Ethan stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. He looked…normal. Alarmingly so. No glowing eyes, no visible circuits etched beneath his skin, just a regular guy staring back, utterly bewildered.

He splashed cold water on his face, trying to shake off the lingering feeling of wrongness, the disconcerting buzz that had settled deep in his bones. Last night had been a blur of coding, despair, and then…that file. The Genesis System. Whatever the hell it was.

He’d expected maybe a killer hangover, not…this. This unsettling awareness that the world around him wasn’t quite as fixed as he’d always believed.

He blinked.

Suddenly, a translucent window popped up in his field of vision, hovering just above the bathroom sink. It was ugly. Think Windows 95 era dialog box, complete with jagged edges and a sans-serif font that screamed “default.”

**Probability of spilling coffee on shirt: 78%**

Beneath that, in smaller, equally offensive lettering: **Recommended Action: Pour coffee directly into sink.**

Ethan’s jaw dropped. He hadn’t even *made* coffee yet.

“What in the unholy name of Bill Gates is this?” he muttered, swatting at the notification. His hand passed right through it.

He cautiously reached for his toothbrush, and another notification appeared.

**Probability of hitting self in face with toothbrush: 12%**

**Recommended Action: Brush teeth carefully.**

He gingerly brushed his teeth, hyper-aware of the 12% chance of self-inflicted facial trauma. He managed to avoid any incidents, though the constant barrage of probabilities was making him incredibly anxious. He felt like he was navigating a minefield of potential mishaps, each flagged with a brightly colored, aesthetically offensive warning.

He decided to test it. He deliberately reached for the coffee pot, the one he hadn’t even consciously thought about making yet. The “spilling coffee” probability jumped to 99%.

Okay, so it was reacting to his intentions. But what was the point of knowing this stuff? Was he supposed to live his life avoiding every potential inconvenience, guided by a series of annoying pop-ups? It felt less like a superpower and more like an incredibly annoying app he couldn't uninstall.

He debated calling in sick to work, claiming a sudden, improbable bout of polka-induced narcolepsy. But he needed the money. Thorne Industries wasn’t going to expose itself, and Victoria wasn’t going to magically reappear on his doorstep with a handwritten apology. He had to keep moving.

He grabbed his backpack and headed out, the notifications following him like persistent digital gnats.

As he walked down the sidewalk, the probability windows multiplied.

**Probability of tripping on uneven pavement: 21%**

**Probability of dog barking loudly: 65%**

**Probability of encountering aggressive pigeon: 8%**

He felt a twitch in his left eye.

He navigated the uneven Seattle sidewalks with exaggerated caution, dodging hypothetical pigeons and bracing himself for phantom dog barks. He felt utterly ridiculous.

Rounding a corner, he saw it. A minivan, its driver distracted by their phone, was barreling towards a young woman crossing the street with a stroller.

The probability window exploded in his vision.

**Probability of serious injury: 88%**

**Probability of fatality: 32%**

This wasn't some spilled coffee or a clumsy toothbrush encounter. This was life or death.

Without thinking, he surged forward, adrenaline coursing through him. He grabbed the stroller, yanking it back just as the minivan screeched past, missing them both by inches.

The driver slammed on the brakes, swearing loudly. The woman stood frozen, her face pale, her baby starting to cry.

Ethan, heart pounding, just stood there, holding the stroller. The probability windows vanished. The silence was deafening.

The woman finally found her voice, her words tumbling out in a rush of gratitude. "Oh my god, thank you! Thank you so much! I… I didn't even see it coming."

Ethan managed a weak smile. "Just… be careful."

He released the stroller, his legs suddenly feeling like jelly. As he walked away, the adrenaline subsided, replaced by a bone-deep weariness.

He’d just saved a life. Or, rather, he’d prevented a tragedy. He’d used this bizarre, glitchy system for good.

But the relief was quickly overshadowed by the sheer absurdity of it all. He was operating on probabilities, acting based on pop-up notifications that looked like they’d been ripped from a Geocities webpage.

He stopped at a coffee shop, ordering a double espresso. As he reached for the cup, the notification reappeared:

**Probability of spilling coffee on shirt: 78%**

He sighed.

He took a long, deliberate sip. Nothing happened. The probability remained stubbornly at 78%.

He took another sip. Still nothing.

Frustrated, he lifted the cup higher, tilting it precariously.

“Come on,” he muttered, “Show me what you got.”

Suddenly, a bus roared past, shaking the ground. The jolt caused his hand to wobble, and hot coffee sloshed over the rim, precisely targeting his pristine white shirt.

“Dammit!”

He stared at the spreading stain, a mixture of anger and reluctant admiration swirling within him. The system was right. Impossibly, infuriatingly right.

He grabbed a handful of napkins, scrubbing furiously at the stain.

As he cleaned, he noticed another notification.

**Probability of boss noticing coffee stain and making sarcastic comment: 95%**

**Recommended Action: Resign.**

Ethan groaned. This wasn't just a superpower; it was a curse. A ridiculous, frustrating, and potentially life-saving curse. He had to figure out how to control it, how to understand it, before it drove him completely insane.

He had to debug his life.