Las Vegas didn't sleep.
It calculated.
Neon lights flickered above cracked sidewalks, reflecting off puddles that never quite dried. Every street felt like a ledger—wins written in light, losses erased in shadow. Leon Pike walked through it with his hands in his jacket pockets, counting steps because he had nothing else left to count.
Money? Gone.
Time? Running out.
Options? Almost zero.
He stopped in front of a convenience store whose lights were brighter than the apartment he couldn't afford anymore. Inside, a man argued with the cashier over a few coins. Leon didn't look away. People who looked away didn't survive long in Las Vegas.
This country didn't care if you were tired.
It only cared if you could pay.
Leon checked his phone. The balance hadn't changed. It never did. Three digits. Not even enough to pretend he was safe. The rent deadline had passed yesterday. The message from his landlord still sat unread, like a loaded gun.
If he didn't fix this tonight, he wouldn't just lose his apartment.
He'd lose the last excuse to call this place home.
Behind him, a luxury vehicle rolled past, silent and smooth, its windows dark. Leon caught his reflection in the glass—thin, pale, sharp-eyed. Not broken. Not desperate enough to beg.
Yet.
That was the worst part about Las Vegas.
It didn't crush you all at once. It narrowed your chances until you stepped off the edge yourself.
Leon crossed the street, heading toward the older districts where the neon buzzed louder and the rules grew looser. Places where people like him went when the official doors stopped opening.
He didn't believe in luck.
Luck was just a word people used to explain why the same few always won.
At the edge of an alley, he hesitated. A private venue sat beyond the corner—no signs, no advertisements, only a quiet flow of people who pretended not to notice each other. Leon had passed it dozens of times.
He'd always kept walking.
Tonight, he stopped.
A memory surfaced. His father's voice—tired, bitter.
The odds never favor people like us.
Leon exhaled slowly.
"If that's true," he muttered, "then it doesn't matter what I choose."
He stepped forward.
For a second, Leon wondered if he'd finally snapped.
Then the world refocused.
The air shifted—not dramatically. No flash. No sound. Just a subtle pressure behind his eyes, like someone had adjusted the lens of reality itself.
Leon blinked.
Text appeared.
Not on his phone.
Not reflected in glass.
It hovered in front of him—transparent, cold, precise.
Decision Detected
Analyzing Variables…
Leon froze. The city noise dulled, as if pushed behind thick glass. His heartbeat grew loud in his ears.
"What the hell…?" he whispered.
The text shifted.
Action: Enter Venue
Estimated Outcome:
Minor Financial Gain — 87%
Severe Financial Loss — 13%
Hidden Variables: Present
Leon stared.
He waited for the numbers to vanish. They didn't.
Eighty-seven percent.
Not certainty.
Not safety.
But higher than anything he'd ever had.
His first instinct was denial. Stress hallucination. Hunger. Sleep deprivation. He waved a hand through the glowing text.
Nothing happened.
The city snapped back into focus—the hum of power lines, distant laughter, the smell of hot asphalt.
The numbers stayed.
Leon swallowed.
Las Vegas had rules. Unwritten ones. The biggest was simple:
If something seemed too good to be true, it was.
But the numbers didn't promise anything. They didn't comfort him.
They just measured.
Leon took a step back.
The text updated instantly.
Action Changed
Outcome: No Change
Status: Stable
He stepped forward again.
Action Restored
Minor Financial Gain — 87%
His pulse quickened.
This wasn't luck.
Luck didn't explain consistency.
Leon laughed quietly, the sound sharp and short.
"So that's how it is," he said.
The city had always played with loaded odds. He'd just never been allowed to see them.
A security guard glanced his way from the venue entrance, eyes unreadable. Leon met his gaze calmly. For the first time in years, fear didn't tighten his chest.
He wasn't walking in blind anymore.
Leon crossed the threshold.
The numbers faded—but not before something else appeared.
Notice:
Repeated Probability Deviations Increase Exposure
Leon didn't understand it yet.
But somewhere above the neon skyline, the invisible balance of Las Vegas shifted—just slightly.
And the city noticed.
End of Chapter 1