My finger taps the virtual "BUY" button on my phone screen.
The screen flickers violently. Battery: 6%.
[Order Executed: $38.50 USD → 44 Shares of BRZL @ $0.875.]
A blue confirmation message flashes on the screen. My heart sinks. The $38.50 is gone — turned into numbers, into nothing. Just shares of a failing robot company.
The stock chart fills my dying phone screen. BRZL: $0.87. Still red with down arrow. My breath catches. 89.2% chance, the System said. 10.8% chance of ruin. The numbers feel huge, terrifying.
I hold the phone tightly, like it's the only thing keeping me going. The cold wind blows through my thin shirt, chilling me to the bone. I shiver hard. My teeth chatter. The alley looms behind me, dark and hungry. If this fails… I'll be digging through a dumpster. Maybe for real.
The timer glows blue in my vision: 22:30… 22:29…
Seconds crawl. Each one feels like ice forming on my skin. I stare at the phone. The tiny line graph. BRZL wobbles. $0.86. Down another cent. My heart hammers against my ribs. 10.8% chance. 10.8% chance. $0.85.
Panic claws up my throat. "No," I whisper. "No no no!" This is it. The 10.8%. I lost. I lost everything. I'm down to pocket lint and a dying phone. The cold feels deeper. Sharper, like knives. $0.84.
I squeeze my eyes shut. I can't watch. The timer mocks me: 22:20… 22 hours left and I have nothing. Increased destitution starts now. What's worse than freezing in an alley with zero dollars? Sleeping under a highway bridge? Eating from the dumpster? My stomach churns at the thought.
My phone buzzes, hard. Once, Twice. A jittery rhythm.
I force my eyes open. Battery: 4%. Dangerously low.
The chart… it's moving.
$0.85.
Up a cent? Did it just…?
$0.86.
Another cent. The red down arrow flickers. Vanishes. The line wiggles sideways. Green numbers flash on the screen: +0.02 (2.35%).
My breath hitches. Is this…?
Suddenly, the line spikes. Straight up. Like a rocket.
$0.88. $0.91. $0.95. $1.00!
Green numbers flash wildly: +0.13 (14.94%). +0.17 (20.59%). The percentage climbs, Fast.
My mouth hangs open. I stare. Disbelieving.
$1.05. $1.10. $1.15!
The blue System text flashes over it all:
[Projection Validated. Rebound Threshold Reached.]
[Current Value: $1.17 USD per Share.]
[Total Portfolio Value: $51.48 USD.]
[Recommendation: Liquidate Position. Secure Gains.]
[Sell All? (Y/N)]
The 'Y' glows. Urgent. My phone screen flickers again. Battery: 3%. It's dying. I need to act fast. I didn't hesitate and press the 'Y' quickly.
[Sell Order Executed: 44 Shares @ $1.172.]
[Funds Credited: $51.57 USD.]
[Total Liquid Assets: $51.57 USD.]
The numbers burn into my flickering screen. Then the app vanishes. My home screen appears. Battery: 2%. The blue timer still glows: 22:10… 22:09…
I have money. Real money. $51.57. More than I started with. But… but it's trapped. Inside my dying phone. In some digital account I can't touch. I need cash now. For food. For… something warm. The wind howls down the street. I shiver violently. My fingers are going numb.
"How?" I whisper, staring at the phone like it's a magic rock. "How do I get the cash?" Panic starts to rise again. Having digital money is useless if I can't use it. My stomach growls, a painful reminder. The phone is my lifeline, and it's bleeding power.
The blue System box flashes back. Efficient. Cold.
[Resource Optimization: Phase 2.]
[Accessing Local Service Network…](Battery 1%)*
[Identifying Cash Access Point…](Within 0.5 Miles)*
A map flickers onto my phone screen. A blinking blue dot – that's me. A red dot pulses a few blocks away. 'QuickCash ATM - 24 HOURS'. The phone buzzes weakly. Battery: 1%.
"Half a mile?" I gasp. My legs feel like lead. My hip throbs from slamming into the counter. My stomach feels hollow. But $51.57 is just sitting there. Taunting me. And the timer… 21:55… 21:54… I still need $100. $51.57 isn't enough. But it's warmth. It's food. It's not the alley.
I push off the wall. My body protests. Every muscle aches. Every joint feels stiff with cold. I start walking. Fast as I can. Which isn't fast. My worn sneakers slap the cold pavement. I clutch the dying phone like it's made of gold. The blue dot moves slowly on the map. The red dot seems miles away.
Battery: 1%. The screen dims. Please, please hold on.
I pass closed shops. Dark windows. A few late-night bars spill noise and warm yellow light. The smell of beer and fried food makes me dizzy. I keep walking. Focus on the blinking dot. Focus on putting one foot in front of the other. The cold bites my ears. My nose runs. I wipe it on my sleeve. The juice stain is crusty now.
Finally. A bright green sign glows ahead: 'QUICKCASH'. The ATM glows inside a little plexiglass booth, like a beacon, like salvation.
I stumble towards it. My fingers are so cold they fumble with the handle. I yank the heavy door open. I feel blessed as slightly warmer air hits me. I slump against the inside wall, gasping. The timer glows: 21:30… 21:29…
My phone screen is almost black. Battery: 1%. Holding on by a thread. I pull up the banking app the System hijacked. My balance: $51.57. The 'Withdraw Cash' button glows. My finger trembles as I tap it.
[Enter Amount:]
I need cash. But I need the task. $100. I have $51.57. I need… $48.43 more. But I need to eat. I need… something.
"Twenty," I whisper. My voice cracks. I type 20. The machine whirs. Bills slide out — crisp, green, real.
I snatch them. Twenty dollars. Real cash in my hand. It feels solid. Powerful. I shove them deep into my pocket. The phone screen flickers... then goes black, completely dead.
Darkness. Silence inside the booth. Just the hum of the ATM and the glow of its screen. I have twenty dollars. And a dead phone. And $31.57 still trapped somewhere in the digital void. Useless without the phone to access it.
The System timer still glows in my vision, unaffected: 21:20… 21:19…
I have twenty dollars. I need eighty more. And no phone. No way to do another magic stock trick. The cold dread starts creeping back. Twenty dollars buys a cheap meal. Maybe a crappy coffee and a stale donut. It doesn't buy a motel. It doesn't get me to $100.
Across the street, a flickering neon sign catches my eye. 'NITE OWL MOTEL'. It looks cheap. Probably crawling with bugs. But it has walls. A roof. Maybe heat.
A price is scrawled on a small board under the sign: $49.99 + Tax/Night.
Forty-nine ninety-nine. Plus tax. Over fifty bucks. More than my trapped $31.57. Way more than the twenty in my pocket.
Hope — fragile and cold — flickers. If I can just get the rest of my money… if I can reach $51.57 in cash… I could pay for the room. Hide. Be safe for one night. Forget the $100 task, just for a few hours.
But how? The phone is dead. The System is silent. I have twenty dollars and desperation.
The motel sign glows. A promise of warmth. Of safety. Of not freezing.
The timer ticks: 21:10… 21:09…
Eighty dollars to go. One dead phone. One freezing body. And a blue box in my head that got me this far… and then left me stranded.
"Now what, genius?" I mutter to the empty ATM booth, the dead phone heavy in my pocket. The twenty-dollar bills feel like thin paper against the crushing weight of the task still hanging over me. The motel light flickers, mocking the distance between almost-safe and utterly broke.