Chapter 1: Broken Memories

Lucas Grant woke up in darkness, the sour smell of rotting garbage filling his lungs. His body ached as if he'd been hit by a truck, every muscle stiff and sore. Blinking his eyes open, he tried to make sense of where he was. The world came into focus slowly: a filthy alley, trash bags piled up around him, the sound of distant cars humming through the city streets.

He groaned as he sat up, his hand pressing against the cold, damp pavement. His clothes were ruined—torn, stained with blood, and riddled with bullet holes. Yet, when he ran his hands over his body, there were no wounds, no scars. His chest, which should've been ripped apart by bullets, was whole and unmarked. No pain. No sign of injury.

He looked down at his hands, slick with dried blood. It was his blood; he remembered that much. The memories hit him in disjointed flashes—his flight to New York, arriving in Queens to claim his inheritance, and the antique shop his uncle, Robert Grant, had left him.

Grant's Antiques.

The memory was clear: Lucas had traveled from his quiet hometown to Queens to take over the family business. His uncle had passed away only a few days before. The antique shop, a small, unassuming building tucked away on a quiet street in Queens, was now his. He'd visited it once as a child—dusty shelves filled with strange artifacts and odd relics. It was a place that seemed out of time, like it didn't belong in the busy borough.

But then the memory twisted, his thoughts shifting to the men. There were three of them, all wearing dark suits. They had cornered him outside the shop. Their leader, a broad man with a scar over his left eye, had made an offer—sell the shop, along with the ten-story building it was in, for a ridiculous sum of thirteen dollars.

"Thirteen dollars?" Lucas had scoffed, thinking it was some kind of joke.

But their faces had been dead serious. They'd leaned in, their voices low and menacing, insisting that he take the deal. When Lucas refused, they'd promised to return.

And return they had.

The next memory hit him harder. He'd been walking home late that evening, taking a shortcut through an alley when they found him again. This time, there were no words. The thugs had come for blood. Lucas had run, his heart pounding in his chest, his feet slamming against the pavement as gunfire echoed behind him. He remembered the sharp sting of bullets tearing into his back, the searing pain that brought him crashing to the ground. He could still feel it—the cold of the asphalt, the taste of iron in his mouth.

But then… nothing. His mind went blank after that.

Lucas shook his head, trying to make sense of it all. He should've died in that alley. There was no question about it. But here he was, sitting in a pile of trash, alive. Unharmed.

His eyes darted around the alley, the shadows playing tricks on his mind. His pulse quickened as the reality of his situation sunk in. Those men—they'll come back. They'll be looking for me. And if they found out he was alive, they'd finish the job.

He had to move. He couldn't stay here. But where could he go?

His thoughts turned to the antique shop. It wasn't far, just a few blocks away. If he could make it there, maybe he could figure out what to do next. The shop was the last connection he had to his family, the only place that might offer him some answers.

With a grunt, Lucas stood, brushing off bits of trash that clung to his torn clothing. Every part of him screamed to rest, to collapse back into the heap he had just risen from, but he couldn't afford to waste any time. The men who had tried to kill him could be anywhere.

He staggered out of the alley and onto the streets of Queens, his senses on high alert. The city was alive, even at this late hour. Cars passed by in the distance, their headlights cutting through the darkness. A group of teenagers laughed loudly as they walked down the street, oblivious to the dangers lurking in the shadows.

Lucas kept his head down, moving quickly, hoping to avoid any unwanted attention. The streets of Queens felt familiar yet distant, like a dream he couldn't quite grasp. The lights of bodegas and corner shops flickered as he walked past them, the air thick with the smell of street food and exhaust fumes.

Finally, he reached his destination. Grant's Antiques stood nestled between two larger buildings, a narrow, two-story structure that had clearly seen better days. The windows were dusty, the wooden sign above the door faded and chipped. The building looked tired, forgotten, much like Lucas felt.

He fumbled with the brass key in his pocket, his hands still shaking from the adrenaline pumping through his veins. It took him a moment to get the key into the lock, and with a soft click, the door creaked open.

The shop was just as he remembered it from his childhood. The dim lighting cast long shadows over the shelves, each one crammed with relics and trinkets from different eras. Old clocks, tarnished silverware, ancient weapons, and worn books filled the room. Everything was covered in a fine layer of dust, as if time itself had forgotten about this place.

The familiar scent of old wood and musty books hit him, bringing a small sense of comfort. But it was fleeting. Lucas knew he wasn't safe here, not for long. Those men—those killers—would find him eventually. They'd come for the shop again. And if they realized he was still alive…

His heart raced. He needed to think, to figure out his next move. Should he pack up what little he could and run? Flee the city, leave Queens behind, and start over somewhere new? But where? And why did they want this shop so badly?

As he crossed the threshold and stepped deeper into the shop, something strange happened.

A faint, blue glow appeared in his field of vision.

Lucas froze, his breath catching in his throat. The glow brightened until a translucent, floating text box materialized before his eyes. He blinked, unsure if his exhaustion was playing tricks on him, but the box didn't fade. It hovered there, glowing softly, waiting for him to read it.

"Would you like to convert this property into a Dimensional Store for Karma? Please select YES or NO."

Lucas stared at the text, his mind struggling to process what he was seeing. Dimensional Store? Karma? What the hell was this? Some kind of prank? Or had his uncle's shop held more secrets than he ever realized?

He raised a hand, hesitating. The words floated there, unwavering, waiting for him to make a choice. He thought back to his uncle, to the cryptic things he used to say about the shop. Robert had always been secretive, always muttering about strange forces and hidden powers. Lucas had dismissed it as harmless eccentricity.

But now, standing in the shop surrounded by relics that whispered of forgotten times, Lucas wasn't so sure anymore.

His heart pounded in his chest. Everything in him screamed that this was dangerous, that he should walk away and never look back. But something else—a deeper, unexplainable feeling—pulled him toward the box. What did he have to lose? He was already living on borrowed time, already supposed to be dead.

Lucas took a deep breath, his finger hovering over the floating "YES" option.

The moment he touched it, the room shifted around him.

The moment Lucas pressed "YES," the air around him seemed to ripple. The dim lighting in the shop flickered, and a low, almost imperceptible hum filled the room, as if the very fabric of reality was shifting. Lucas instinctively took a step back, his heart pounding. He glanced around, expecting something to happen—maybe the roof would cave in, or the relics would start flying off the shelves.

But instead, everything grew unnaturally still.

The blue text box vanished, leaving Lucas standing in the center of the shop, staring at the shelves of dusty antiques. For a moment, nothing felt different. Maybe it had been a hallucination—a side effect of whatever had happened to him in that alley. He shook his head, trying to clear the fog of confusion.

Then the floor beneath his feet trembled.

It was a subtle vibration at first, like the shop was adjusting itself. Lucas felt the pulse through his legs, the sensation growing stronger by the second. The dust that had settled over the artifacts stirred, swirling up into the air in thin, wispy clouds. The relics and trinkets on the shelves began to glow faintly, a soft, ethereal light radiating from them as if they were waking up from a long sleep.

Suddenly, Lucas felt a pull. It wasn't physical, but it was undeniable—a force tugging at the edges of his mind, drawing him toward the back of the shop. He stumbled forward, his steps unsteady as if the shop itself was guiding him. His eyes were drawn to the old wooden counter his uncle had always used, but now, it looked… different. The counter, once scuffed and worn, was pristine, the wood gleaming as if freshly polished.

Behind the counter, a large, ornate door had appeared.

Lucas froze, his breath catching in his throat. The door hadn't been there before. It was massive, made of dark wood carved with intricate patterns, ancient symbols that seemed to shift and change when he tried to focus on them. A glowing blue sigil pulsed at its center, like a heartbeat.

He blinked in disbelief. This was impossible. He had been in this shop only hours ago—there had been no door like this, no hidden passageway. Yet now, it stood before him, as real as the air he breathed.

Lucas hesitated, his mind racing. Was this some kind of trap? Was the door a way out—or something far more dangerous?

Before he could fully process what was happening, the blue text box reappeared, hovering in front of him once more:

"The Dimensional Store is now active. You may access it at any time by entering this door. Inventory, management, and Karma conversion options are available within."

Lucas stared at the words, the meaning barely registering in his overwhelmed mind. He swallowed hard. Karma conversion? Dimensional Store? He had no idea what any of that meant, but one thing was clear—this shop, his uncle's antique store, was no longer just an ordinary place. It was something else entirely.

A soft whisper echoed in the back of his mind, a voice that wasn't his own.

"The store must be managed. Karma must flow. Accept your role, and the power of the shop will be yours."

Lucas's throat tightened. The voice was cold, emotionless, like a machine speaking directly into his thoughts. He instinctively shook his head, trying to dispel the words, but they lingered, a haunting reminder that things were far from normal.

Despite his fear, Lucas found himself drawn toward the door. His hand reached out, fingers brushing against the cool, smooth surface of the wood. The symbols on the door glowed brighter at his touch, the blue sigil pulsing faster.

Without thinking, he pushed it open.

The door swung inward with surprising ease, revealing a large, otherworldly space beyond. Lucas's jaw dropped as he stepped through the threshold. It wasn't just a back room, as he had expected—what lay beyond was far more vast and bizarre.

The room stretched impossibly far, far beyond the boundaries of the small shop. The walls were lined with shelves, but not with the dusty antiques from the front. These shelves held strange, glowing objects—items that seemed to hum with energy, their surfaces shimmering as if they existed in multiple dimensions at once. Floating orbs of light hovered in the air, casting a soft, otherworldly glow over the space.

And at the center of the room was a large, circular table made of gleaming silver, its surface etched with more of the same shifting symbols that covered the door. Behind the table, a massive ledger hovered in midair, pages turning by themselves.

Lucas's mind reeled. This place—it felt alive, like the shop had transformed into something far beyond his understanding.

The whisper returned, louder this time, more insistent:

"Karma is the currency of power. Through this store, you will collect and balance the energies of worlds. Begin by converting items in the physical world into Karma. This will allow the store to grow and unlock its true potential."

Lucas took a step back, the weight of the situation crushing down on him. His entire life had flipped upside down in a matter of hours. First, he had been attacked—killed, even—by gangsters in the streets of Queens. Then he woke up in an alley, miraculously healed, only to find himself thrust into the center of something that made no sense.

And now, this—this Dimensional Store—was somehow his responsibility?

He ran a hand through his dark blonde hair, his fingers shaking. He needed to think. This had to be some kind of dream, a hallucination brought on by trauma or exhaustion. But deep down, in the pit of his stomach, he knew it was real.

Lucas's eyes scanned the room again, taking in the impossible shelves and the strange, glowing relics. If what the voice was saying was true, this place was more than just a store. It was a gateway, a connection to something far larger than he could comprehend.

His gaze landed on the hovering ledger. It was open, its pages filled with strange symbols and languages he couldn't read. But as he approached, the symbols shifted, rearranging themselves into words he could understand:

"Karma Balance: 0"

"Store Level: 1"

"Available Actions: Convert, Manage, Explore."

Lucas's heart pounded in his chest. He reached out, his fingers hovering over the page.

Suddenly, the front door of the shop rattled, the sound of someone trying to force their way in.

Lucas's head snapped toward the entrance. The thugs. They must have tracked him down. Panic surged through him, his pulse racing as the door shook again. He had to act fast. He wasn't ready for a confrontation—not yet.

He glanced back at the ledger. The words "Convert" glowed brighter, as if urging him to make a choice. Lucas didn't fully understand what was happening, but he knew one thing—he needed power. If he stood any chance against the people who had tried to kill him, he had to tap into whatever this place was offering.

He slammed his hand down on the word "Convert."

The room around him pulsed with energy, the air crackling as a wave of light swept over the shop. The items on the shelves glowed brighter, their energy swirling into the air, collecting above him. Lucas felt the surge, like a flood of power coursing through his veins.

"Karma Conversion Initiated. Energy acquired."

The door to the shop rattled again, harder this time. But Lucas didn't feel the same fear. The rush of energy in his body was overwhelming. He felt stronger, more focused. This wasn't just an antique shop anymore. This was something far beyond that—something dangerous, something powerful.

He turned toward the door, a strange calm settling over him. Whatever happened next, he was ready.