The dust tasted like rust and regret, which was pretty much the flavor of my life.
Everywhere you looked in the ruins of OldMetro, it was the same: crumbled buildings clawing at the toxic sky, the skeletal remains of cars swallowed by sand, and people – desperate, hungry people. We were all gamblers, whether we knew it or not.
The only game in town, hell, the only game in the world, was the Lottery. A golden ticket to Elysium, the city in the sky. They said it was clean, safe, full of food and water that didn't glow in the dark. A paradise, bought with the sweat and ruined hopes of everyone down here.
Me? I was a cardshark. Or, I used to be. Now, I was just another addict, chasing the dragon of a winning hand. My name's Finn, and I've already lost everything: my scrap of shelter, my wife… my hope. But tonight? Tonight was different. Tonight, I felt it.
The RustyCog was packed. The air hung thick with smoke, the smell of cheap synth-whiskey, and the quiet hum of the lottery machine in the corner. It was a hulking metal beast, spitting out numbered chips, each one a potential gateway to Elysium.
I clutched my last credits, enough for exactly one card. It was all I had left. I'd scraped it together, selling my wife's old locket, the one thing I swore I wouldn't touch. But Elysium… it was a promise whispered in every crumbling corner of this wasteland. A promise I couldn't resist.
The dealer, a greasy guy named Retch, dealt the cards face down. He had a lazy, condescending smile, the kind you get when you're holding all the power. I could feel his eyes on me, judging, knowing I was at the bottom of the barrel.
"Last hand, Finn?" he sneered, flicking ash from his cigarette.
I just nodded, my throat too tight to speak. This was it. Win or die trying.
I picked up my card. A jack of spades. My heart hammered against my ribs. I needed a queen, a king, or an ace to even have a chance. Retch turned over his card. A ten.
He laughed, a cruel, hacking sound. "Looks like you're staying down here in the dirt, Finn."
He was right. I was doomed. But a strange calm washed over me. I was tired of fighting, tired of clawing for scraps. Maybe it was time to let go.
Then, I saw it. On the floor, half-hidden under a rickety table leg, a playing card. Someone must have dropped it. I reached for it without thinking, my fingers brushing against the grit and grime.
It was a queen of spades.
My mind raced. This was it. My chance. No one would see. It was just lying there... begging to be used.
I glanced at Retch, who was already counting my credits, his attention elsewhere. My hand shaking, I moved the jack under the table and switched it with the queen. Smooth. Silent.
I slammed the queen down on the table. "Beat that, Retch!"
His eyes widened. He stared at the queen, then at me, disbelief warring with anger on his face. The other gamblers murmured, their faces etched with envy and a little bit of hope. If I could win, maybe they could too.
Retch grudgingly handed me my winnings – enough credits for a lottery ticket. I stumbled over to the machine, my hands still trembling. I fed in the credits, the machine whirring and clicking, spitting out a small, plastic chip.
My golden ticket.
I stared at it, my heart soaring. I was going to Elysium! I was going to escape this hellhole!
The lottery machine beeped. They were about to announce the winning numbers. Everyone in the Rusty Cog held their breath. The screen flickered, and then, the numbers flashed: 7-14-22-38-45.
My number.
I had won. I was going to Elysium.
I started to laugh, a wild, manic sound that echoed through the bar. I was free!
Then, a hand clamped down on my shoulder. It was Retch. His face was dark, furious.
"You cheated," he hissed, his breath hot and sour in my ear. "I saw you switch the cards."
Panic flared. I was so close. "No, I didn't! You're lying!"
Retch just smirked. "Maybe. But I've already told the guards. They're on their way."
Guards meant one thing: death. They didn't care about fairness or justice. They cared about order, and cheaters threatened that order.
I looked around the bar. Everyone was watching, their faces a mixture of fear and morbid curiosity. No one would help me.
I had one last card to play.
I grabbed the lottery ticket, crumpled it in my fist, and shoved it into Retch's mouth. He choked, sputtering, his eyes bulging.
Then, I ran.
I ran out of the Rusty Cog, into the dusty streets, into the heart of Old Metro. I ran until my lungs burned, until my legs screamed. I didn't know where I was going, but I knew I couldn't stay.
I was a cheater. A liar. A thief. But I wasn't going to let them kill me.
As I ran, I realized something. Elysium wasn't real. It was just a lie, a carrot dangled in front of our faces to keep us gambling, to keep us hoping. It was a way to control us, to exploit our desperation.
I was still trapped. But now, I was trapped with my eyes open. Maybe the real prize wasn't a ticket to paradise, but the realization that paradise didn't exist. The only way out of this hell was to stop playing the game.
I still don't know where I'm going, but for the first time in a long time, I feel a flicker of something other than despair.
Maybe, just maybe, there's still a chance to build something real, something honest, in the ruins of the old world.
And maybe, just maybe, it starts with accepting that the Elysium we are all searching for is just the biggest gamble of them all.