Seconds To Zero

CHAPTER 7

The elevator did not stop at the rookie floor. It kept going up. The metal box shook and groaned. Evan looked at the screen above the door. The numbers climbed higher and higher.

Level 4. High Stakes.

The doors opened with a hiss. The air here was different. Downstairs, the rookie pits smelled like sweat and fear. Here, it smelled cold. It smelled like ozone and expensive cologne. The carpet was thick and red, like dried blood.

"Move," the guard behind Evan said. He shoved Evan forward.

Evan stumbled into the arena. It was not a big, loud stadium. It was a small, round room. The walls were made of dark glass. Spectators stood behind the glass, watching silently. They held drinks in their hands. They were not cheering. They were studying.

In the center of the room stood a table. It was black and shiny. On the other side of the table waited a man.

He was old. In this city, being old was rare. It meant you won a lot. It meant you stole a lot of time from others. His hair was white, and his face had deep lines. He wore a gray suit. He looked bored.

This was Silas. The Veteran.

"A child," Silas said. His voice was dry, like paper. "The system sends me a child."

Evan gripped the edge of the table. His palms were wet. "I don’t want to be here. My rank is too low."

"The algorithm decides," Silas said. He tapped the table. A holographic screen appeared between them. "Do you know how to play 'Gravity Shift'?"

Evan looked at the screen. It was a game of physics and luck. A digital ball would drop. The players had to bet life-hours on where it would land.

"I know the rules," Evan said.

"Good." Silas smiled. It was not a kind smile. It showed too many teeth. "Then let us make it interesting."

The game began.

Round one was fast. Evan played safe. He bet two days. He won two days.

Round two. Evan bet a week. He won a week.

He felt a tiny spark of hope. “I can do this,” he thought. “He is old. His reflexes are slow.”

That was the first trap.

"You are careful," Silas said softly. He leaned forward. His eyes were gray and empty. "But careful men do not get rich. Careful men starve slowly."

Silas moved his hand. He slid a slider on his side of the table. The hologram turned red.

"The Multiplier," Silas whispered. "I activate the ten-times multiplier. If you win, you gain ten years. If you lose, you lose ten years. Do you accept it?"

Evan stared at the numbers. Ten years.

If he won, he could leave the red zone forever. He could buy food. He could buy safety. He could sleep without fear.

Silas looked nervous. His hand twitched. He looked at the exit, as if he wanted to run away. He looked like a man who made a mistake. He looked weak.

“He is baiting me,” Evan realized.

The thought hit him like cold water. Silas was acting. He wanted Evan to think he was scared. He wanted Evan to get greedy.

Evan took a deep breath. He looked at the odds. The chance of winning the big multiplier was only 15%. It was a bad bet. It was a suicide bet.

"No," Evan said firmly.

Silas stopped twitching. His face went stone cold.

"I reject the multiplier," Evan said. "I bet low. Standard odds."

Evan pressed the blue button. Safe. Smart.

The digital ball dropped from the top of the hologram. It bounced off digital pegs. Ping. Ping. Ping.

It fell toward the blue zone. Evan’s zone.

Evan let out a breath. He had made the right choice. He ignored the trap. He was going to win small, but he was going to win.

The ball was one inch from the blue slot.

Suddenly, the table hummed. It was a sound so low, only a dog could hear it. But Evan felt it in his fingers.

The digital ball shuddered. It did not bounce naturally. It jerked to the left. It moved as if a magnet pulled it.

“Glitch?” Evan thought.

No. Not a glitch. The ball skipped over the blue slot. It rolled heavily into the black slot.

ZERO.

The word flashed on the table.

"House wins," the mechanical voice announced.

Evan froze. "It moved," he said. "The ball moved on its own."

Silas did not look at the table. He looked at Evan. He picked up a glass of water and took a sip.

"Physics is a suggestion here," Silas said. "The House controls the gravity. You thought you were playing against me? No, boy. We are both playing for the House. And the House decides if you lose."

Evan looked at his wrist. The numbers on his bio-watch were spinning down.

10 years... 5 years... 1 year...

It didn't stop. The penalty for losing a "safe" bet in the high tier was not just the bet. It was the entry f*e.

6 months... 3 months...

A loud alarm buzzed. It was the sound of death.

CRITICAL WARNING.

The numbers on his wrist turned from yellow to a deep, bloody red.

REMAINING LIFESPAN: 48 HOURS.

Evan fell to his knees. He felt the drain instantly. His vision blurred. His heart hammered against his ribs, trying to pump thick, heavy blood. He felt cold, so incredibly cold. Forty-eight hours. Two days. That was all he had left.

"Take him," Silas said. He waved his hand like he was swatting a fly.

Two guards stepped out of the shadows. They were big. They wore black helmets that hid their faces. They grabbed Evan by his arms.

They dragged him across the red carpet. Evan’s legs felt like rubber. He could not stand.

"Wait," Evan gasped. "I... I need to cash out what is left."

The guards did not answer.

They reached the elevator doors. But they did not press the button for the lobby. They did not take him to the exit.

They dragged him past the elevators.

Evan tried to dig his heels into the carpet. "Where are we going? The exit is that way!"

One of the guards twisted Evan’s arm. Pain shot up to his shoulder. Evan cried out.

They pushed him toward a heavy gray door in the back of the room. There was no sign on the door. Only a small symbol painted in yellow: a trash can.

"Disposal," the guard grunted.

"No!" Evan shouted. "I still have two days! The rules say I have two days!"

"Rules changed," the guard said.

The gray door opened. Inside, it was dark. A long, concrete corridor stretched down into the blackness. It smelled of chemicals and rot. It sloped downward, deep into the belly of the building.

"Please!" Evan begged. He looked back at the table.

Silas was already setting up the next game. He did not look up.

The guards threw Evan into the dark corridor. He hit the cold floor hard. The impact knocked the wind out of him.

He rolled over, gasping for air. He looked up just as the heavy gray door began to close. The light from the arena narrowed to a sliver.

"Welcome to the basement, kid," a voice echoed from the darkness ahead.

The door slammed shut with a deafening boom.

Evan was alone in the dark. The red numbers on his wrist glowed, counting down the seconds of his life.

47 hours, 59 minutes...