2025-10-14 14:05:53The morning after the storm, the city smelled of wet dust and diesel. Jason crossed the empty street with a cheap umbrella and the weight of the holographic cross pressing against his chest. The screen had flashed its cruel reminder at dawn:
> TASK: Amass and spend $500 000 in meaningful aid within five days. REWARD: +15 days of life. PENALTY: Emotional erosion — Stage 2. Five days. A number so small it felt like an insult. He rented a desk in a shared workspace that still hummed from the previous night’s power cut. The ceiling dripped. His laptop fan wheezed. He named his page The Orphan Horizon Project—one sentence of code, a blank donate button, and a mission that sounded impossible. By noon he had called everyone he’d ever met—former co-workers, small charities, classmates who barely remembered him. Most answered with sympathy, none with help. Then a stranger’s voice came from behind him, low and confident. “Maybe what you need is presentation.” Jason looked up. A man stood there holding two cups of coffee, one stretched toward him. “Name’s Malik,” he said with a bright, easy smile. “Saw your post about the orphan project. You’re fighting a losing war. I like that.” Jason hesitated, then accepted the coffee. “I’m fighting for kids who don’t get tomorrow.” “Then let’s buy them one,” Malik said. “I’ve done marketing for social startups. Let me help.” Jason studied him—neat beard, calm eyes, not rich but tidy. Something about his tone sounded practiced, but the warmth in his words made it hard to doubt him. “Alright,” Jason said. “We’ll try.” --- They worked late into the night. Malik handled emails and donors, Jason organized requests and receipts. By midnight, the dashboard blinked—$2 150 raised. Tiny, yet it felt like hope’s first spark. “See?” Malik grinned. “People care. They just need someone who knows how to talk to them.” Jason smiled back, the first real smile in days. “Then we talk louder.” --- Day 2 The fund exploded. Malik’s pitches were magic. Local bloggers shared Jason’s orphan story, describing him as the boy who sells time for hope. Small donations poured in—$5, $10, sometimes $100. By evening, the total climbed past $80 000. Jason barely slept. Every sound outside the workspace felt like a countdown. But the screen on the cross pulsed quietly: > Meaningful aid must equal meaningful intent. Jason didn’t fully understand, only that it wanted him to spend as honestly as he earned. He sent money to verified orphan shelters, paid overdue hospital bills, and delivered food vouchers to street kids he knew by name. At dawn, the total reset: $52 000 remaining usable balance. Half gone. He whispered, “So it only counts what’s real.” Malik clapped his shoulder. “Still, that’s impact. You’re doing what governments don’t.” Jason nodded, but his chest felt tight. Stage 2 emotional erosion. He didn’t feel tired, or sad, or happy—just muted, like the world’s volume was dropping. --- Day 3 The local news caught his story. A morning host interviewed Jason via video call: “A 22-year-old orphan fighting to save others. What drives you?” He almost said fear, but he smiled instead. “Because no one should die feeling forgotten.” Malik stood off-camera, cue cards in hand. “Perfect,” he mouthed. By sunset, donations passed $310 000. Jason stared at the numbers until his eyes blurred. Then his phone buzzed—a private number. Victor’s voice slid through the speaker. “You’re making noise, boy. Be careful who handles your money. Fame burns faster than pity.” Jason’s throat went dry. “You think I’m scared?” “I think you’re predictable,” Victor said. “And predictability is easy to buy.” The call ended. Jason turned slowly to Malik, who was busy drafting the next campaign. For a second, he thought of Victor’s words. Be careful who handles your money. But Malik noticed his stare and laughed. “What?” “Nothing,” Jason said. “Just tired.” --- Day 4 The fourth day was chaos. A promised sponsorship from a big company vanished overnight—contract withdrawn without reason. Rumors spread online that Jason’s fund was a scam. He scrolled through comments, each one a blade: “Fake orphan!” “Another pity thief!” Malik slammed his laptop shut. “Ignore them. I’ll handle it.” Jason grabbed his wrist. “How?” “Connections. I’ll reach out to the same bloggers. They owe me.” He rushed out. Jason watched him leave, unease crawling under his skin. He checked the cross. > Time: 41 hours left. Valid funds: $390 000. They were so close. That night Jason visited the shelter he’d grown up in, its cracked walls shining with cheap paint. The kids ran to him screaming his name. He told stories until dawn, and for the first time since the diagnosis, he felt alive. When he returned, Malik was waiting by the door, dark circles under his eyes. “Had to clean up some mess,” he said. “Someone tried to freeze our account. It’s fine now.” Jason exhaled. “You’re a miracle worker.” Malik smiled faintly. “Maybe just a lucky one.” --- Day 5 – The Deadline The final sunrise was red as spilled ink. Jason hadn’t slept in forty hours. The cross ticked like a heartbeat. > 14 hours remaining. Fund balance: $470 000. He needed thirty thousand more. Malik suggested a livestream—Jason speaking directly to donors. They set it up in the old workspace, wires snaking across the floor, one dying camera taped together. Jason looked into the lens and said, “I was born with nothing. I’m dying with little. But I’ll leave something behind that breathes.” When the stream ended, donations flooded in. At 11:42 p.m., the counter hit $501 230. Jason sank to his knees, laughing and crying at once. The cross glowed brilliant gold: > Task complete. Reward: +15 days. He whispered, “We did it.” Malik knelt beside him, clapping his back. “You did it, brother.” Jason looked at him, eyes shining. “No—we did.” The lights flickered. For a moment, the screen projected a faint extra line Jason hadn’t noticed before: > Integrity check pending… He frowned. “What’s that?” Malik’s smile froze for half a heartbeat. “Probably nothing.” --- At 2 a.m., Jason returned to lock the workspace. Malik had left his tablet behind. It kept buzzing with notifications—encrypted messages scrolling across. One line caught Jason’s eye before the screen dimmed: > To: Victor B.—Transfer confirmed. Account collapse scheduled. Jason’s breath caught. He tapped the screen, but it demanded a password. He stared at Malik’s chair, at the empty coffee cup still steaming. The cross pulsed crimson. > Alert: Integrity Breach Detected. Jason whispered, “No…” Outside, Malik’s shadow moved under the streetlight, phone pressed to his ear. His voice was low but clear: “It’s done, sir. The fund will fold by morning. He’ll never see it coming.” The rain began again, washing the city clean of sound as Jason stepped into the doorway, eyes wide, heart breaking all over.
Previous Chapter
Latest Chapter
chapter 9: legacy threat
The night outside Jason’s window was still, almost too still. The city’s pulse, the one that usually roared with sirens and laughter, felt muted—like the world itself was holding its breath for him.Malik’s words wouldn’t leave his head. Victor is your father. The phrase looped again and again until it lost all meaning and then came back sharper, more painful. He sat there in silence, gripping the cross that had started everything. It felt heavier now—as if the metal had absorbed his shame.He wanted to scream, to punch something, to destroy every wall that kept the truth hidden all these years. But the only sound in the room was the slow beeping of the holographic screen and Stephanie’s uneven breathing beside him.Her body was getting weaker. The extensions she had gained by sharing his tasks were fading. Her skin had gone pale, lips cracked, hands trembling even when she tried to smile at him.“Jason…” she whispered. “You’re shaking again.”“I’m fine.”“You haven’t eaten.”He laugh
chapter 8: rekindled alliance
The night Malik betrayed him, the city didn’t sleep. Neon bled across the puddles, and Jason walked without feeling his feet. Every light seemed to whisper a different version of his failure.He had given everything — his last days, his last strength — to a cause meant to outlive him. And now, before dawn, the fund that carried his name was about to vanish into the same dark that had taken his parents.He stopped at a bridge and stared down at the black water. The cross against his chest glowed faint red, like a heartbeat that didn’t trust itself.> INTEGRITY BREACH DETECTEDACCOUNT COLLAPSE IN 06 HOURSJason’s reflection trembled in the water. “Why do you keep giving me hope just to take it back?”The screen flickered once more:> Resolve Test Active.He laughed under his breath. “Then watch me resolve.”He turned from the bridge and headed toward the one place he swore never to go again — the glass tower of V Industries, Victor’s domain. If Malik worked for Victor, maybe the damage
chapter 7: the million gambit
The morning after the storm, the city smelled of wet dust and diesel. Jason crossed the empty street with a cheap umbrella and the weight of the holographic cross pressing against his chest. The screen had flashed its cruel reminder at dawn:> TASK: Amass and spend $500 000 in meaningful aid within five days.REWARD: +15 days of life.PENALTY: Emotional erosion — Stage 2.Five days. A number so small it felt like an insult.He rented a desk in a shared workspace that still hummed from the previous night’s power cut. The ceiling dripped. His laptop fan wheezed. He named his page The Orphan Horizon Project—one sentence of code, a blank donate button, and a mission that sounded impossible.By noon he had called everyone he’d ever met—former co-workers, small charities, classmates who barely remembered him. Most answered with sympathy, none with help.Then a stranger’s voice came from behind him, low and confident.“Maybe what you need is presentation.”Jason looked up. A man stood there
chapter 6: strategic resolve
The rain followed him home, whispering like an echo that refused to die.Jason walked with his hood up, every step heavy, every breath tight. The city still looked the same — neon lights, tired streets — but he wasn’t the same anymore.The system had changed him. Money had changed him. Pain had carved new steel into his bones.And yet, beneath all that, a quiet ember still glowed — a memory of what he once was.He reached his apartment, dripping on the floorboards, and pulled out the glowing cross.“Grandpa,” he whispered, “you said faith marks blood. Maybe this… this is my mark.”The holographic screen flickered awake.> System Notice:Stability restored: 78 %. New potential detected.Generate long-term task?Jason exhaled. “Yes. Something that matters.”> Task Generated – ‘Build Meaning From Pain’Objective: Create a self-sustaining platform that helps at least one hundred orphans within thirty days.Reward: +10 days life, Wealth multiplier unlocked.He stared at the glowing words.
chapter 5 : hidden costs
Morning came, but the sky stayed dark.Jason hadn’t slept.He sat on the rooftop of the old hostel, soaked to the bone, staring at the glowing city that never cared he existed.Victor’s words replayed in his mind over and over like poison on repeat.> “Your mother always said your eyes looked just like mine.”It didn’t make sense.How could Victor know anything about his parents when Jason had been told they died when he was just three?He tried to remember their faces, but all he saw were silhouettes behind smoke — flashes of gentle laughter, the smell of old perfume, and then nothing. Just cold emptiness.His chest ached.And deep inside that ache, the screen pulsed awake again.> System Log:Warning – Emotional stability below threshold.Processing trauma response.Task queue recalibrated.Jason wiped his wet face, muttering, “What now?”The holographic text formed slowly, almost softly, like the screen itself pitied him.> New task: “Transform loss into value. Invest meaningfully.
chapter 4: penalty pain
The city was gray that morning — a dull, merciless gray that felt like it had been painted just to match Jason’s chest.Rainwater gathered in the cracks of the street as if even the sky couldn’t stop crying for him.He sat on the bus, silent, staring out through a window smeared with fog and fingerprints. In his pocket, the holographic screen rested against his thigh like a silent bomb. It hadn’t glowed since midnight, after the task, but its presence made his pulse quicken every few seconds — the memory of its voice echoing in his mind.> “Task failed. One day deducted. Memory penalty initiated.”He didn’t understand what it meant until morning, when he woke up and tried to remember something that wasn’t there.Something small.Something human.He sat up, hand pressed to his head, trying to recall the face of a boy — his only childhood friend at the orphanage. But when he tried to picture him, all he saw was a blur. He couldn’t remember the boy’s name, his voice, or even what they us
You may also like
Harvey York's Rise to Power
A Potato-Loving Wolf4.0M viewsTop Expert in Floraville
Earth at Dawn164.8K viewsSecretly Rich Son in Law
Banin SN191.6K viewsThe Ultimate Commander Cassian
AFM31152.5K viewsTHE HIDDEN KING
Ciro-Grip132 viewsHEIR TO POWER
Hop-Grip412 viewsI WON THE LOTTERY!!
Pen🖊 Dragon 1.8K viewsThe Return of the God level Son in Law
Maemae429 views