The dream was still vivid in his mind. He lay in bed for a moment, trying to shake off the lingering images of Ariana Grande - Freddie Mercury - and the giant inflatable rat.

  "What a night," he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

  He sat up and glanced around his room. The sun was streaming through the window - casting a warm glow on the cluttered space.

  He got out of bed and walked into the living room. Murk was still curled up in the laundry pile - its green eyes blinked slowly. Jett watched it for a moment, a strange mix of annoyance and…something else filled him.

  "Alright, time to deal with reality," he muttered.

  The memory of the previous night's fight with Volkov crashed into him. The gargoyle's strength - his speed - the sheer power he exuded. Jett shuddered - he had been completely outmatched.

  "I was useless," he said aloud - frustration bubbled up inside him.

  "I couldn't even land a decent hit. I'm lucky that Barty flew me out of there."

  He paced around the room - replaying the fight in his head. He remembered the feeling of Volkov's grip on his arm - the way the gargoyle had thrown him against a wall like a ragdoll.

  "I need to improve," Jett said.

  "I can't just keep getting my ass kicked every time I run into one of those things."

  He stopped pacing and looked at Murk. The tiny rat was watching him, its green eyes were unblinking.

  "And I have you now," Jett said. "Whatever you are. I need to figure out how this whole.. thing works."

  He grabbed his phone and scrolled through his contacts. He hesitated for a moment, then tapped on Mr. Pyre.

  He put the phone to his ear - listening to the ringing.

  "Please pick up, please pick up.." he muttered.

  The ringing stopped, and Mr. Pyre's voice boomed through the speaker.

  "Pizza Inferno! This is Pyre speaking! How can I ignite your hunger?"

  Jett winced. "Uh, hey Mr. Pyre, it's Jett."

  "Jett! My favorite pizza slinger! What can I do for you, my boy? Need extra anchovies? A discount on garlic knots? By the way, you didn't return to Pizza Inferno last night, what happened to you?"

  "I thought you hated anchovies.. I was wondering if I could get a few weeks off." Jett said tentatively.

  There was a long pause on the other end of the line.

  "A few weeks? Jett, my boy, are you feeling alright? You haven't been abducted by aliens, have you?"

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  "No, I'm fine. It's just… I need some time off."

  "Time off? Jett, we're a family here at Pizza Inferno! We can't just let our family members wander off for weeks on end! Unless… unless you're going on a secret mission to rescue the president from a pizza stealing ninja clan?"

  "No, Mr. Pyre. It's nothing like that. I just… I need to take care of some personal stuff." Jett answered.

  "Personal stuff? Is it serious? Do you need me to send over some chicken noodle pizza? It's my own recipe, guaranteed to cure any ailment, except maybe explosive diarrhea."

  "No, Mr. Pyre, I don't need chicken noodle pizza. I just need some time off." He grimaced.

  "Alright, alright, Jett. I can see you're serious. But you owe me big time, my boy! When you get back, you're working every Friday night for a month! And you have to wear the giant pizza slice costume!"

  Jett sighed. "Fine, Mr. Pyre. Thank you."

  "Alright, Jett. Take care of yourself. And if you run into any pizza related emergencies, you know who to call!"

  Mr. Pyre hung up, leaving Jett staring at his phone.

  "Well, that was… something," he muttered.

  He looked at Murk, who was now gnawing on a stray sock.

  "Alright, Murk," Jett said. "Looks like we have some time to figure things out."

  Jett started thinking about how to improve his fighting skills. He knew he needed to learn the basics - especially footwork. He was fast - but he was clumsy. He needed to be more agile - more precise.

  "I need a teacher," he said aloud. "Someone who can show me how to not get my ass handed to me by every monster I meet."

  He considered the usual options - a dojo - a boxing gym - but those felt too…ordinary. He wanted something different - something unique.

  He sat down in front of his PC and started searching online. He typed in 'unconventional fighting masters' and hit enter.

  The results were…interesting.

  He scrolled through the pages - finding websites with names like 'Mystic Fist Academy' and 'Shadow Strike Dojo.' He even found a forum dedicated to 'combat techniques for the supernaturally inclined.'

  "Okay, this is getting weird," Jett muttered.

  He was about to give up when a website caught his eye. It was simple, with a black background and white text. It read:

  "The Algorithm of Combat."

  Jett clicked on the link. The website was even weirder than the name suggested. It was just a single page with a series of cryptic symbols and a single line of text:

  "Input your parameters."

  Jett stared at the screen. 'Parameters? What does that even mean?'

  He decided to try something. He typed in his name, his height, his weight, and his…unique situation.

  He hesitated for a moment, then added:

  "Veschar."

  He hit enter. The screen flickered, and the cryptic symbols rearranged themselves. A new line of text appeared:

  "Analysis complete. Recommended instructor: Brenda."

  Below the text was a phone number.

  Jett stared at the screen. "Brenda? That sounds…familiar."

  Then it hit him. "Wait, Brenda? As in, the robot voice from the apartment building?"

  He scrolled back through his phone's call history.

  There it was: the number he had called to buzz himself into the apartment building. It matched the number on the website.

  "What the hell?" Jett said. "Is this some kind of cosmic coincidence? Or is there something even weirder going on?"

  He looked at Murk, who was now trying to climb up the curtains.

  He grabbed his sling-bag and tossed a few essentials inside: his wallet - his phone - and a half-eaten bag of chips.

  Murk scurried out of the laundry pile and looked up at Jett with its green eyes.

  "You wanna come too, little guy?" Jett asked. "Or do you wanna stay here and, uh, guard the dirty laundry?"

  Murk let out a squeak and then jumped onto Jett's shoulder. It settled there, its tiny claws gripped onto Jett's shirt.

  "Alright, you're coming with me," Jett said.

  He carefully scooped up Murk and placed it inside his sling-bag. Murk seemed content to stay there, its green eyes peeked out.

  Jett took a deep breath. "Okay, here we go."

  -

  He stepped outside, the bright sunlight struck him like a wall. He winced - his skin prickling uncomfortably - he had always been sensitive to the sun, but this was…intense.

  "Damn," he muttered. "I really need to figure out this Veschar thing."

  He started walking in the direction of Brenda's apartment building. The sun beat down on him, and he could feel his skin getting warmer. He pulled up the collar of his jacket - trying to shield himself from the worst of it.

  "This is not ideal," he grumbled.

  He finally reached the apartment building. It looked just as run-down as he remembered. He walked inside - the dim light of the lobby was a welcome relief.

  He found the elevator and pressed the button. It creaked as it slowly ascended. Jett shifted nervously, he adjusted the sling-bag on his shoulder. Murk let out a soft squeak from inside.

  The elevator doors opened, and Jett stepped out onto the third floor. He walked down the hallway - finding apartment 3B. He hesitated for a moment, then knocked on the door.

  "Come…in," the familiar robot gravel voice said from inside.

  Jett took a deep breath and opened the door. The apartment was surprisingly tidy - it was minimalist - with white walls and sleek furniture. The only splash of color came from a large fish tank in the corner - filled with glowing, alien looking fish.

  And then there was Brenda.

  She was sitting in a chair, facing away from him. Her hair was dyed a vibrant shade of blue - it was cut in a sharp, asymmetrical style. She wore large, round glasses with thick black frames - her skin was pale, and her eyes were a striking shade of violet.

  "You…are Jett?" she said, her voice was still robotic and monotone.

  "Uh, yeah," Jett said. "I'm Jett. And you're…Brenda?"

  She turned to face him. Her violet eyes scanned him from head to toe.

  "I…am Brenda. The Algorithm…has chosen me…to be your instructor."

  Jett stared at her—then at the glowing fish, then back at her.

  "Okay," he said slowly. "This is definitely weird."