The first rule of the real underground betting circuit?
If you hear about it, you're already being watched.
Liam Kade didn't hear about it from a flyer. No shady website. No text message from a burner phone. He didn't stumble across it. It came to him — whispered between clenched teeth by a man with a crooked smile and broken fingers in a Chinatown bar two nights ago.
"Want to bet on something that matters?"
The man coughed blood into a napkin and passed Liam a napkin with a time, a place, and nothing else.
Liam burned it in a trash can 30 seconds later. He didn't need it memorized.
He felt it. Like a pull behind his eyes.
Something inside the system stirred when that napkin touched his fingers.
The DoorIt was in a crumbling industrial zone under the Manhattan Bridge. The building had no name, no lights. The kind of place where screams didn't echo — they just evaporated.
Liam walked through puddles of oil and shadow, wearing a hoodie two sizes too big, a cap pulled low. His sneakers were scuffed, but clean. He carried no weapon.
He didn't need one.
He had odds.
He knocked once on the steel door.
It opened without a word.
The man inside had no expression. Just a barcode tattooed on the side of his head and a voice like a robot with too many cigarettes.
"Name?"
"Zero," Liam said, trying it for the first time. He didn't want to be Liam in here. Liam was dead.
The man stared at him a second longer, then nodded.
"First time. You don't bet, you watch."
He stepped aside.
Liam walked into hell.
The PitThe betting ring wasn't glamorous. It wasn't loud. It wasn't neon lights or screaming fans. It was concrete, sweat, and shadows. Two dozen people surrounded a caged pit sunk into the floor. Inside it: two men, stripped to the waist, fists up, bleeding already.
No referee. No timer.
Just pain.
A board against the far wall showed the odds — hand-written in chalk.
Big Joe (4–1)
Skinny Pete (18–1)
Liam watched as bets were exchanged — not through apps, not with credit cards, but with cash, gold, drugs, and blood.
This wasn't Vegas.
This was the circuit.
And it was exactly what the system wanted.
System Stirring[System Alert]
User entering "Live Variable Arena"
Energy Density: Elevated
Passive Skill "Threading" Activating...
WARNING: Exposure to chaotic energy may distort perception. Use caution.
Liam blinked.
For a second, everything slowed.
He saw numbers floating above heads.
Not real numbers. Probabilities.
Big Joe — 78% win.
Skinny Pete — 22%.
But then something shifted. A flutter in the crowd. A woman laughed, distracting a man holding the cage. Joe's eyes flickered toward her — off guard.
The numbers shifted again.
Joe — 62%.
Pete — 38%.
Liam gasped.
It wasn't just about strength.
It was all variables.
Attention. Sweat. Confidence. Footwork. Lighting.
Every piece of chance could be read.
And bent.
The BetA man sidled up next to him. Old suit. Yellow teeth. Reeked of spice and leather.
"New face," he grinned. "You betting?"
Liam stared into the cage.
"Not yet."
"Smart. But not for long. No one watches for free."
He slipped away like a bad smell.
[System Suggestion: Controlled Outcome Test]
Target: Cage Match – Low Intervention
Skill: "Micro-Bias" available
Cost: 1 Energy Point
He stared at Pete.
The guy was losing. Bleeding from the nose. Limping.
But Liam saw it.
The slight way Joe's left arm twitched — old injury?
The flicker of overconfidence.
The way Pete kept glancing at the upper corner — timing something?
Liam whispered under his breath.
"Micro-Bias."
Then he walked over to the chalkboard and laid down a hundred in cash.
"Pete to win."
The room laughed.
But no one stopped him.
The ShiftIt happened fast.
Joe lunged with a wild right.
Pete ducked — barely — and his elbow came up into Joe's chin.
Crack.
Joe stumbled. His balance was off. Pete moved in like a ghost. A flurry of hits — messy, desperate, lucky.
Then one perfect uppercut.
Joe dropped.
Silence.
Then a roar.
Liam didn't cheer.
He just stepped back, heart pounding.
Not because he won.
But because the system was smiling.
[Micro-Bias Success Rate: 100%]
User Confidence: +2
Emotional Shift: +1 Detachment
Personality Drift: +2 Control / -1 Doubt
He was changing.
He knew it.
And he didn't care.
After the MatchA woman found him near the back exit. Sharp suit. Sharp eyes.
"You don't belong here," she said, sipping something dark from a glass with no ice.
Liam turned. "Neither do you."
She smiled.
"Cute. What's your name?"
He paused. The name Liam stuck in his throat like broken glass.
"Zero."
"Hm. That fits."
She walked around him, sizing him up.
"You made a stupid bet and won. That's either beginner's luck or something else."
"Something else."
"I figured. You're clean. Not an addict. Not a bruiser. You're not here for blood. You're here to understand it."
Liam didn't respond.
She slipped him a card. Unmarked. Plain black.
"Use that name again next time. You'll get in easier. And if you survive ten rounds… you might get noticed."
"By who?"
She smiled, but didn't answer.
Walking OutOutside, the air was thick with rot and heat.
Liam took a deep breath and lit a stolen cigarette.
His hands shook slightly. Not from fear. From stimulation.
The system was humming like a satisfied predator.
[User Level Up: 5 → 6]
New Skill Unlocked: "Luck Veil" – Mask anomalies in probability perception. Prevents detection by surveillance or statistical analysis.
System Confidence: Stabilizing. Sub-System Development Unlocked.
He checked his cash.
$1,800.
One night.
One bet.
And it didn't feel like enough.
He looked back at the warehouse. He could still hear the faint sound of fists on bone.
And for the first time in a long time…
He didn't feel like the victim.
He felt like the house.
The Final FlipHe walked past an old man playing chess alone on the sidewalk.
"You want to play?" the man asked, not looking up.
Liam stopped. Something about the man made his chest feel tight.
"No."
"Afraid to lose?"
Liam flipped his coin in the air.
It spun like time itself slowed.
But when it landed in his palm — heads — he didn't feel relief.
Just confirmation.
He was already choosing everything.
The old man looked up.
Eyes pale. Cloudy. Unreadable.
"Careful, son. Men who play with luck… don't always know when the game plays back."
Liam walked away without a word.
But the system whispered something new in the back of his skull.
A word.
A title.
A name that hadn't yet been spoken aloud — but already echoed in fate.
"Joker."