Gervio, a petty gangster with a god complex, stared at Vincent. His eyes were filled with anger as he furiously asked, "Where is the money, Vincent?"

Vincent wiped the blood from his lips and attempted to stand.

The sun was setting, and the bystanders watching put their heads to the ground. Anyone who saw anything in this neighborhood, surrounded by shattered windows and aging, boarded-up cars, claimed ignorance whenever the police arrived—assuming they ever did.

"I don't have it. They robbed me!" Vincent spat out.

Gervio spat on the ground in frustration and kicked Vincent's shoes—the ones his goons had ripped off his feet to inspect for hidden money.

"Why the hell do you play with my money, Vincent?" Gervio raged, grabbing Vincent's throat. "For heaven's sake! Do you enjoy it when people mess with your money?"

As Vincent looked at Gervio's bulging veins, the only thought he had was 'die.'

"No," Vincent replied.

It was ironic coming from Gervio—the same man who placed a huge loan on Vincent because he 'saved' him from getting stabbed when Vincent accidentally hit Gervio's car with his bicycle two years ago. What Gervio meant was that he stopped himself from stabbing Vincent to death—thus Vincent owed him for that.

Gervio sighed. "So, why are you trying to steal from me? Don't you know how damn expensive it is to produce meth?"

Honestly, Vincent didn't. All he did was sell the meth Gervio gave him to the addicts to pay off said loan.

"Gervio," one of his men called to him. They were standing by his black Nissan, music blaring out the windows.

Gervio looked at him, annoyed. "What?"

The man gestured to Vincent's arm. "Check under his armpit. People have been taping it there."

Shit.

Gervio turned back to Vincent, noticing his nervous expression. "Oh? Haha. You are one kind of smartass. I didn't even think of that!" He grabbed Vincent's shirt and ripped the sleeve.

Vincent grabbed Gervio's hand, but in that instant, Gervio drew his knife and pressed it against Vincent's throat. "Don't try that shit again."

Vincent bit down on his lip as he released his grip from Gervio's arm.

Gervio seized Vincent's arm and lifted it, revealing the $200 bills in a small plastic bag duct-taped under his armpit.

Gervio turned to one of his men, who had given him the suggestion. "How the hell did you know, man? Hahah. You turned into a goddamn oracle last night?"

"Nah, it's a new trick two other guys tried to pull on me last week."

"Shit. Those scums are always adapting." Gervio sighed before looking at Vincent again. "I don't know if you are missing half your brain or something, but you better start appreciating how nice I am to your dumbass. If I were my dad or anyone else, you would be dead."

Vincent was supposed to appreciate this treatment? He was forced into this damn 'business' because of an accident! He lost everything because of Gervio! He had no idea when he last even saw his family.

It wasn't like they could know the circumstances he was in, nor was he going to tell them. Hell, they didn't even know if he was alive.

It was both because of ego and fear of safety, to be honest. He knew they wouldn't keep their mouths shut, and once the information got to the police, he would die before he could go to court or get killed in prison.

Gervio took out a big plastic bag from his pocket and hurled it at Vincent. He barely managed to catch it.

"You see that shit? I need you to sell it by the end of the day. The regulars," Gervio said, taking a cigarette from his pocket. He didn't light it; he simply liked the taste of it. "I am giving you another chance. Don't screw this one up."

By the end of the day…? What the hell?

Gervio tapped Vincent's shoulder before walking into his black Nissan car that was parked near the sidewalk. "And make sure to answer your damn phone when I call you!"

Vincent looked at Gervio as he drove off at high speed, hoping he would crash into a truck like his shitty father.

But that didn't happen. Vincent really couldn't have anything in this godforsaken world.

He sighed and used the abandoned house wall to stand.

Damn, there's a lot of blood in my mouth, he thought.

He spat out the blood before entering the public, walking on the sidewalk, limping on his right leg.

He looked at the package. Inside it were 17 smaller packages.

Methheads always wanted the lot but couldn't afford more than a single gram.

As Vincent limped, he noticed the gazes of the elderly and children—both from those in the backseat of cars that drove on the cracked road and those that walked on the sidewalk alongside him.

Some kids snickered, making jokes, "John, look at you in the future!"

"No way! That's you in ten years!"

"Don't make those jokes!"

It was terribly ironic. When Vincent was in high school, his friends often made jokes like that, thinking it would never actually happen to them, to him.

Sometimes, he wondered if it was karma. It wasn't something he believed in, but with how shitty his life became, what else could explain it?

The money he tried to hide, Vincent was planning on using it for a taxi to get the hell out of this damn poverty-riddled town and travel to the furthest city he could afford, probably Memphis. Anything would be better than this shithole; Tennessee was as good a location as any.

He just needed money. He needed money to escape this situation. But even after he escaped, he needed money to get food, and to afford a place to sleep. Even then, he needed some damn protection. Gervio wasn't going to let him escape for too long, and Vincent was NOT going to the police. But damn, he wished he could.

Vincent even dreamt of rushing into a police office and telling them everything—then getting gunned down on his way to the court by Gervio or his endless amount of friends.

Every time he thought about it, he felt like he was going insane. To think he had to live like this.

His phone vibrated, and he dreaded knowing there was only one person who had this phone contact number: Gervio.

Vincent grit his teeth as he took out the phone, but to his surprise, it wasn't a call. It was a black rectangular pop-up.

DO YOU WANT MONEY?

What the…? A damn scam? Or is that bastard playing with me?

With a click of his tongue, Vincent closed the pop-up and put the phone back in his pocket. He'd factory reset his phone tomorrow.

Vincent dragged his black hair back and then walked onto 'the bus stop of death,' a bridge near the park they were at. He leaned against the railing and gazed at the garbage flowing down the river below. The area got its name because the 40-foot bridge was as good as any for a permanent plunge, and people in this neighborhood were always desperate for it. Those walking by probably thought Vincent was thinking the same, given his bruises and bloodied mouth, but he just rolled his eyes at them.

Rest assured, strangers, I still want to live.

If Vincent had money… he would actually like living, though. But instead… he had to 'live' like a slave.

Damn it. This just gets worse the more I think about it. Please, God. Give me money and kill Gervio. That's all I want. Is that too much to ask for?

Once again, Vincent's phone vibrated.

WHAT IF I CAN GIVE YOU BOTH?

RICHES AND SAFETY

What the hell? Did a genie get my phone number?

Christ, Vincent closed the pop-up again.

Of course, he wanted all the damn money in the world. Money ruled everything. With it, he could obtain power, safety, freedom, and a chance to enjoy life.

Vincent sighed, knowing he was never going to have such a life.

In the distance, he spotted one of the methheads he usually sold to. Vincent looked at the man's wrinkled face and bald head with empty thoughts.

He was someone that used to be married. After his daughter died, he started taking drugs, slowly increasing to the harder ones. It was a sad tale of a man who sank into grief and only found his 'salvation' in drugs.

After a while, Vincent looked at the package of meth in his hand.

He didn't have sudden shame or sadness. Instead, he just thought, Was I going to keep doing this till I also became old? Like him? Hopeless and depressed?

Vincent guessed he really was a shitty person to be thinking so selfishly. But his options in life were limited. He had to be selfish to survive.

Yet… he hated surviving like this. He wanted to live by his means. He wanted freedom and agency. For that, he needed money.

He didn't want to be this bastard's TOY!

Vincent always had thoughts like those swirling in him, but self-preservation always kept him from making drastic decisions. Unfortunately, it nearly came too late that day.

In a rage, Vincent nearly threw the bag of meth into the river. But he stopped himself.

He stared at the meth bag in his hand that lay over the railing.

He imagined dropping it, but he knew he couldn't. As he pulled his hand backward, someone jacked him.

Vincent turned in shock. The same methhead he saw earlier looked at him crazed.

The man pulled out a knife as he rushed for the bag, screaming, "Give me!"

What the…

This bastard was threatening to stab him over this shit?!

He charged at Vincent. Vincent clicked his tongue and threw the meth as hard as he could.

The man dropped his charge and snatched it up, running away as fast as his feet would take him.

Vincent stood still, baffled and confused about what had just occurred. Despite the fact he had many similar experiences to this, it rarely ever happened in public.

At least he was safe— Reality dawned back on Vincent. What he just did was basically an invitation to his murder.

Ah… fuck!

Vincent looked around sharply, hoping Gervio wasn't hiding somewhere, spying on him, or one of Gervio's friends wasn't at least.

Even if Vincent threw it away to protect himself, Gervio wasn't going to give a shit.

There was no way that one of them wasn't watching, not after Vincent was given a deadline to sell this thing.

What the hell am I going to do?

Vincent's phone didn't buzz this time, but rather, it rang. Anxiety raced across his veins as he answered it.

There was silence. Gervio didn't say anything. Then finally, after thirty seconds, he said calmly, "Why the hell did I just see you throw away my shit? I gave you a test, an obvious fake robbery, and you failed it like a damn champ. I knew you were dumb but suicidal? That's new."

The bastard must have acted like he drove far away to spy on Vincent.

Gervio continued, "I am going to slit your throat, man. Shit, I am going to do more than that—"

Vincent ended the call.

You know, I think I just had enough of hearing him talk. Maybe I would just sell this phone and use its money to get out of this town and just hope to hell I don't get caught before I can leave for the next city.

Haha… as if that was possible!

Vincent was losing his mind, making up fantasies.

He sprinted forth, running on the bridge even with his limp, gunning for buildings to gain cover.

His phone constantly rang; the bastard was trying to get him to answer.

Then, amidst the calls, the black pop-up showed up once more.

DON'T YOU WANT TO BE FREE FROM YOUR SHACKLES? WILL YOU GET ENOUGH MONEY TO EVER ESCAPE? OR WILL YOU PERPETUALLY BE A SLAVE?

What the… This didn't feel like some regular pop-up. It was a lot more personal.

Vincent didn't think it was a trick by Gervio anymore, not after that threat from him.

Beep! Beep!

Vincent turned back and saw Gervio's car pull up to the bridge and Gervio jumping out, running after him. As he ran, Gervio brandished a gun from his pocket!

Damn it! Sure, there were people around, but they were all accustomed to gang violence. They would scream and run, but this wasn't new to them at all. Gervio knew he could kill Vincent, and they wouldn't do anything about it.

Vincent turned to run behind another building, but he was too slow as a bullet pierced through his leg.

"Argh!" Vincent screamed as he fell. Shit!

Gervio rushed up and kicked Vincent's head. Immense pain shot through his head, but in that instant, Vincent knew if he did nothing, he would die.

Vincent grabbed Gervio's leg and sank his teeth into it while also using his good leg to kick Gervio's other leg.

Gervio collapsed, smacking his jaw on the railing.

Gervio still had his hand on the gun. He tried to point it at Vincent, but Vincent moved fast, hitting Gervio in the head with a rock.

With a loud swear, Gervio fell back. Immediately, Vincent rushed for the gun.

While that happened, the phone kept buzzing with the same pop-ups.

When Vincent almost grabbed the gun from Gervio's hand, Gervio shot him.

The bullet pierced through Vincent's shoulder. Without delay, another bullet went through his other arm.

Vincent screamed.

Gervio heaved. With blood rushing down his face, he pressed the gun against Vincent's temple. "Die."

Vincent stared at the phone that lay across from him, not knowing why. It couldn't help but...

I CAN SAVE YOU, VINCENT. I CAN GIVE YOU ANOTHER CHANCE AT LIFE, ONE OF RICHES.

FREEDOM, POWER, SAFETY: YOU WILL BE ABLE TO ACHIEVE ALL THESE.

JUST SAY, I ACCEPT THE CONDITION.

Gervio adjusted his finger on the trigger.

Confusion and panic spiraled around Vincent's mind.

Am I going to die? But can this thing save me?! But condition? What condition?!

Gervio pulled the trigger. Before Vincent could hear the bang, he desperately shouted, "I accept the condition!"

Bang!

Suddenly, an intense black light shone from the phone, and everything froze.

Gervio was still glaring at Vincent, but he wasn't moving, nor were any of his expressions changing.

Vincent blinked, confused.

What the hell? No, who the hell is the person behind the phone?

Even his wounds no longer hurt. Vincent pushed Gervio off him, and similar to a statue, Gervio fell back.

His body was fixed in the same position, refusing to change.

That was beyond eerie. Vincent stood up without a limp. He took a step backward, not sure whether to be amazed at the fact he could walk normally or to be terrified at everything that was going on.

Nothing made sense, especially that dark light.

But at least that bastard was dead. Vincent hoped so, at least.

A voice overlapped with multiple tones of men, women, and children spoke out from Vincent's phone.

"CHILD"

The world turned black as a void, leaving Vincent suspended in total darkness. To make matters worse, the heat was replaced with a deathly chill.

Vincent's body hairs stood on end as fear went rampant in his body.

"ANSWER ME, VINCENT KENDRELL TAMERA."

Vincent tried to say something, but words didn't leave his mouth. The beating of his heart grew as he tried to force words.

"Wh… wh… W-who are you?!"

"WHO AM I? THE ONE THAT DESIRES YOU TO BECOME MY CHAMPION, AND ONLY YOU."

Suddenly, static filled Vincent's eardrums. Then, a bright red light rushed into his eyes.

Vincent blinked a couple of times, bewildered. He was no longer near a building mounted by a murderous psycho. Instead, he was in an open area, standing on sharp red and black dirt.