"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS SHIT?!" James shouted.
Several people in the casino turned to stare, but he didn't care.
His fists trembled at his sides, knuckles white.
"Two thousand dollars," he muttered under his breath. "Two thousand… and not a single hit. Dead spin after dead spin. Why the hell did the slot die now?"
James Carter was a degenerate gambler.
He owed money to his family. He owed money to friends who had long since stopped trusting him. Worst of all, he owed money to people who didn't forgive debts.
Gangs.
And they weren't the type to politely ask for repayment. They preferred broken fingers… or broken legs.
"What am I going to do?" he whispered, staring blankly at the slot machine. "How the hell am I supposed to pay them back?"
Sweat rolled down his forehead.
"I'm done," he said quietly. "I'm actually done."
A voice spoke beside him.
"Sir, is everything alright?"
James turned to see a casino clerk standing there, smiling politely.
"You seem a bit stressed. Is there anything I can get for you?"
"Stressed?" James repeated slowly.
His jaw tightened as he tried—barely—to keep himself under control.
"Do I look stressed to you?"
"I just lost everything," he snapped. "And all I needed was a few more minutes. I know the machine was about to hit."
The clerk nodded sympathetically.
"Well… you might be interested to hear that we can offer you a 2000$ loan, sir. You could continue playing tonight."
James blinked.
"There would, of course, be a 25% repayment fee when returning the loan."
For a moment, James just stared. Then his eyes lit up.
"Really?" he said, suddenly leaning forward. The despair from earlier vanished, replaced by pure excitement.
"Well what are you waiting for?" he said impatiently. "Go get my money."
The clerk simply smiled.
.....
James sat slumped in the chair, staring blankly at the screen.
"…What the hell."
His voice cracked.
"What the actual hell just happened?"
Every machine he touched had died. Dead spin after dead spin. No bonuses. No hits. Nothing. It was like the entire casino had turned against him. His hands trembled.
"I just kept losing… every single one," he whispered.
Tears burned in his eyes.
"And now I owe the damn casino too."
James leaned forward, burying his face in his hands.
"I'm done," he muttered weakly.
"…I'm really done."
A hollow laugh escaped him.
"At this point… I might as well just kill myself."
....
Leaving the casino, James felt hollow.
The flashing lights and noise faded behind him as the cold night air hit his face. His mind was racing, trying to calculate the impossible.
How the hell was he supposed to pay everyone back? He leaned against a streetlight and pulled out his phone.
"Okay… let's think," he muttered, opening a notes app and starting a list.
"Mom — $5,000.Jack — $3,000."
He stared at the screen for a moment. "They'll get their money eventually," he said quietly. "…I think."
Then he scrolled down and started writing the names he'd been trying not to think about. The people who wouldn't wait.
"So…" he muttered.
"Dragon Mafia — $25,000.BlackBone Mafia — $20,000."
His stomach tightened.
"Oh right…"
He added another line.
"Yakuza — $50,000."
James froze.
"What the hell?" he whispered.
"I forgot it was that much?"
He stared at the total.
"$95,000… in one week?"
His voice cracked.
"What the fuck."
He shoved the phone back into his pocket and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm cooked," he muttered as he walked into a dim alley. That's when he heard footsteps.
Five figures stepped out of the shadows, all dressed in black. Each of them had the same tattoo — a dragon curling along the right side of their face.
James felt his stomach drop.
"Well, well," one of them said with a grin. "Look what we found."
"I think the rat finally crawled out of the sewer," another laughed.
A third tilted his head, studying James like he was prey.
"So… do we scare it a little?"
"Or just strangle the little urchin now?"
James raised his hands quickly, backing away. "W-wait. Wait," he stammered. "I'll get your money. I swear. Just give me another week. I'm so close."
He forced a nervous laugh.
"The machines are due to hit soon. I just need one good run."
The men stared at him for a moment. Then one of them chuckled. "Oh, don't worry," the fourth man said calmly. "We know you'll pay us back."
He stepped closer.
"Either you bring us the money…"
His smile widened.
"…or we sell your organs. One by one."
The group burst into laughter.
"Let's teach him a little lesson."
.....
When James finally made it home, he could barely walk. His face was swollen. One eye was black. Blood had dried along a cut on his forehead. His nose throbbed with every breath. And his right arm hung uselessly at his side.
"God… damn it," he muttered as tears slipped down his cheeks.
He knocked weakly on the door. A moment later it opened. His mother stood there.
"You're home late," she said quietly.
Her eyes moved over his injuries, but she didn't look surprised anymore. She had seen this before.
"Yeah," James said, trying to smile. "Just had some errands."
He stepped inside slowly.
"I just… need to lie down for a second."
His mother frowned.
"No," she said firmly. "First we're going to the hospital."
....
After a short checkup, they cleaned his wounds, set his broken arm in a cast, and sent him home. The walk back was silent. When they entered the house, James headed toward his room.
"I'm going to sleep, Mom," he said quietly. "I just need some rest."
"Goodnight," she replied.
He paused at the doorway.
"…I'm sorry for being a disappointment, Mom," he muttered.
Then he closed the door. A few seconds later, he collapsed onto the bed and fell asleep almost instantly. Outside the room, his mother stood frozen.
She had heard him. She waited until she was sure he was asleep. Then the tears came.
She covered her mouth to keep her from making a sound as she broke down in the quiet hallway.