Barney's fingers trembled as he wiped rain from the cracked phone screen, the dull ache in his side a constant reminder of how close he was to the edge. The past few days had blurred into a nightmare of barely escaped gunfire, narrow calls, and restless nights. His mind churned—fear, exhaustion, rage, and something darker lurking beneath it all.
He'd told Jill hours ago to keep an eye out—any sign of trouble, any whisper of a price on his head. He needed to know if the game had finally turned against him.
His thoughts kept spiraling: How long before they find me? How many are out there?
The silence was oppressive until Jill's voice cut through the rain's steady tapping against the SUV windows like a cold whisper.
"I found the bounty for you."
Barney's eyes flicked up from the screen he'd been staring at for hours. The dim light from the cracked phone screen painted sharp shadows across his bruised face.
"Go on."
The screen displayed the words, clear and merciless:
$500 million. Dead only.
His breath hitched.
Five hundred million dollars.
A price tag that no one in their right mind could ignore.
The city rushed past—neon signs bleeding color in the wet streets, headlights bouncing off puddles, everything blurring into streaks of blue and red. Rain slid down the window like tears no one would see.
Barney was in the back of a stolen SUV, his shirt soaked in blood, a fresh bandage wrapped tight around his arm. He flexed his fingers around the phone as if squeezing the truth out of the cold glass.
"Fifty million," Jill repeated, voice flat but with an edge of something like regret. "That kind of bounty means one thing — every assassin, mercenary, desperate thug with a gun, they're all coming for you now."
Barney let out a slow, steady breath through his nose, trying to calm the rush of adrenaline pounding in his veins.
"Then we find the bastard who put it up," he said, voice low but steady.
Jill's pause was almost cruel in its silence.
"I already did."
Barney's pulse spiked so hard it felt like it would burst through his skin. "Who?"
The screen shifted rapidly—financial data, shell companies, encrypted messages, endless lines of code that Jill cut through effortlessly.
Then, a name flashed at the top of the screen:
RB Nathaniel
A billionaire. A ghost. A man who pulled strings from the shadows, someone Barney had never met, never dealt with.
But Graves wanted him dead.
"Why?" Barney demanded, voice sharp like a blade slicing through static.
Jill's voice grew quieter, almost hesitant. "Because you broke the game."
Barney frowned. "What the fuck does that mean?"
Jill's explanation came cold and brutal.
"The lottery—the system—it's designed to make people lose. Millions of people buy tickets every week, chasing impossible odds. In the U.S. alone, over 70 million tickets are sold every week for the largest lotteries. People are drawn by dreams — the chance at hundreds of millions, sometimes half a billion or more. But nobody really wins."
She paused, the cold logic sinking in.
"The biggest jackpots can reach two hundred, sometimes five hundred million. But what no one knows is that the system has already made billions off these tickets. The lottery is a scam disguised as hope."
Barney's hands clenched the phone tighter.
"They cycle out winners, but always keep the biggest cut. Taxes take more than half, and the rest goes to private investors—rich men who don't want the system exposed. The government doesn't intervene because the rich control it. They keep quiet, keep their seats, and ensure the game never changes."
Barney swallowed hard.
"You broke that illusion."
He thought back to all the wins, the streak that no one was supposed to have. Seven jackpots. Seven times he had beaten a system that was never meant to be beaten. The system's fix was simple: erase the anomaly.
"You made them look weak. Now, they're erasing you."
The SUV hit a pothole, jolting Barney back to the present. His grip on the steering wheel tightened despite himself.
He could run. Go deeper underground. Disappear.
But he was done running.
"Where is he?" Barney demanded.
Jill's voice was unreadable, flat as the rain outside.
"Barney—"
"Where. The. Fuck. Is. He?"
The silence dragged on, thick and suffocating.
Finally: "Dubai. Private estate. Heavily guarded."
Barney's lips curled into a smile that wasn't sane, wasn't human.
"Good."
—
The game was bigger than any one man.
Barney had learned that.
Millions bought in every week, their hopes bought and sold like currency. The lottery was the perfectcon: give people just enough truth to keep playing, keep believing.
He imagined the bright-eyed faces standing in line at gas stations, convenience stores, believing that one ticket could change everything.
But it never did.
Not really.
Because behind the curtains, in rooms like the one Nathaniel Graves inhabited, the system was rigged with cold precision. No one won big without a price. The game was controlled by shadows, and Barney had become the first real threat to the illusion.
That was why the bounty was so high. Five hundered million dollars wasn't just a number — it was a message.
You broke the system. Now, you die.
Barney's mind raced through every step that led him here — from winning that first lottery, shaking off debts, to unlocking Jill and discovering the extent of the control woven into every corner of the economy.
He glanced over at the laptop Jill had hacked into, watching the live feed of security cameras, encrypted communications, financial transactions that flowed like blood through the dark veins of the system.
His heart beat steady but fierce.
This was war.
—
The SUV turned sharply into an alley, tires spraying rainwater like a wake.
Barney sat back, the pain in his ribs throbbing but dulled beneath the rush of focus.
He felt Jill's presence more than heard her now — an electric hum of intelligence and calculation.
"They'll come for you. Every shadow, every gun in the city will be after you," she said.
"I'm ready," Barney replied. "If they want a war, they'll get one."
Outside, the city's neon glow faded into darkness, the storm swallowing the noise.
Barney's thoughts drifted, dark and sharp.
Every time I survive, something in me doesn't.
But he wouldn't stop.
Not now.
Not ever.
—