Tom Crish

Taking a deep breath, Zero's anticipation mingled with apprehension as he exited the taxi. Gratitude was evident on his face as he handed the driver a generous tip, acknowledging the role the driver had played in this journey down memory lane.

Setting foot on the uneven pavement, Zero proceeded with measured steps, each footfall echoing with a significance that resonated within him. The path to the front door seemed longer than he remembered, the distance amplifying the mix of emotions swirling within his chest.

Upon reaching the doorstep, Zero lifted his hand and rapped his knuckles against the worn wood. A hushed expectancy hung in the air, a poignant reminder of the stories this house held.

Minutes ticked by, and the silence remained unbroken. Zero's brows furrowed slightly as he knocked again, this time with a touch more urgency. Still, there was no response. The sense of solitude that emanated from within the house began to weigh on him, a question forming in his mind - was anyone even home?

Almost on the cusp of trying his luck with a third knock, the door swung open abruptly, shattering the quietude like a sudden gust of wind. Standing before Zero was a man whose appearance was a stark juxtaposition to the affluence Zero associated with this address.

The man's appearance was a portrait of adversity, each line etched onto his face telling a story of a life weathered by trials. His once-jet-black hair was now a disheveled mess, strands of varying lengths clung to his forehead with a stubborn tenacity. There was a time when those strands might have been as dark as a raven's wing, but now they were streaked with shades of gray, a poignant reminder of the passage of time and the burdens it had borne.

His skin bore the marks of his struggles - wrinkles etched deeply around his eyes, creases running across his forehead, and faint scars hinting at past wounds that had healed over but left their imprint. The hardships he had endured were evident in the weariness etched into his features, as if each furrow and line held a story of its own.

His frame, once perhaps robust, now leaned towards a gaunt and malnourished silhouette. The fabric of his clothes hung loosely on his body, as if the years had stripped away more than just the excess weight. The hollowness of his cheeks and the way his collarbones jutted out were stark indicators of a life marked by scarcity.

But it was his eyes that held the most telling tale. Clouded with a haze of weariness, they bore the weight of experiences too heavy to be carried alone. They were windows to a soul that had seen both despair and hope, a dichotomy reflected in the way they held both a flicker of defiance and a glimmer of resignation. His gaze met Zero's with a mixture of skepticism and world-weariness, a silent challenge to see beyond the surface and truly understand.

The man's eyes, clouded with the haze of life's struggles, met Zero's gaze. His voice carried a hint of irritation as he rasped, "What do you want, kid? It's too early in the morning. Can't you see?"

Zero then calmly smiled, a gesture that held a glint of empathy. "Are you Tom Crish?"

'focused insight' zero used his skill secretly.

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Name: Tom Bickery Crish

Age: 28 years old

Power: 14

Intelligence: 31

Stamina: 12

Talent: Digital Intuition, Intuitive Problem Solving, Information Gathering, Cyber empathy,

Enchanted memory, Stealth mastery

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'so many skills' Zero thought.

Tom Crish's face tightened. "If you're here to sell me something, I'm not interested," he grumbled, his voice tinged with impatience. He made a half-hearted attempt to close the door, signaling his desire for solitude.

However, before the door could latch shut, a surprising surge of strength emanated from Zero's arm, halting the door's progress. The unexpected resistance caught Tom Crish off guard, freezing him in place as he glanced back in surprise.

"I assure you, Tom Crish, I'm not peddling any products," Zero's voice remained calm but earnest, his words carrying an air of sincerity. "What I have to offer is something that has the potential to change your life in profound ways."

The statement lingered in the air, a tantalizing promise that hung between them. Tom Crish regarded Zero with a mix of suspicion and curiosity. "What can a kid like you do?"

His skepticism deepened as he probed further, "Are you the son of some big corporation? Or maybe a president's son?"

Zero's response was a simple shake of his head, dispelling any misconceptions. And then, in a swift motion, he used his strength to prevent the door from being shut completely. The act was both deliberate and determined, signaling his resolve to have a conversation.

Tom Crish's eyes narrowed, both in reaction to Zero's determination and the strange strength the young man seemed to possess. The situation was becoming more intriguing, despite his initial desire for solitude.

He retorted, his voice tinged with exasperation, "And what exactly can a kid like you possibly do to help me? Can't you see my living conditions?"

A gentle smile curled on Zero's lips as he responded, unfazed by Tom Crish's words. "Maybe we can talk about it inside? I promise it will be worth your time."

The exasperation in Tom's expression was palpable, but after a resigned sigh, he conceded, "Alright, come in. But make it quick."

As Zero stepped inside, his eyes took in the environment that surrounded him. The living room was a stark reflection of neglect, strewn with trash bags and the detritus of a life in disarray. The air held a musty scent, a testament to the room's disuse. Yet amidst the clutter, a stark contrast emerged in the form of Tom Crish's desk.

The desk stood as a solitary island of order amid chaos. It was pristine, each surface meticulously clean and organized. The rest of the room seemed to bend around it, as if recognizing the importance of the space. The desk was adorned with a symphony of screens, a complex arrangement that spoke of a mind engrossed in the digital world. Wires connected various components, creating a tapestry of technology that contrasted with the disorderly surroundings.

Their footsteps echoed softly as Zero followed Tom Crish to the living room. The contrast was stark, the clutter of the room a testament to the man's struggles, while the pristine desk stood as a tribute to his unwavering focus. The setup of monitors and intricate PC arrangement on the desk was a testament to Tom's expertise and dedication.

As they settled into the dimly lit space, Tom Crish's expression was a mix of intrigue and caution. "Alright, you've got my attention. What is it that you're talking about?"

Zero's demeanor underwent a sudden transformation, his lips curling into an unsettling grin. His eyes seemed to glint with an enigmatic intensity as he spoke, his tone calm yet charged with an uncanny confidence. "Tom Crish, age 27, with no fixed employment. Your parents tragically passed away in a car accident when you were just 12 years old. The pain and resentment that stemmed from that incident cast a shadow over your view of the world. Over the past few years, you've found yourself drawn into the realm of hacking, pilfering sensitive information from companies and individuals alike, and peddling it for survival. It's a dangerous dance you've been performing for the last 3-4 years, one that barely keeps you afloat."

Taken aback by Zero's uncanny knowledge, Tom Crish's initial surprise gave way to a visceral mix of shock and disbelief. He stood abruptly, a tumult of emotions twisting his features. "What the hell do you want, kid? And how did you get your hands on this information?"

His fists clenched involuntarily, a manifestation of his frustration and unease. Before the fury that had driven his punch could connect, Zero moved with an agility and precision that defied his age. He blocked Tom's fist effortlessly, a barely perceptible movement that halted the attack in its tracks.

Zero's lips curved further, the disconcerting smile remaining as he continued, "Tom Crish, you possess a prodigious talent for hacking and gathering information. Your proficiency in this clandestine world is remarkable, and I intend to harness that talent."

A mixture of pain, confusion, and fear twisted across Tom Crish's face as Zero exerted pressure on his clenched fist. The pain radiating from his hand was unlike anything he had experienced before. His body, which had stood so defiantly moments ago, now seemed to betray him, succumbing to the excruciating ache that surged through his hand.