The lab's security system screamed. Lasers crisscrossed the corridors, and massive fans threatened to blow him into the abyss. Karlson leaned into the chaos. He wall-ran along a curved glass partition, used the recoil of a shotgun to boost himself over a wall of spikes, and smashed through a vent.

He didn’t know who he was or why his movements felt like they were governed by the laws of a physics engine on overdrive, but he knew that the glowing carton at the end of the hall was his destiny.

Karlson lunged, his fingers brushing the cold carton just as the floor beneath him gave way. He didn't fall; he launched. One final grapple, one final mid-air spin, and he landed firmly on the exit platform. He popped the cap, took a long, victorious swig, and looked toward the next level.

Karlson didn't walk; he flowed. With a sudden burst of momentum, he slid across the floor, the friction-less tile turning him into a human projectile. He hit a jump pad, soaring into the air, and felt time slow down. In mid-air, he grabbed a grapple gun from a nearby pedestal. With a thwip , the cable anchored to a ceiling beam, and he swung across a bottomless pit, a blue-and-white blur of pure kinetic energy. But the lab wasn't empty.

"Oh, you don't know what Karlson is?" he muttered to the empty room. "It's just a little game I'm working on..." He stepped into the light, ready to do it all again.

He was a master of momentum, a parkour god fueled by a dairy-based obsession.