[00:09:33...]
Still thinking.
Julian's fingers flexed, then froze again. His body wouldn't move.
The light from the floating screen cast a thin glow over the wet pavement, flickering slightly like it could vanish at any second. Somewhere far off, a cheer broke out — muffled by the alley walls — followed by the crackle of another firework overhead. Red sparks lit the sky above, briefly coloring the rooftop edges in bloodlight.
He didn't look up.
The wind pressed against his back, steady and mean.
Then—
A flick of motion.
Julian's right foot lifted, then slammed forward. He didn't plan it. Didn't decide anything. His body moved before his brain caught up. One step. Then another. The deli sign buzzed louder with each pace, its loose wiring popping faintly like static in the cold.
Four strides.
The figure was there. Hunched. Still wrapped in too many jackets, a scarf tied too tight around his jaw. Layers on layers of whatever he could find. A milk crate under him. Fingers in half-torn gloves wrapped around a paper cup with pennies inside. He didn't move. Just stared ahead.
Julian stopped short.
His breath caught. The hundred-dollar bill was already in his hand — crumpled, hot with sweat, damp from his palm. It felt heavier now than when he'd earned it.
No thought.
He crouched fast, shoved the bill into the man's cup, and backed away without a word.
For a half-second, nothing happened.
Then:
[MISSION COMPLETE]
Julian's spine locked.
The light burst into full blue — a sharp flash that washed across the deli wall, the snow-caked sidewalk, his jacket, his eyes. He didn't blink. He couldn't. The cold didn't register anymore. The glow was too bright, too clean, like a sheet of sky peeled open.
More text bloomed before him:
[Reward Unlocked:
Lottery Ticket #772144
Draws in 48 Hours]
He didn't breathe.
His jaw stayed slack, lips parted, eyes tracking the numbers like they might slide off the screen if he blinked.
The beggar looked down at his cup. Then at Julian.
"…Wait. What?"
Julian didn't answer. Didn't move.
The man leaned forward slowly, squinting up beneath his scarf.
"Yo… hey, man… you alright?"
Still nothing.
Julian's fingers twitched at his sides.
The man looked at the bill again, turning it in gloved hands like it might not be real. Then back at Julian. "You—uh, you sure about this?"
Julian's head turned slightly, just enough to face him. His lips moved, but no sound came out.
The glow in front of him flickered again. The screen dimmed a notch, then returned — the lottery number floating now in soft white against the deep blue background. It hovered in midair like it had weight. Like it meant something.
The man stood up slowly, brushing off his knees. The hundred stayed in his hand.
"Well… thanks, I guess," he muttered. "You rich or crazy. Either way, not my problem."
He reached for his shopping cart — metal wheels squeaking slightly — and began dragging it down the sidewalk. One jacket fell off the top. He didn't bother to pick it up.
As he turned the corner, he mumbled under his breath, voice trailing in the cold:
"What's wrong with this guy? Looks like he just saw God… or taxes."
Julian didn't hear him.
His eyes were still fixed forward, locked on the floating numbers. His breath came slow now. Almost even. But his hands — his hands were shaking.
He blinked once.
Then again.
The screen hadn't disappeared.
It stayed exactly where it was, floating at eye level like a digital ghost. Its light flickered soft and cold, pulsing like a heartbeat in standby mode.
The numbers hadn't changed either.
[Lottery Ticket #772144]
[Draw Date: January 2nd, 2000 – 6PM]
He read it once. Then again. Then again.
Still there.
Still real.
Julian took a slow step backward, like he was expecting the glow to vanish if he moved too fast. It didn't. It followed — not with motion, but by staying fixed in front of him as if space itself bent to keep it near.
He reached up, slowly. Tried to touch it.
Nothing.
His fingers passed through it like fog.
The screen didn't flicker. Didn't respond. It just floated, quiet and patient.
Julian's arms dropped back to his sides.
Then the cold came back. Fast.
It slammed into his legs first, then clawed up his chest and settled in his neck. His jaw tightened. His coat wasn't enough. He curled his hands into fists and shoved them inside his sleeves.
He looked left. Then right. Nothing.
The street was empty again.
No one around.
No witnesses.
No explanation.
Julian turned slowly and backed up toward the deli wall. His shoulder touched the bricks. They were rough and wet with condensation, like the building itself had been sweating through the cold. He leaned there a second, trying to ground himself. Trying to pull breath into lungs that still hadn't caught up.
Then he reached for his pocket.
Fingers trembling, he pulled out his flip phone — the old kind, scuffed and cracked, the screen barely lit.
He snapped it open.
The backlight glowed blue for a second, then settled to dim gray.
He scrolled to Contacts.
His thumb hesitated.
First number: Malik.
He clicked.
Dial tone rang once. Then twice.
Then four times.
Voicemail.
Beep.
Julian snapped the phone shut before the message started.
Second number: Daniel.
He hit call.
It didn't even ring.
Just a flat tone.
Disconnected.
He cursed under his breath and backed off the wall.
His fingers moved faster now — back into contacts, scrolling quicker.
Third number.
Unknown name. No label.
He hesitated. Then called anyway.
"This line is no longer in service."
The robotic voice felt louder than it was. Felt final.
Julian exhaled through his nose. A sharp breath. Not quite a sigh.
The wind pressed harder down the street, dragging newspaper pages past his feet like ghosts. One curled around his boot before spinning away again.
He looked down at his phone.
One bar of service.
He scrolled again.
Paused.
There it was.
Elena.
The name stared back at him in faded white. No profile picture. Just the blank gray icon. He hadn't deleted it. Couldn't say why.
His thumb hovered.
Just long enough for the nerves to settle. Then—
He pressed Call.
The screen flickered.
The dial tone rang once.
Twice.
Julian pressed the phone tighter to his ear, eyes flicking around like someone might hear.
"Come on... pick up..."
Three rings.
Four.