Jake Yi

The stench of rot clawed at Jake Yi's throat as he blinked awake. 

Again.

Damp concrete pressed against his cheek. The ceiling above him dripped rust-colored water, and the air reeked of unwashed bodies and despair.

This isn't a dream.

His stomach twisted, hollow and raw. Three days without food. Maybe four. Time blurred here, in the Elysium Syndicate's underground garage—a tomb for the living dead.

Parasites, they called them. Human ATMs, bleeding years from their lives to spin the Syndicate's cursed wheels.

"Look who's still breathing."

A boot slammed into Jake's ribs. He curled inward, coughing bile, as laughter erupted around him.

Chris Liang loomed overhead, his designer sneakers pristine against the grime-coated floor. Even in the Syndicate's hellhole, Chris's smirk stayed sharp enough to cut glass.

"Heard you're down to your last year, Jake." Chris tossed something onto the mattress. A bone, picked clean. "Silverback jackal. Ate the meat myself. Syndicate's chefs really outdid themselves."

Jake's mouth flooded with saliva. His fingers twitched toward the bone. Pathetic. He'd licked sewer moss for less. But Chris's grin widened, and Jake froze.

"Go on," Chris purred. "Beg. Maybe I'll let you gnaw the marrow."

Jaw clenched, Jake shoved the bone aside. The garage erupted in jeers.

"Pride won't fill your guts," Chris sneered. "But hey—when you starve to death tomorrow, I'll make sure Elena hears all about it. Bet she'll mourn."

The name hit like a knife. Elena. The girl who'd shared his ramen just a few months before, who'd laughed at his stupid jokes.

The woman who'd stolen his life—the Longevity Elixir formula—and left him to rot in this pit.

Jake's vision swam. Not from hunger. From the memories crashing into him.

He'd lived this before.

The golden Chrono-Wheel spinning, devouring a million years of lifespan. The flash of light. Then—this. Waking up here, weaker than ever.

Rebirth. A second chance. Or a cosmic joke.

"Move it, maggots! Chow time!"

A steel door screeched open. A hunched woman wheeled in a dented cart piled with mold-speckled bread and murky water jugs. The Parasites surged forward, clawing at the scraps. Jake stumbled to his feet, legs trembling.

A hand yanked him back.

"Don't bother." The voice was raspy, female. A teenager with scarred cheeks and hollow eyes nodded toward the cart. "New rule. Only Parasites with over five years left get rations."

Jake's pulse spiked. "Since when?"

"Since you became a liability." Chris shouldered past him, snatching two bread rolls. "Why waste food on a corpse?"

Before Jake could answer, Chris leaned closer. "Spin a wheel," he whispered. "Even a white-tier spin gets you a meal ticket. It's your only shot."

Spin a wheel. Gamble his last year for a moldy loaf.

Jake's gaze drifted to the garage's far wall, where a flickering hologram displayed the Syndicate's tiers:

WHITE (1 year) | GREEN (10 years) | BLUE (100 years)

The higher the tier, the bigger the reward—or the swifter the death.

But this time… He only had one year and a few days left. 

"White-tier." The words slipped out before he could stop them.

Laney—Jake's best friend as a parasite—gaped. "You're cracked. You've only got—"

"One year. I know." Jake's palms burned. He remembered. In his first life, Chris had spun green, won 50-years of life. The Syndicate confiscated it, but they'd rewarded him—better food, a private room. The status of a "leader" amongst parasites.

Because Chris was lucky. And luck means everything in this world. 

Jake's nails dug into his palms. The rules were clear: Spin a higher-tier wheel without enough lifespan, and the Chrono-Wheel took your future. Your potential years. But if you died in debt? The Syndicate didn't care.

A gamble.

But he'd done this before. Not here. Not like this. 

"Hey, corpse!" A Syndicate enforcer stomped toward him, baton crackling with blue current. "You spinning or not?"

Jake's mouth went dry. "White tier."

The garage fell silent.

Chris barked a laugh. "You're begging to die, Yi."

The enforcer grinned, toothless. "Green tier costs ten years, maggot. You got ten?"

"No." Jake held his gaze. "But I'll spin anyway."

A hushed gasp rippled through the Parasites. Laney grabbed his arm. "Jake, don't—they'll make you pay. Even if it kills you."

The enforcer chuckled. "Alright, tough guy. Let's see your stats."

A holographic screen materialized:

[ JAKE YI ]

VITALITY: 1 YEAR, 2 DAYS

TIER: PARASITE (CLASS E)

"One year." The enforcer spat. "Rules are rules." He grabbed Jake's collar, dragging him toward the door. "Boss'll love this. Desperate spins always get messy."

[ VITALITY DEDUCTED: 1 Year]

[ CURRENT VITALITY: 0 YEARS, 2 DAYS ]

In the center, a massive white-hued wheel hovered, the numbers along its rim glowed:

1. MOLDY BREAD LOAF (3 DAYS)

2. RAT POISON (INSTANT DEATH)

3. FESTERING BANDAGE (MINOR HEALING)

4. RUSTY DAGGER (COMMON)

5. COCKROACH SWARM (AREA PLAGUE)

6. 10-YEAR LIFESPAN (Uncommon)

7. BROKEN CLOCK (USELESS)

8. MEMORY WIPE (RANDOM HOUR)

9. CURSED COIN (ETERNAL BAD LUCK)

10. FURY BEAST (TITAN CLASS)

Jake's gut churned. The wheel was a joke—a rigged carnival game where nine of ten outcomes would ruin him. But there it was, wedged between cockroaches and cursed coins: the shimmering golden #6.

The only prize worth a damn.

Chris smirked. "Ten years per spin, maggot. You're already nine years in debt. Spin lands on #2, and your guts'll be painting the walls."

Jake ignored him, fingertips grazing the cold console. His skull throbbed—a familiar pressure building behind his eyes. There. The world fractured.

"Quit stalling!" Chris barked.

Jake focused. The wheel's spin was a hurricane of light, but #6 flickered like a dying star. There. A split-second gap in the chaos. His mind clawed at it, muscles trembling.

CHOOSE.

Agony spiked through his temples. He bit down until his gums bled.

CHOOSE.

The wheel slowed.

#1 – MOLDY BREAD…

No.

#4 – RUSTY DAGGER…

No.

#9 – CURSED COIN…

Jake's vision darkened. He couldn't hold it.

#10 – FURY BEAST…

The wheel lurched.

#6 – 10-YEAR LIFESPAN.

"Now," a voice hissed in his mind. 

He bit his tongue until iron flooded his mouth. A hairline crack split the air with the sound of a glacier calving. 

"Pathetic," Chris sneered somewhere beyond the void. "Just die alrea—"

The wheel chimed.

[#6 – 10-YEAR LIFESPAN AWARDED]

Golden light erupted. A crystalline vial materialized above the wheel, its facets refracting Chris's stunned face.

"Impossible," the enforcer rasped, pulse rifle clattering to the floor. 

Jake spat blood onto the console. His every nerve felt flayed, but it could hardly press down his ecstasy——

In a world where everyone is enslaved to luck, he can CHOOSE his rewards!

Chris kicked the wheel. "Lucky piece of shit."

Laney helped Jake up, her calloused fingers probing his temple. "You're burning up."

Let them think it was luck. Let them seethe.

Before the guards could confiscate the vial, Jake snatched it, the glass cold and slick in his trembling grip, and drank.

The elixir seared his throat—not fire, but a glacial burn that spread through his veins like liquid starlight. His cells screamed, raw hunger dissolving.

The enforcer recovered first, jabbing his baton at Jake's updated hologram:

[ CURRENT VITALITY: 10 YEARS, 2 DAYS ]