Michael had a talent for making bad decisions.
Not the dramatic kind that made for good stories but the slow, grinding kind that quietly buried a man. He had been burying himself for ten years now and had gotten remarkably good at it.
Tonight was no different.
"You're telling me," the bartender said, his voice flat, "that you don't have it."
Michael patted his jacket pocket one more time only to find it empty. He checked the other one. Also empty. He laughed, the kind of laugh a man uses when he knows he's already lost.
"I have it. Just not… on me."
The bartender stared at him.
Michael stared back.
The bartender picked up his phone.
Twenty minutes later, Michael was in the alley behind the bar getting introduced to the fists of two very large, very unamused debt collectors. They were professional about it, which somehow made it worse.
By the time they were done, he was on the ground, cheek pressed against wet concrete, one eye swelling shut, something definitely cracked in his ribs.
He could hear the city — distant traffic, a dog barking somewhere, music leaking from a window above. Life continuing without him.
'This is it,' he thought. 'This is genuinely how it ends.'
Thirty years old. Beaten behind a bar over a tab he couldn't pay. No one who would notice he was missing until the smell became a problem.
He closed his eye.
Then —
[Ding!]
Michael opened his eye.
A translucent blue screen hovered in front of his face, glowing faintly in the dark alley. He blinked. It was still there.
[Urban Sugar Daddy System — Activated!]
[Host Detected: Michael Musk]
[Status: Pathetic. But fixable.]
He stared at it.
"...What."
[Your new life begins now, Host. Charm women. Spend on them. Treat them well. The System rewards accordingly.]
[Starting Balance: $500]
[Current Rank: Bronze — Broke Boy]
[First Mission: Unlock tomorrow.]
Michael lay there on the cold concrete, ribs cracked, eye swollen, dignity somewhere in the gutter, and read the glowing screen three more times.
Then he started laughing.
It hurt enormously. Every shake of his shoulders sent pain firing through his chest but he laughed anyway, as they echoed off the alley walls.
Because of course. Of course this was how it happened for him. Not a near-death epiphany. Not a mentor. Not hard work or discipline or any of the things normal people got their second chances from.
A system. A sugar daddy system.
He pressed a hand against his ribs and slowly, painfully, pushed himself upright against the wall. The screen followed him patiently glowing Infront of him.
[Will you accept?]
Two options hovered beneath it. [YES] and [NO.]
Michael looked at the NO option for exactly one second.
Then he pressed YES.
[Welcome to your second life, Host. Try not to waste this one.]
He leaned his head back against the brick wall and looked up at the narrow strip of night sky between the buildings. Somewhere up there, the universe had apparently decided he deserved one more shot.
He had no degree. No job. No plan. Cracked ribs and five hundred dollars to his name.
"Alright," Michael Musk said to no one in particular.
"Let's see what you've got."