The crisis began at 10:00 AM on a Saturday. Freddie stood in his kitchen, staring into the pantry. It contained exactly one packet of flavorless instant oatmeal and a very confident spider web.

"We are critically low on resources," Freddie announced, closing the cabinet door with a defeatist thud.

"I can consume the oatmeal raw," Selena offered helpfully from the living room, where she was doing one-handed pushups. "I do not require texture."

"No," Freddie sighed, sliding down the cabinets to sit on the floor. "I’m broke. I spent my last paycheck on your wardrobe overhaul. We’re destitute until the first of the month. That means no games, no takeout, and definitely no fun."

A sudden, rhythmic pounding on the door made them both jump. Freddie scrambled up and opened it to find a large, grey, shapeless mound standing in the hallway.

It was Avery. She was wrapped entirely in a thick, grey security blanket, hooded like a monk in a blizzard, with only the rims of her glasses glinting from the darkness of the fabric.

"Let me in," the mound whispered. "The sun is aggressive today."

Avery shuffled inside, the blanket trailing behind her like a royal train, and slapped a crumpled flyer onto the kitchen table.
"Retro Rumble," Avery rasped, her voice muffled by the wool. "Downtown Arcade. Today at noon. Grand Prize: One thousand dollars."

Selena picked up the flyer. Her eyes scanned the text, flashing a faint blue for a millisecond.

"Street Fighter II Turbo," she read aloud. "I have analyzed the game mechanics. It relies on frame-perfect inputs and sub-millisecond reaction times." She cracked her knuckles, the sound echoing in the quiet kitchen. "I can acquire this currency, Freddie. My win probability is 99.9%."

The arcade was a sensory nightmare of neon lights, screaming children, and deafening chiptune music. Avery looked like she was in physical pain, clutching her blanket tighter around her face.

"Too many NPCs," she muttered, immediately shuffling away to hide behind a Dance Dance Revolution machine.

As Freddie went to the registration desk to sign Selena up, three familiar figures strolled past the prize counter.

Trevor, Chad, and Kyle.

The Delta Sig trio was back. They were holding giant blue slushies and laughing at a kid trying to play Skee-Ball.

"Look at this place," Chad sneered, adjusting his backwards hat. "Smells like virginity and stale nachos."

"Let’s show these nerds how to really—" Trevor stopped mid-sentence.

Selena stepped out from behind a Pac-Man cabinet. She wasn't in "fighting mode" yet, just standing casually in her purple leather jacket and cargo pants.

"Hello again, Trevor, Chad, and Kyle," she chirped, tilting her head.

The three bros froze. Their eyes widened. Flashbacks of a purple jacket and a sneaker flying past a nose played vividly in their heads.

"I am currently calculating the trajectory of a blue slushie if it were impacted by a roundhouse kick," Selena mused, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "Would you like a demonstration?"

"NOPE!" Kyle squeaked, dropping his slushie.

"We were just leaving!" Trevor yelled, his voice cracking.

"Bumper cars! We love bumper cars!" Chad screamed as they turned and sprinted toward the fire exit, knocking over a cardboard cutout of Mario in their panic.

Freddie walked up, pen in hand. "Did they bother you?"

"Negative," Selena smiled. "They just realized they were in the wrong lobby."

The tournament began. Selena was a machine—literally. She chose Chun-Li and proceeded to dismantle the local competition with surgical precision. She didn't mash buttons like the other players; she tapped them with efficient, terrifying rhythm.

She made it to the semi-finals easily. The crowd gathered around the cabinet was cheering, chanting "Sassy-S! Sassy-S!"
But as the announcer shouted "ROUND 2... FIGHT!", something happened.

Selena reached for the joystick to execute a block, but her right hand jerked violently to the left. A red warning box obscured her internal vision: WARNING: PACKET LOSS. SYSTEM SYNC ERROR.

She missed the block. Her character took a heavy hit, losing half a health bar. The crowd gasped.

Freddie, standing right behind her, leaned in close. "Selena? You okay? You never miss that."

Selena clenched her trembling hand, hiding it under the control panel lip. She could feel the code slipping, a sensation like pins and needles spreading up her arm. But she looked at Freddie’s worried face. If she told him, his cortisol levels would spike. He would pull her out. They needed the money.

"I am fine," she lied, her voice tight. "Just... building dramatic tension. Watch this."

She forced her hand to obey, fighting through the lag in her own nervous system. She executed a frame-perfect combo, draining the opponent's health bar in three seconds.

"K.O.!"

The crowd went wild. Selena raised a fist in victory, but beneath the celebration, her vision was starting to fuzz with static.