Seconds To Zero

CHAPTER 6

The pen felt heavier than a brick. It was a sleek, black pen, but in Evan’s hand, it felt like a weapon. He looked down at the paper on the metal desk. The paper was thick and cream-colored. The words were small, but the message was giant.

Contract of Temporal Exchange.

Evan took a deep breath. The air in the room smelled like rubbing alcohol and old money. He looked at the bottom of the page. The line for his signature waited. If he signed, there was no going back. If he didn't sign, he stayed poor and desperate.

He pressed the pen to the paper. His hand shook a little. He wrote his name. Evan Kennedy.

As soon as he lifted the pen, the black bracelet on his left wrist buzzed. It was a sharp pain, like a bee sting. Evan gasped and grabbed his wrist. The bracelet was made of smooth, dark glass. Suddenly, numbers flashed under the glass in bright red light.

PROJECTED LIFESPAN: 03 Years, 02 Months, 14 Days.

Evan stared. His mouth went dry. He was nineteen years old, but according to this machine, he only had three years left to live. The rest of his time—his forties, his fifties, his sixties—was now currency. It was chips on a table.

"Welcome, Mr. Kennedy," a voice said.

Evan looked up. A woman stood by the door. She wore a grey suit that fit perfectly. Her hair was pulled back tight. She did not smile. Her name tag said Proctor 7.

"Is this right?" Evan asked. He held up his wrist. "Three years? That is all I have?"

"That is your bank," Proctor 7 said. She walked over and tapped the table. "Follow me. Orientation is mandatory. Ignorance is fatal."

Evan stood up. His legs felt weak. He followed her out of the small room and into a long hallway. The walls were dark. The floor was polished stone.

"Rule number one," Proctor 7 said as they walked. "Time is the only currency. You do not bet money. You bet minutes, hours, years."

"What happens if I lose?" Evan asked.

Proctor 7 stopped. She turned to face him. Her eyes were cold. "If you bet a year and lose, you age a year. Instantly. Your cells decay. Your hair greys. Time is taken from your body."

Evan felt a chill run down his spine. "And if I run out?"

"Default," she said. "If your counter hits zero, the bracelet administers a neurotoxin. Your heart stops. You die on the floor. The house always collects."

She turned and kept walking. Evan hurried to catch up. He touched the bracelet again. It felt like a handcuff.

They reached the end of the hall. Proctor 7 pushed open double doors.

The room beyond was massive. It looked like a stock exchange mixed with a futuristic casino. There were no loud slot machines or cheering crowds. It was quiet, intense, and terrifying. Rows of glass tables filled the floor. Giant screens on the walls showed names and numbers.

John D. – 45 Years.

Sarah L. – DECEASED.

Evan swallowed hard.

"This is the Floor," Proctor 7 said. "Find a table. Good luck." She walked away, leaving him alone in the shark tank.

Evan stepped forward. People rushed past him. They looked intense. Some looked young but had eyes that seemed ancient. Others looked old, with wrinkled skin, but they wore trendy clothes, trying to win back their youth.

He walked toward a section with blue lights. The sign above said: Low-Variance Tables. Logic & Probability.

"Look at this," a deep voice boomed.

Evan froze. He turned to his left. A large man sat at a high-stakes table. The man wore a gold suit. His bracelet showed 140 Years. He was rich with time.

The man pointed at Evan. "He is heading for the kiddie pool. Low-variance tables!" The man laughed. "Hey, kid! Why don't you come here? Bet a decade on the roll of a dice."

The people around the man laughed.

"I prefer skill, not luck," Evan said softly.

The man sneered. "Skill? There is no skill here. Only guts. You act like a turtle. Hiding in your shell."

Evan ignored him. He turned away and sat at a glass table in the blue section. It was quiet here.

The dealer was a machine—a robotic arm hanging from the ceiling. A screen embedded in the table lit up.

GAME: LOGISTICS ROUTE.

ENTRY F*E: 1 MONTH.

REWARD: 6 MONTHS.

Evan’s heart pounded against his ribs. One month. If he lost, he would lose thirty days of his life. He would be one month older in a second.

"Place your bet," a computerized voice whispered from the table.

Evan placed his hand on the scanner. The bracelet buzzed.

Minus 1 Month.

His timer dropped. 03 Years, 01 Month, 14 Days.

The game began.

The glass table turned into a 3D map of a busy city. It was a simulation. Tiny trucks moved along the roads. A timer appeared in the corner: 60 Seconds.

"Objective," the voice said. "Deliver the package to Sector 4. Avoid traffic. Avoid accidents."

Evan focused. This was like the strategy games he played at home, but the controller was his finger on the glass. He dragged a blue line to guide the truck.

40 Seconds.

The truck moved fast. Green lights. Clear roads. Evan relaxed slightly. This was easy.

Suddenly, the map flashed red. ACCIDENT ON MAIN STREET.

A tiny digital car crash blocked his truck's path. The truck stopped. The seconds ticked down fast. 25… 24.

"No," Evan whispered. Sweat dripped down his forehead.

He tried to reverse the truck. It was slow. The traffic behind it was building up. The timer was merciless. 15… 14.

If the timer hit zero, the package would be late. He would lose.

"Think," Evan hissed. He looked at the map. The main roads were red with traffic. He needed a shortcut.

He saw a grey line. An alleyway? No, it was a service tunnel. It was risky. It was narrow.

08… 07…

Evan’s finger shook. He dragged the route line into the narrow tunnel. The truck turned sharply. It scraped the walls. It moved slowly.

05…

The truck exited the tunnel.

04…

The destination was just ahead. A glowing green circle.

03…

Another car cut in front of his truck. Evan tapped the ‘Horn’ button frantically. The car moved.

02…

The truck rolled into the green circle.

01…

DELIVERY COMPLETE.

The screen flashed bright gold. The buzzer sounded, but this time it was a pleasant chime.

Evan slumped back in his chair. He gasped for air. His shirt was stuck to his back with sweat. He felt dizzy.

Then, a strange sensation washed over him. It started in his wrist and moved up his arm. It felt like warm water. It felt like drinking a cold glass of water after a long run. It was energy. Pure life.

He looked at his wrist: PROJECTED LIFESPAN: 03 Years, 07 Months, 14 Days.

He had won. He had six more months of life. The heaviness in his chest lifted. He smiled. It was a rush better than any drug. He felt stronger, sharper.

He stood up, his legs steady now. He looked back toward the high-stakes tables. He wasn't a turtle. He was a survivor.

As he turned to leave the table, a shadow fell over him. He felt hot breath on his neck. Someone was standing right behind him.

A voice whispered, low and scratchy, like dry leaves on concrete. "Don't get too happy, kid. Beginner’s luck expires fast."