"The Freak Squad"
The automatic doors sighed open at 10:02 AM, and every employee near the front instinctively looked up.
Not because the store was busy.
Because Evan had arrived.
The blue-and-yellow Best Buy polo looked less like a uniform and more like industrial fabric under tension. The collar sat high against a neck so thick it pressed into the seams, while the sleeves—already custom ordered in the largest size the store could get—clung around upper arms that looked vacuum-sealed into the material. Management had tried getting him proper white short-sleeve dress shirts for consultations, but after three failed orders and one visibly defeated tailor, they’d given up.
So now he just wore the polo.
And stretched it to its engineering limits.
At six-foot-four and somewhere north of 500 pounds, Evan moved through the Magnolia audio section with the careful awareness of a man who understood his own gravitational pull. The polished floor creaked faintly under each step. Veins rolled beneath his forearms as he adjusted a display speaker with absurd gentleness, thick fingers turning precision knobs like a mechanic handling jewelry.
A customer wandered into the aisle.
Mid-thirties. Browsing posture. Curious but defensive. The universal body language of someone who planned to say, “I’m just looking.”
Evan intercepted him with a professional smile.
“Morning, man. Looking for home audio?”
The customer glanced up—and up a little farther.
“Uh… maybe. Just checking stuff out.”
Evan nodded, folding his arms carefully. The fabric across his chest tightened so much the stitched Geek Squad logo distorted.
“Well, if you want my honest opinion, this setup over here?” He gestured toward a gleaming stack of speakers and a receiver. “This is the first system in the store that actually sounds like a theater instead of pretending to.”
The customer laughed a little. “That expensive, huh?”
“Depends what you mean by expensive.”
Evan crouched beside the subwoofer.
The movement alone was absurd. His thighs compressed against khakis strained nearly white at the seams, forearms flexing as he lifted the forty-pound unit one-handed and slid it forward like it was empty cardboard.
“You ever go to the movies and feel the bass in your ribs?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“That’s displacement. Most soundbars fake it. This thing doesn’t fake anything.”
He tapped the cabinet with a knuckle the size of a walnut.
The customer’s skepticism started cracking.
Evan could tell. Years on the sales floor had taught him the exact moment curiosity overtook budget discipline.
He stood again, slowly, the polo tightening across his torso as though the motion alone might split it apart.
“Tell you what,” he said. “Sit down for thirty seconds.”
The demo room dimmed.
A scene from an action movie rolled across the screen.
Then the sound hit.
The subwoofer thundered—not loud in the cheap way, but deep, controlled, physical. The couch vibrated subtly. Glass shelving hummed. Somewhere outside the room, a coworker muttered, “There goes Evan again.”
The customer’s eyes widened.
Evan grinned.
“That’s only at forty percent.”
“Jesus.”
“Exactly.”
The customer looked back at the price tag with the haunted expression of a man realizing he was about to spend far more money than intended.
Evan leaned casually against the wall.
At least, he tried to.
The drywall popped softly behind him.
He straightened immediately.
“Anyway,” he said smoothly, pretending not to notice, “we can also bundle installation.”














