29 Preparations for Not-a-Date!

Luke's eyes flicked from the unexpected text message to the time displayed in the corner of his phone's screen. It was just shy of 8 AM - time-wise, he could make the impromptu lunch date work. However, the persistent throb in his shoulder served as an unpleasant reminder of an obstacle that wasn't as conveniently fixable.

His shoulder still howled in protest every time he moved, but beneath the sting, he could sense the underlying healing process at work. It wasn't a painless progress, yet progress nonetheless. The sting, as constant and biting as it had been since the moment of injury, left him puzzled: was it a testament to the severity of his wound, the pace of his healing, or was he just being overly sensitive? He scowled at the thought. On screen, heroes shrugged off such injuries as if they were merely passing nuisances...

With a sigh of frustration, he tapped his phone's mapping app and quickly punched in 'nearest pharmacy.' It was a little over a mile away - ordinarily, it wouldn't be a daunting distance, but given his current condition, it was a challenge. Nevertheless, if he pushed himself, he could make it there and back in time for the not-a-date.

"Time for a bit of shadow play..." he murmured to himself. His objective? Painkillers. He didn't know how many he'd need, but he had a hunch that with a sufficient quantity to numb the pain, he would manage to get through the lunch meeting unscathed.

His shadow powers would come in handy here, making his pharmaceutical heist smooth and traceless. No wallets to check, no bills to worry about. Just a quick in-and-out operation. As Luke thought about it, he couldn't help but grin - Operation "Phantom Pharmacy" was underway. The goal? Nothing more grand than ensuring he could survive a lunch that held more significance than he cared to admit.

Luke took a moment to mentally steady himself, his decision made. With a wave of his hand, he drew the surrounding shadows towards him, an ebon tide flowing around him. Slowly, painstakingly, he wrapped himself in their cool, dark embrace. The transformation into Nightling, though hampered by the persistent throb in his shoulder, wasn't as terrible as he feared - it seemed the stress of impending pursuit and the danger of bleeding out had amplified his previous struggles with control.

The daylight was a nuisance, the bright sun an opponent to his shadow-wielding prowess. But it was still early, and the sun hadn't reached its zenith, meaning there were still enough shadows to work with. He just had to make this excursion snappy.

With a groan, he pulled himself upright, wincing as his shoulder protested the movement. Shuffling towards the window, he merged with the shadows, embarking on what he anticipated would be a painful journey to the nearby pharmacy. Yet, surprisingly, he found himself at his destination in record time, his trip unhindered by any of the usual complications he faced. Was this fate's hand, ensuring the upcoming lunch rendezvous would come to pass? (As the narrator here, I'd say yes, a bit of celestial intervention never hurt anyone.)

The pharmacy was just a typical storefront, unassuming and unimpressive. The real mission lay within. Using his shadow travel, he materialized inside the store, causing an elderly lady at the counter to gasp in fright. He could see her pale, her hands trembling as her breath hitched in her throat.

Despite his sympathy for the frightened woman, he had a mission to accomplish. Without wasting another moment, he spoke up, using the deeper, more intimidating voice of Nightling. "I require painkillers, every single one you have here. If even one is missing, there will be consequences," he warned ominously.

The woman seemed to understand the gravity of the situation instantly. She jumped to her feet, nearly tripping over in her haste, before dashing to the back. She returned, arms laden with various containers - bottles of pills, vials of liquid that seemed to require injection, and a few suspicious-looking herbs that bore a striking resemblance to the images of marijuana he'd seen online. Not exactly what he'd planned, but he could sort through it all later. For now, Operation "Phantom Pharmacy" had been a success.

Nightling offered the woman a surprisingly gentle thank-you. Her stunned expression suggested she hadn't expected such courtesy from a supervillain. With his plunder in hand, he stepped back into the comforting darkness of his shadow realm, feeling the familiar chill envelop him as he melted away from the store's interior.

Outside, the sun was inching higher in the sky. Time was against him, and a fight against the daylight was one he couldn't afford. His shadow path weaved and twisted through the city streets, cleverly circumventing patches of harsh sunlight, his speed a mere illusion as he seemingly travelled vast distances in mere moments.

Finally, he found himself back in the sanctuary of his room. He stepped out of the shadows, the stygian aura of Nightling dissipating to reveal Luke in his regular attire. For a moment, he stood there, holding the bag of pilfered painkillers, his face a mask of stoic resolve.

But the facade quickly crumbled. He collapsed onto the floor, his shoulder pulsating with a searing agony that stole his breath away. Tears streamed down his face, a raw display of vulnerability so different from the confident menace of Nightling. "I...I might have to get this checked out...professionally…" he choked out between sobs.

Sniffing, he collected himself enough to start examining the stash. He didn't care for mild relief anymore, he was in search of the most potent painkillers available. It wasn't about the date – or not-date – now, it was about getting a few hours of respite from the relentless torment.

After a thorough examination, he finally settled on a brightly colored bottle labeled "KickAss-KillPain 5000". He snorted in amusement at the outlandish name, but the promise of 'instant relief' was too enticing to ignore. Ignoring the recommended dosage of three pills spread six hours apart, he unceremoniously dumped five of the tablets into his hand and popped them into his mouth.

"I am a supervillain," he said to himself, swallowing the oversized dose with a wince. "If I croak because of an overdose of KickAss-KillPain, I probably deserve it."

In a matter of minutes, the effects of KickAss-KillPain kicked in, and boy, did it kick hard. Instead of just targeting his shoulder, it felt like an anesthesia bomb had exploded inside him, numbing his entire body. It was a sensation akin to when one's leg falls asleep - a prickly, tingling numbness that was strangely discomforting - except this was not just his leg but his entire physical form.

Undeterred, he managed to stumble towards his closet. It was a disorienting experience, his body not entirely under his control as he tried to maneuver around the room. Reaching into the darkness of his closet, he pulled out a black shirt and a pair of crisp white jeans. Dressing up was a mission in itself, given his body's numbed state. Each move was laborious, like manipulating the limbs of a marionette. But he was committed to looking somewhat decent for this non-date date.

Just as he had managed to don his chosen outfit, a stark realization hit him. His breath hitched in his throat, his heart thumping loudly against his rib cage. He had been so consumed with his mission to quell his pain that he had completely forgotten to reply to Gwen's message.

"Oh, what have I done?!" he exclaimed, his voice bouncing off the walls of his room. Panic surged through him as he clutched at his hair, tugging at the strands as if they held the solution to his blunder. He had potentially messed up the entire non-date arrangement and a wave of dread washed over him.

Luke raced across the room, his movements slightly unsteady due to the residual effects of the KickAss-KillPain. His phone was lying on the bed, an innocuous object that suddenly held immense importance. Scooping it up, his fingers already dancing over the screen even before he fully registered the device in his hands.

His heart pounded erratically in his chest as he unlocked his phone, the notification of Gwen's unrepliead message glaring at him. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face, the sensation only vaguely registered. He could practically hear the ticking clock in the back of his mind, the sound thundering like a drum.

His fingers moved across the screen, a ballet of urgency and precision. Typing fast was one thing, but typing coherently under stress was a whole other ball game. He could hardly believe the situation he found himself in. This wasn't a life-or-death battle with a superhero, this was a text. Yet, it felt like the most critical mission he'd undertaken.