Click

"You have to believe me, and do it again."

I pick up the revolver again. I stare at the gun in my hand. The cold metal burns against my palm. Five clicks. Five empty chambers. Now Vargas wants me to do it again? Just... trust him?

My mind races through options like flipping channels, each possibility more desperate than the last. Refuse? I'd look weak, and weakness gets you killed faster than anything in this world. Agree? Maybe that's the test, seeing if I'll dance like a puppet, but blind obedience is dangerous too, especially with someone as paranoid as Vargas.

Point it at Vargas? With what might be an empty gun against a building full of his men? I'd be dead before my finger finished squeezing the trigger.

Run? The most stupid option. If I were an Olympic runner, I might consider this idea, but I am not.

None of these work. I need something else.

I look at the revolver, then at Vargas with his smug face, watching me squirm. Miguel stands frozen, eyes wide with fear.

"I believe you," I say, my voice steadier than I feel.

In one smooth motion, I point the gun at the ceiling and pull the trigger.

Click.

Empty.

Vargas's eyebrows shoot up. For a split second, his mask slips, revealing genuine surprise.

The room hangs suspended in that split second after the click. My heart pounds against my ribs like it's trying to escape. Vargas's face, that look of genuine surprise, tells me I've done something unexpected.

Then everything happens faster than thought.

Vargas's hand darts inside his jacket and emerges with a pistol. Before I can blink, the cold metal barrel presses against my forehead. My muscles lock up. No time to reach for my wallet. No time to burn a dollar. No time to do anything.

BANG!

My soul plummets through my body. The world goes dark at the edges. This is it. I'm dead in the past, decades before I was even born.

Wait.

Vargas slaps his palm against the desk again, doubling over with laughter. The "gunshot" echoes in my ears as reality catches up. I'm alive. It was a joke. A sick, twisted joke.

"Your face!" Vargas pulls his gun away and wipes tears from his eyes, still chuckling. "You should see your face, muchacho!"

My knees feel like jelly. My heart hammers against my ribs so hard I'm surprised it doesn't crack them. I fight to keep my expression neutral, but my hands tremble slightly.

Vargas's laughter gradually subsides. He studies me with renewed interest.

"You know what most pendejos do?" He tucks his pistol back into his jacket. "They try to attack me with an empty gun. Or they run, as if they could get past my men. Or blindly believe, even though I misled them a minute before that." He gestures around the room. "But you? You think. You test. Smart boy."

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out something small. A bullet. The fifth bullet. He rolls it between his fingers like a magician showing off a coin.

"You pass." He tosses the bullet onto his desk. It rolls to a stop next to an ashtray. "Take your things and wait outside. Miguel and I need to talk business."

I collect my revolver from the desk, careful to keep my movements deliberate. My hands want to shake, but I won't let them. Not here. Not now.

"And Jose?" Vargas calls as I reach the door. "Welcome to the family."

I step outside into Miami's thick air. The sun feels too bright, the world too normal after what just happened. A car rolls through the wash, water spraying against windows.

Relief floods through me, but I keep my face neutral. This man is dangerous, the kind who finds entertainment in making others believe they're about to die.

My own heart finally starts to slow down. I lean against the wall, letting the concrete cool my back through my shirt. So many things could have gone wrong. If I'd tried to run... if I'd pointed that empty gun at Vargas... if I'd frozen up completely...

But I didn't. I passed. Whatever game Vargas was playing, I found the right move.

I pace outside the car wash, watching each customer with suspicious eyes. Barely a two-minute pass before Miguel emerges, his shoulders rigid with tension. He walks straight to the car without acknowledging me, unlocks it, and slides behind the wheel.

I follow, climbing into the passenger seat. The vinyl is hot against my legs. Neither of us speaks as Miguel starts the engine and pulls away from the car wash. The air conditioner blows lukewarm air that does nothing against the Miami heat.

Two blocks pass in silence. Three. Four. The pressure builds in my chest until I can't contain it anymore.

"What the actual hell was that?" I explode, turning to face Miguel. "Russian roulette? That psycho put a gun to my head!"

Miguel keeps his eyes on the road, knuckles white against the steering wheel. He shrugs, a gesture so casual it makes my blood boil.

"Vargas tries new methods. By next week, word will spread about this test, and he'll come up with something else to mess with newcomers." Miguel glances at me. "It's how he operates. Always changing, always unpredictable."

"And you couldn't warn me?"

"How you could prepare to surprise?" Miguel turns onto a quieter street. "Besides, he spoke positively about you. Said you think before you act. That's rare sight."

I lean back against the headrest, the adrenaline finally draining from my system. My hands still tremble slightly, and I clench them into fists.

"It will be easier from here," Miguel continues. "And much more profitable. Vargas doesn't waste time with people he doesn't see potential in."

The words don't comfort me.

"So what now?" I ask.

Miguel's expression relaxes slightly. "You want to hear about our current mission? It's nothing too complicated for your first job."

I nod, knowing I've crossed a line I can't step back from. Hope it's worth it. "I'm all ears."