::

  “What in the hell are you?” I asked. I regretted not having a gun in my bedroom, but would a bullet even damage this thing? I had a knife in my pocket, but would a sharp piece of metal even do anything against whatever this was?

  Wind buffeted the side of the Courts of Norwich, and rain slammed against the roof.

  ::I am Balance. I am the justice you could not create for yourselves. In a vast Universe of powers beyond your belief, I am the architect of equilibrium. Tonight, with this storm, the Factors are chosen. Fifty humans have been selected by fifty of the most influential organizations in the Universe. Their goals will align with their patrons. Most will push Earth into an Integration Event, although some will seek desolation to strip mine your planet when you are gone.::

  An immense blast of thunder reverberated in my head. The loudness, the vibrations, the hair on the back of my neck and arms standing up. I could hear the explosives in Afghanistan again. I focused on the luminous thing in front of me, banishing memories.

  “What’s that got to do with me?” I demanded, a surge of anger rising from deep in my stomach. I was a gig driver most days; before that, I was just an infantryman grunt. What did some alien things want with me?

  ::You misunderstand, Dustin Carrow. This is not about what they want with you but about what you are. You see the world as it is: broken by inequity, corruption, and greed. You see the rot at its roots. Self-interest has been elevated to a defining cultural characteristic. You detest it, even as you endure it. We will restore the balance, and as my Harbinger, you will create a paradise of this lush planet—an Eden forged in ash and blood.::

  ::You understand sacrifice. You have lived the truth that change requires suffering. You have bled to preserve what others squander. You have lost what others take for granted. Even now, you die: toxins you once breathed in corrode your flesh and accelerate the mutagenic growth within. You are a man out of time, out of hope. And yet, that is precisely what makes you perfect.::

  ::Your life has forged you into a brutal realist. You will die tonight, or you will be reborn. Will you become a force of reckoning, or have your will dissipate into the Aether, forgotten? Serve me, and Humanity will fear you, hate you, and perhaps even worship you. But you will live, and the fate of the fifty Factors will be left to your discretion while we shape Paradise. What will you choose, Dustin Carrow?::

  “I’m going to die tonight?” I repeated what the thing said. Another set of savage coughs left me shaking, and spots of dark, nasty blood remained in my hand from covering my mouth. I guess Harris wasn’t the only one who breathed in a few too many fumes from the burn pits. It figured.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  ::Unless you accept the lifesaving power of the Harbinger, your demise is inevitable.::

  “What power do I get? And give me the real reason for why me?”

  :: As my Harbinger, you will wield Lumen Arbitris, Light of the Judges. This is no mere weapon, but a force of karmic reckoning. This light pierces falsehoods, sears through corruption, and binds the guilty to their sins. It does not discriminate—it reflects the truth of what is and delivers justice with unflinching clarity.::

  My mind generated many images—mostly of fire and burning—which seemed weird when talking about light. I thought lumen meant light, anyway. Maybe it was a translation error; there was no way this thing spoke English natively.

  ::Why you? You understand the cost of change. You know that mercy is a luxury the broken cannot afford. Your life is a testament to the hard truth: unchecked power must be torn down by any means necessary. You are unremarkable in the eyes of your kind, but that is precisely why you are perfect to be my Harbinger.::

  I laughed, and more flecks of blood splattered against my lips and hand. The cheeky asshole wasn’t pulling any punches, even though it spoke with a cold that made winter feel warm.

  ::You have no kingdom to lose, no wealth to guard, no ambition to cloud your purpose. Those you have loved are dead and gone. You are a man who has fought, bled, and endured, not for glory, but because survival left you no choice. Now, with death stalking your every breath, you are unshackled from all that once bound you. You will bring a reckoning to those who prosper at the expense of the innocent. You will weigh the fates of the fifty Factors. You will burn away the rot to make way for Paradise. Once more, you will kill.::

  I laughed.

  “Why would I do that? For power? Go fuck your power. To survive? What’s living in this world even worth?” I asked genuinely. If I died tonight, I’d be another Carrow in the ground, another text chain in the group chat, and then forgotten. Who would miss me? No one. Who would remember me? Not history.

  ::See.:: The figure of light told me and my head exploded. Not literally. It felt like I was in a dark theater, and they turned on the music and movie, and it was way too fucking loud. But the images were crisper than any I’d ever seen, the sounds authentic, and they felt… vibrant? I never noticed how washed out my perception of the world had become.

  John Lennon might have scored it as well, but there wasn’t any music. Images of Norwich sprawled out before me. Norwich had been a quiet study in despair since my dad’s time—a place where peeling paint, sagging houses, and broken concrete whispered of long-forgotten dreams, and overgrown lots stood as gravestones for opportunities long buried. The air had hung heavy, filled with the quiet resignation of people who had learned to expect nothing more. For decades, poverty hadn’t been a condition but an inheritance. That’s the kind of place Norwich had been my whole life.

  Then it shifted.

  A local diner reopened its doors after years of darkness. Children laughed on a playground where rusted swings previously creaked in eerie silence. The sound of hammers and saws replaced the rotted porches of the houses on main street.

  Had a hidden switch been flipped? Homes that should have been condemned ages ago were repaired. Sun-baked siding got new coats of paint. The flickering sign at the gas station was restored. The broken windows had their glass repaired, and not with cardboard. Families who’d lost it all returned—they walked the streets with cautious smiles, marveling at the impossible.

  All the systemic decay left behind by Raymond Hargrove’s greed began to vanish. Wealth, redistributed by unseen hands, rebuilt more than roofs and walls; it rebuilt lives. Rent payments disappeared like a bad dream, replaced by ownership deeds handed out with quiet dignity. Imagine no landlords—it wasn’t a utopian fantasy anymore. It was real.

  Roads that once had foot-deep potholes ushered cars across Norwich without a single thud. Tarmarc, smooth like a fresh canvas, invited the people to begin a journey. The community center sprang up where drug dens had once stood, their doors wide open to any who needed help or just a place to belong. The local library—once shuttered and crumbling—shone like a beacon. Books burst from its shelves, and the study rooms were filled with young minds eager to learn—or at least to look at pictures of things.

  The streetlights cast soft, steady halos over clean streets at night. The town square buzzed with life. As if by magic, a farmer’s market appeared, where fresh produce piled high in vibrant colors whispered promises of nourishment and renewal. A lone guitarist strummed a familiar tune that begged the gathered to think about how the world could be better.

  Not everything was perfect. The changes came quickly, too quickly for some, who whispered fears of strings attached to this newfound prosperity. Maybe someone had made a deal with the devil? Paradise, after all, never came without a cost.

  The images vanished.

  “Real touching,” I muttered sarcastically, trying to feel like I had some power. But the truth of it was, it was touching. Why hadn’t life been like that? Greed. Greed is why life hadn’t been that way.

  “What’s a Harbinger do?” I asked the silence.

  The room had stopped vibrating, the hum had left my ears. The wind no longer slammed against the side of the building, and no rain pelted the roof. It was like time had frozen outside of my bedroom.

  ::Eradication of Corruption is your primary duty.::

  It spoke, but images and data flowed into me.

  ::Your first target.::

  Raymond Hargrove. Age: 54. Occupation: Owner of Hargrove Properties, LLC.

  Karmic Profile:

  Hoarded Wealth: Hargrove controls over 30% of rental properties in Norwich. Despite the town’s economic decline, he has raised rents repeatedly, forcing many families into homelessness or poverty.

  Exploitative Practices: Known for neglecting property maintenance while pocketing government subsidies meant for affordable housing. Properties are riddled with mold, leaks, and safety hazards.

  Corruption: Regularly donates to local officials to avoid inspections and legal accountability, regular donations to state politicians to remain unbothered.

  Past Crimes: He is suspected of orchestrating a fire in one of his low-income buildings to collect insurance money. Two tenants, a single mother and her child, died in the blaze, though no charges were filed.

  Directive: Eliminate Raymond Hargrove.

  I laughed and tasted more blood. Hargrove owned my apartment building.

  ::You teeter on the precipice of death. Will you become my Harbinger, or do you choose death?::

  I grinned a red, bloody grin at the strange being of light.

  “I choose death—theirs.”

  ::Empowerment in progress. Welcome, Harbinger Dustin Carrow.::