The stench of rot clawed at Jake Yi's throat as he blinked awake.
Again.
Damp concrete pressed against his cheek. The ceiling above him dripped rust-colored water, and the air reeked of unwashed bodies and despair.
This isn't a dream.
His stomach twisted, hollow and raw. Three days without food. Maybe four. Time blurred here, in the Elysium Syndicate's underground garage—a tomb for the living dead. Parasites, they called them. Human ATMs, bleeding years from their lives to spin the Syndicate's cursed wheels.
"Look who's still breathing."
A boot slammed into Jake's ribs. He curled inward, coughing bile, as laughter erupted around him. Chris Liang loomed overhead, his designer sneakers pristine against the grime-coated floor. Even in the Syndicate's hellhole, Chris's smirk stayed sharp enough to cut glass.
"Heard you're down to your last year, Jake." Chris tossed something metallic onto the mattress. A bone, picked clean. "Silverback jackal. Ate the meat myself. Syndicate's chefs really outdid themselves."
Jake's mouth flooded with saliva. His fingers twitched toward the bone. Pathetic. He'd licked sewer moss for less. But Chris's grin widened, and Jake froze.
"Go on," Chris purred. "Beg. Maybe I'll let you gnaw the marrow."
Jaw clenched, Jake shoved the bone aside. The garage erupted in jeers.
"Pride won't fill your guts," Chris sneered. "But hey—when you starve to death tomorrow, I'll make sure Elena hears all about it. Bet she'll mourn."
The name hit like a knife. Elena. The girl who'd shared his ramen just a few months before, who'd laughed at his stupid jokes. The woman who'd stolen his life's work—the Longevity Elixir formula—and left him to rot in this pit.
Jake's vision swam. Not from hunger. From the memories crashing into him.
He'd lived this before.
The golden Chrono-Wheel spinning, devouring a million years of lifespan. The flash of light. Then—this. Waking up here, weaker than ever.
Rebirth. A second chance. Or a cosmic joke.
"Move it, maggots! Chow time!"
A steel door screeched open. A hunched woman wheeled in a dented cart piled with mold-speckled bread and murky water jugs. The Parasites surged forward, clawing at the scraps. Jake stumbled to his feet, legs trembling.
A hand yanked him back.
"Don't bother." The voice was raspy, female. A teenager with scarred cheeks and hollow eyes nodded toward the cart. "New rule. Only Parasites with over five years left get rations."
Jake's pulse spiked. "Since when?"
"Since you became a liability." Chris shouldered past him, snatching two bread rolls. "Why waste food on a corpse?"
The girl—Laney, Jake remembered—leaned closer. "Spin a wheel," she whispered. "Even a white-tier spin gets you a meal ticket. It's your only shot."
Spin a wheel. Gamble his last year for a moldy loaf.
Jake's gaze drifted to the garage's far wall, where a flickering hologram displayed the Syndicate's tiers:
WHITE (1 year) | GREEN (10 years) | BLUE (100 years)
The higher the tier, the bigger the reward—or the swifter the death.
Last time, he'd spun white. Won a Longevity Pill. The Syndicate took it. Gave him crumbs.
But this time…
"White tier." The words slipped out before he could stop them.
Laney gaped. "You're cracked. You've only got—"
"One year. I know." Jake's palms burned. He remembered. In his first life, Chris had spun green, won a century of life. The Syndicate confiscated it, but they'd rewarded him—better food, a private room. Because Chris had value.
Jake's nails dug into his palms. The rules were clear: Spin a higher-tier wheel without enough lifespan, and the Chrono-Wheel took your future. Your potential years. But if you died in debt? The Syndicate didn't care.
A gamble. Betting years he didn't have.
But he'd done this before. Not here. Not like this. In his past life, decades later, he'd met a drifter who'd whispered secrets about the wheels. About patterns. Glitches.
Green-tier Wheel #7. Third spin after lunar midnight. The jackpot aligns.
What time was it now?
"Hey, corpse!" A Syndicate enforcer stomped toward him, baton crackling with blue current. "You spinning or not?"
Jake's mouth went dry. "Green tier."
The garage fell silent.
Chris barked a laugh. "You're begging to die, Yi."
The enforcer grinned, toothless. "Green tier costs ten years, maggot. You got ten?"
"No." Jake held his gaze. "But I'll spin anyway."
A hushed gasp rippled through the Parasites. Laney grabbed his arm. "Jake, don't—they'll make you pay. Even if it kills you."
The enforcer chuckled. "Alright, tough guy. Let's see your stats."
A holographic screen materialized:
[ JAKE YI ]
VITALITY: 1 YEAR, 2 DAYS
TIER: PARASITE (CLASS D)
"One year." The enforcer spat. "Should've guessed. But rules are rules." He grabbed Jake's collar, dragging him toward the door. "Boss'll love this. Debtor spins always get messy."
The Chrono-Wheel chamber stank of ozone and blood.
Syndicate guards lined the walls, pulse rifles humming. In the center, a massive green-hued wheel hovered, its edges shimmering with fractal patterns. The numbers along its rim glowed:
1. MOLDY BREAD LOAF (3 DAYS)
2. RAT POISON (INSTANT DEATH)
3. FESTERING BANDAGE (MINOR HEALING)
4. RUSTY DAGGER (COMMON)
5. COCKROACH SWARM (AREA PLAGUE)
6. 100-YEAR LIFESPAN (LEGENDARY)
7. BROKEN CLOCK (USELESS)
8. MEMORY WIPE (RANDOM HOUR)
9. CURSED COIN (ETERNAL BAD LUCK)
10. FURY BEAST (TITAN CLASS)
Jake's gut churned. The wheel was a joke—a rigged carnival game where nine of ten outcomes would ruin him. But there it was, wedged between cockroaches and cursed coins: the shimmering golden #6. The only prize worth a damn.
Hector Vargas, the Syndicate's pit boss, smirked. "Ten years per spin, maggot. You're already nine years in debt. Spin lands on #2, and your guts'll be painting the walls."
Jake ignored him, fingertips grazing the cold console. His skull throbbed—a familiar pressure building behind his eyes. There. The world fractured.
#6 pulsed like a heartbeat.
His power.
He'd discovered it days ago, starving in the garage: the ability to choose a specific reward.
"Quit stalling!" Hector barked.
Jake focused. The wheel's spin was a hurricane of light, but #6 flickered like a dying star. There. A split-second gap in the chaos. His mind clawed at it, muscles trembling.
CHOOSE.
Agony spiked through his temples. He bit down until his gums bled.
CHOOSE.
The wheel slowed.
#1 – MOLDY BREAD…
No.
#4 – RUSTY DAGGER…
No.
#9 – CURSED COIN…
Jake's vision darkened. He couldn't hold it.
#10 – FURY BEAST…
"Now," a voice hissed in his mind. Not his own.
He slammed his palm on the console.
The wheel lurched.
#6 – 100-YEAR LIFESPAN.
A chime rang out, saccharine and cruel. Golden light erupted, and a pill materialized—a Longevity Elixir, its surface etched with fractal runes.
The chamber froze.
"Impossible," Hector whispered. "The odds…"
Jake collapsed to his knees, blood pooling beneath him. His body felt hollow, like a cracked egg. But he grinned.
Got it.
[ LIFESPAN INCREASED: 100 YEARS ]
[ WARNING: DEBT TO SYNDICATE – 9 YEARS ]
[ CURRENT VITALITY: 91 YEARS, 2 DAYS ]