Ethan gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white as he guided the food truck through the city streets.
The engine purred smoothly — a sound he still wasn't used to after the wreck it had been just hours ago. Every bump and creak in the road made him flinch slightly, half-expecting sothing to go wrong, but the truck held steady.
Navigating Silverpoint was an adventure in itself.
The city's roads were a chaotic mix of sharp turns, sudden stops, and impatient drivers.
Ethan felt out of place in the oversized vehicle, constantly checking his mirrors to make sure he wasn't clipping anyone.
His destination wasn't far: a lot on the west side of the city where people stored their vehicles. It wasn't fancy, but it had a reputation for being secure, which was all Ethan cared about.
He couldn't risk leaving the truck unattended on the street, not after putting so much money into it.
The lot ca into view, a sprawling expanse of asphalt bordered by a chain-link fence. Rows of cars, vans, and even a few RVs were parked neatly inside.
At the entrance, a small guard booth stood beside a gate, and a middle-aged man in a security uniform stepped out as Ethan pulled up.
The man eyed the truck, raising an eyebrow as Ethan rolled down the window.
"Looking to park here?" the guard asked, his voice gruff but not unfriendly.
"Yeah," Ethan said. "How much for a spot? Overnight, maybe longer."
The guard scratched his chin, glancing back at the rows of vehicles. "Depends. You want regular surveillance, or just a space?"
"Surveillance," Ethan replied without hesitation.
"That'll be fifty bucks a day," the guard said, leaning against the truck. "You'll need to sign so paperwork, too."
Ethan nodded. It wasn't exactly cheap, but it wasn't outrageous either. He climbed out of the truck, following the guard to the booth.
Inside, the air slled faintly of coffee and old paper.
The guard handed Ethan a clipboard with a stack of forms, which he skimd quickly. Most of it was standard liability stuff, promising not to hold the lot responsible for anything short of a natural disaster.
He signed his na at the bottom and handed the clipboard back.
"Alright," the guard said, pocketing the cash Ethan handed over. "I'll keep an eye on it. Park it in row C, middle space."
Ethan thanked him, returned to the truck, and carefully maneuvered it into the designated spot. He took one last look at the vehicle before stepping back, feeling a small pang of attachnt he hadn't expected.
It was just a truck, he reminded himself. A tool, not a symbol. Still, it represented sothing more — a chance.
He called a cab to take him back ho, leaning against the chain-link fence while he waited.
The lot wasn't exactly beautiful, but it was quiet, and for the first ti in a while, Ethan found himself appreciating the stillness.
When the cab arrived, he climbed in, sinking into the seat with a sigh of relief.
The ride ho was uneventful, and by the ti he stepped through the door of his apartnt, the weariness of the day had settled into his bones.
Ethan reached into his pocket, half-expecting another notification, another directive from the system. But unfortunately for him… There was absolutely...
Nothing.
"Huh," he muttered, placing the phone back down.
It seed like the system was waiting on him now.
He leaned against the kitchen counter, his gaze drifting to the cabinets above. He hadn't cooked in weeks, relying instead on takeout and cheap instant als.
The idea of running a food truck was… daunting.
But it was an upgrade from sitting on the couch and drinking himself into oblivion. At least this gave him sothing to focus on.
A soft chi from the phone snapped him out of his thoughts.
[Recomnded Location Identified]
High traffic: Midtown Market, 7:00 AM - 3:00 PM.
Ethan read the notification twice, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. The system wasn't just leaving him in the dark — it was giving him real guidance.
He tapped on the screen, pulling up more details about the location. Midtown Market was a bustling area known for its morning crowds.
Farrs, artisans, and street vendors gathered there every day to sell their goods, and the foot traffic was always heavy.
It sounded perfect.
"Alright," Ethan said to himself. "Guess I know where I'm going tomorrow."
The next challenge was the food itself.
Ethan sat down with his laptop, searching for recipes that were simple enough for a beginner but appealing enough to draw a crowd.
Tacos, burgers, sandwiches — he considered all the classics before settling on a small but diverse nu.
He jotted down a list of ingredients, ntally calculating the costs. The system had given him a million dollars, but he knew better than to blow through it carelessly.
When the nu was set, he leaned back in his chair, staring at the list. It felt surreal, planning als for a business he didn't even know he'd have a week ago.
Ethan glanced at the clock. It was late, but he couldn't afford to rest just yet. The market opened early, and he'd need to be there before the crowds arrived.
He gathered his things — a worn backpack for groceries, his wallet, and a notebook for jotting down any last-minute ideas.
As he climbed into bed, his mind raced with thoughts of the day ahead. Would people actually buy from him? Would the food taste good enough?
There were too many unknowns, but Ethan forced himself to breathe, to focus on the fact that he was taking steps forward.
Tomorrow would be another long day, and all the questions would be for tomorrow.
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