A 18 year old Nerd named Jimmy found the remote

Jimmy adjusted his thick-rimmed glasses as he trudged through the overgrown field, his backpack straps digging into his shoulders. The morning sun cast long shadows across the tall grass, and the distant chatter of students heading to school barely reached his ears. He preferred this quiet shortcut—fewer people meant fewer chances of being tripped or mocked for his latest obsession with obscure fantasy novels.

His shoe caught on something hard beneath the weeds, nearly sending him sprawling face-first into the dirt. "What the—?" he muttered, bending down to inspect the obstacle. His fingers brushed against smooth plastic, and he pulled it free from the tangled undergrowth.

A remote.

Not just any remote—this one pulsed faintly, as if alive, its surface etched with strange symbols that shimmered under his touch. Jimmy’s heart hammered in his chest. Was this some kind of high-tech prototype dropped by a careless engineer? His nerdy instincts screamed at him to pocket it and examine it later, but then he spotted the note.

The paper was slightly damp from the morning dew, but the ink hadn’t run. Jimmy’s eyes darted across the words, his lips moving silently as he read. A piece of a Chaos wizard’s power? Control over anyone he aimed it at? His first instinct was to laugh—this had to be a prank. Some jock probably planted it here, waiting to jump out and laugh at him for falling for it.

But then… what if it was real?

Jimmy swallowed hard, his fingers tightening around the remote. The weight of it felt unnatural, as if it didn’t quite belong in this world. He glanced around nervously, half-expecting the wizard himself to materialize from thin air, but the field remained empty except for the rustling grass. Jimmy’s fingers trembled as he shoved the remote into the front pocket of his backpack, the strange symbols still glowing faintly through the fabric. He adjusted the straps, his throat dry, and **** himself to keep walking toward school. The weight of the device pressed against his spine like a secret too heavy to carry.

Around him, the morning air buzzed with the usual sounds—the distant honk of a car, the scuff of sneakers on pavement—but everything felt sharper, as if the world had tilted slightly off its axis. His mind raced with possibilities. What if the note was telling the truth? What if this remote did have power?

The school loomed ahead, its brick walls stained with decades of graffiti and neglect. Students milled around the entrance, laughing, shoving, completely unaware of what he carried. Jimmy kept his head down, weaving through the crowd, but his pulse spiked when he spotted Brad "The Bruiser" Johnson leaning against the lockers, his meaty arms crossed over his football jersey.

Brad’s eyes locked onto him like a predator spotting prey. "Well, well, if it isn’t Four-Eyes," he sneered, pushing off the wall. Jimmy’s stomach dropped. He tried to sidestep, but Brad’s thick fingers clamped onto his shoulder, nails digging in. "Where you goin’ so fast, freak? Lunch money’s due." and drags him into the bathroom.