SWNOVELXO Chapter 7: Chapter 7
The walk back to the Nite Owl felt different under Ace's boots. The pavement was cold and unyielding, but his steps landed with a firmness born from the forty dollars folded tightly in his pocket. $37.00 withdrawn. $3.00 fee. He felt the phantom subtraction like a cold pinch, sharper than the night air biting his exposed neck. The money was a solid weight, a shield forged from steam, pain, and the System's relentless math.
He passed the flickering neon of a closed laundromat. His hand brushed the crusted juice stain on his shirt – a rough, stiff patch against the worn fabric. A marker, he thought, the texture grounding him. He wasn't retreating. Not yet.
The Nite Owl's sickly yellow glow spilled over the cracked asphalt. Ace pushed through the smudged glass door. The weak jingle of the bell was swallowed by the thick, stale air – cheap floral spray wrestling with old cigarette smoke. It coated his tongue.
Big Mike looked up from behind the scratched plexiglass. His heavy-lidded eyes were watchful stones. No warmth now, just the neutral assessment of a man who'd seen promises crumble to dust.
Ace pulled the two twenties from his pocket. The paper felt crisp, important. He smoothed them deliberately on the counter, the slight tremor in his burned fingers making the motion uneven. "Twenty-four forty-nine," he stated, the words leaving his lips firmer than the ache in his hand. He pushed the bills forward.
Mike's large hand, knuckles like weathered stone, covered the money. He didn't count it. His gaze held Ace's, searching. "Room holds till noon tomorrow. Same deal. Noise down. No trouble." The gravel in his voice wasn't a request; it was bedrock.
The newly unlocked pathways of Basic Haggling (Level 1) flickered in Ace's mind. He saw the slight tension cord Mike's shoulders, the micro-flick of his eyes towards the ledger where the debt lived. He expects a plea. An excuse. A favor pulled. The instinct to ask – About the charger? An hour's grace? – surged. But the skill whispered cold reason. Mike had stepped out. Pushing now, right after repayment, felt… brittle. Ungrateful. Dangerous.
"No trouble," Ace echoed, meeting the stone gaze squarely. He offered a small, tight nod. Muscle memory from a life before the alley. "Thanks. For earlier."
A flicker – surprise? – cracked Mike's impassivity for a heartbeat. A single, slow nod in return. "Don't mention it." He picked up the bills, counted them with swift, practiced snaps, and slid them into the worn cash drawer. The ledger stayed shut. Done.
Warm relief, sudden and profound, washed through Ace's chilled core. The immediate blade at his throat was gone. Sanctuary secured. He turned towards the hallway, the cold metal teeth of the Room 7 key familiar against his palm. The silence behind him felt less like judgment, more like… space earned.
Back in the sour-smelling box, Ace locked the door, the solid thunk of the deadbolt and the rasp of the chain sliding home were the only sounds besides the maddening drip… drip… drip. His stomach clenched hard, a raw, hollow ache echoing the emptiness of hours without real food. Food. That was next. Substance. Not hope scavenged from steam and loose screws.
He pulled out the remaining cash – $13.00. One stiff ten, three soft singles. Then the warped phone, its screen cool, battery a thin red sliver at 7%. He needed a charger. Desperately. But cheap chargers cost. Food cost. $13.00 stretched thin as old rubber.
He sat heavily on the edge of the sagging bed. The springs groaned like tired bones. The thin mattress offered no comfort, just a slight, unsettling give. He stared at the peeling wallpaper opposite, the pattern swimming with exhaustion. Prioritize. The Basic Haggling knowledge nudged, cold logic. Value. Need vs. immediate survival. The phone was his lifeline to the System, to funds, to escape. Without power, zero. Food could wait. Maybe.
Resource Optimization, he thought grimly, the System's phrase tasting like ash. His version. He needed a charger. Cheap. Fast. No glowing stores at this hour. Where…?
The flickering laundromat neon flashed in his mind. Vending machines. Detergent. Snacks. Maybe… chargers? A thin hope. But closer than anywhere else charging double.
Decision made. He stood, the movement stirring the stale air, his hip twinging sharply where the memory of his father's final shove lived. He shoved the pain down, deep. Toughness was ignoring the ghosts.
He pocketed the cash, the phone. Left the key. Slipped back out. The night air hit him, sharp with impending rain. He walked with purpose, retracing his steps toward the green glow of the QuickCash ATM and the low hum of the laundromat beyond.
The laundromat was eerily quiet. Fluorescent lights buzzed above, casting a pale glow over the large, still machines. The air was filled with the strong scent of laundry detergent and damp concrete. Ace scanned the walls. Near the entrance, beside a machine offering tiny boxes of Tide, stood another: 'TRAVEL ESSENTIALS'. Gum. Socks. Phone chargers! Generic, white, tangled cords behind scratched plastic. $12.99.
His heart sank when he saw the price '$12.99'. He only had $13.00. That would leave him with just thirteen cents. Nothing left for food. The emptiness in his stomach felt even worse. Was the juice really worth the squeeze? The System's fee-logic mocked. But the phone was at 6%. He needed it alive. Needed the System alive.
He approached the machine. The metal face was cold under his fingertips. He pulled out the ten – stiff, crisp – and the three soft singles. His burned fingers protested, stiff and sore, making the bills feel awkward. He fed the ten into the slot. A whirr, a click. Accepted. The first single. Accepted. The second single. The machine made a grinding noise, paused for a moment, then rejected the slightly crumpled bill and spit it back out.
Ace carefully rubbed it, feeling a sharp sting as the edge of the paper scraped the sensitive skin near his nail. He fed it again. Rejected. Damn it. He tried the third single. Accepted. The display glowed: $13.00. He pressed the button for the generic USB charger. Nothing. Pressed again. Harder.
[INSUFFICIENT FUNDS](Item Price: $12.99 + $0.50 Convenience Fee)*
Ace stared. Convenience fee? Tiny print he'd missed. Fury, cold and razor-edged, sliced through him. $0.50. Fifty cents he didn't have. Trapped. By a vending machine. The absurdity warred with crushing frustration. He slammed his good fist against the cold metal. BANG! The sound echoed in the empty space. The phone in his pocket felt like a dead stone. 5%.
Think. Cleverness. He scanned the machine desperately. Coin slot. He dug frantic hands into his pockets. Lint. Motel key. The rejected dollar lay useless. His eyes darted – lint screens? Empty boxes? Nothing. Resourcefulness failing.
Then, he saw it. Tucked almost under the machine's base, a smudge against the grimy floor tile. A single, grubby quarter. Discarded. Forgotten.
He dropped to his knees, ignoring the fresh lance of pain from his hip, and snatched it up. The metal was cool, slightly greasy. A talisman. He fed the rejected dollar back in. Accepted this time. He dropped the quarter into the coin slot. Clink. Solid. The display updated: $13.25.
He jabbed the charger button. The mechanism whirred, clunked heavily, and a cheap white charger, tightly coiled in clear plastic, tumbled into the tray. Ace grabbed it. It felt light, flimsy, vital. $0.76 in change clattered down – two cold quarters, a dime, a penny. He scooped them up, the coins chilling his palm. $0.76. And a charger.
Triumph, fierce and raw, surged through him. He'd beaten the machine. Beaten the hidden fee. Through dumb luck and refusing to break. He shoved the charger and coins deep into his pocket and hurried out.
Back in the sour dimness of Room 7, he plugged the cheap charger into the wall. The plastic felt light, cheap. He connected his warped phone. The charging symbol flickered… then held steady. 6%... 7%... Slow, but climbing. Lifeline restored.
He sank onto the groaning bed, pulling out the coins – $0.76. And the charger. Victory felt thin, brittle. He was down to copper and zinc. Starving. But the phone breathed. The System was reachable.
As if summoned by the thought, the blue interface shimmered into existence, painting the stained wallpaper:
[Wealth Consolidation Task Initialized…]
[Objective: Convert Scattered Assets into a Single, Accessible Reserve.]
[Current Asset Summary:]
[System Funds: $100.00 USD]
[Liquid Cash: $0.76 USD]
*[Physical Assets: 1x Generic USB Charger (Estimated Value: $2.00), 1x Motel Key (Room 7 - Temporal Access)]*
[Recommended Action: Liquidate Non-Essential Assets. Consolidate Funds into System Reserve.]
Ace stared. Liquidate the charger? The only thing feeding his lifeline? For $2.00? And the key? Temporal Access? Sell his sanctuary?
[Consolidation Bonus: $10.00 USD](Upon achieving >90% Asset Conversion)*
[Failure Penalty: Asset Seizure (Random)]
The blue text pulsed, cold and absolute. Ace looked at the cheap charger feeding his battered phone, its faint glow the only light in the sour room. He looked at the motel key on the wobbly nightstand. His buffer against the void.
He had $0.76. He was hollow with hunger. The System demanded he sell his lifeline and his shelter for pennies and a $10 bribe. Wealth Consolidation. It sounded clean. It felt like bleeding out.
A harsh, dry sound escaped him, echoing the relentless drip… drip… drip. Cleverness? Creativity? Toughness? They'd carved him this path. Now the System demanded he feed on his own survival for streamlined numbers. The determination he had fought so hard to build suddenly faded replaced by a deep, cold fear he couldn't shake. It wasn't just that the climb ahead was steep it felt like everything he tried to hold on to was designed to fall apart.
He leaned back against the lumpy headboard, the peeling wallpaper rough and unforgiving against his neck. Outside, the first heavy drops of rain began to plink against the motel window. The timer glowed, unwavering: 14:30… 14:29… Wealth Consolidation had begun. And Ace, clutching pennies and a flimsy charger, had never felt the weight of poverty so crushingly absolute.