The Time Gambler's Curse

Chapter 3: The House Always Wins

Damian slumped against the peeling wallpaper of the hotel room, his mind racing in a frenzy. He fought against the rising tide of panic, his breaths shallow and rapid. The stranger's words echoed in his mind like the toll of a distant bell: Time doesn't offer refunds.

He glanced down at the time device, the lifeline that had taken him across years. It now sat on his wrist like a dead weight, unresponsive and useless. He twisted the copper dials frantically, hoping for a spark of life, a flicker of hope—but there was nothing. Just silence.

He couldn't stay here. Not in 1929, not on the eve of catastrophe. His heart pounded with the terrifying realization: if he didn't find a way out, he would be trapped forever in a world that wasn't his.

Determined to find answers, Damian yanked on his coat and stormed out into the cold New York night. He needed help—someone, anyone, who could fix the device. He retraced his steps, pushing through the streets, eyes darting in every direction. The theater marquees still advertised films that shouldn't exist. Newspapers on street corners carried strange headlines: "Temporal Anomalies Reported Worldwide." Something was terribly wrong.

At the back of his mind, Weaver's warning surfaced again: "Don't make more than three jumps. The game fights back." Damian cursed under his breath. The first jumps had been small—sports bets, a few stock picks. But greed had driven him deeper, and now the fabric of time was pulling apart.

He pushed open the heavy door of the speakeasy he had visited earlier. The same patrons filled the room, laughing, smoking, drowning their worries in whiskey. But to Damian's horror, some of their faces seemed... different. A bartender flickered—one second a young man, the next an elderly woman—then back again. Two patrons sitting in the corner argued in two voices at once, their words overlapping, colliding. Time was unraveling.

Damian spotted the dealer who had taken his stock trades earlier. He rushed toward him, shoving through the crowd. "Hey! You remember me?"

The dealer turned, his gold tooth catching the dim light, but his expression was blank. "No clue who you are, friend. You look lost."

Damian slammed his fists on the table. "I placed bets—short positions. You took my trades, damn it!"

The dealer chuckled, a sound that held no warmth. "Buddy, you ain't the first to come in here spouting nonsense about stocks and time travel. You made your bet? Great. Now live with it."

Damian felt the floor tilt beneath him. He backed away, eyes wide. The room seemed to pulse, each second out of sync, like the flickering frames of an old film reel. Time wasn't just broken—it was collapsing around him.

Suddenly, a hand gripped his arm, yanking him toward a side exit. Damian spun around to find himself face-to-face with the stranger from the hotel. "Come with me, traveler," the man hissed, dragging Damian out into the alley.

Damian stumbled after him, the air thick with the scent of rain and alleyway garbage. "Who are you? What do you want from me?"

The stranger kept walking, pulling Damian deeper into the narrow streets until they were far from prying eyes. Finally, the man stopped and turned. "Call me Elias," he said quietly. "I used to be like you. Thought I could beat the system. I was wrong."

Damian narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean 'like me'? You've traveled through time too?"

Elias gave a bitter laugh. "Yeah. We all think we can cheat it—go back, place the perfect bets, build fortunes beyond imagination. But time isn't a game. It doesn't like to be manipulated. And the more you jump, the more it starts to... retaliate."

Damian felt cold fear coil in his gut. "So what? I just stay stuck here forever?"

Elias shook his head. "Not necessarily. But the only way to fix this mess is to undo what you've done—correct the fractures you created."

Damian's mind raced. "You mean I have to undo my trades? How? The crash is tomorrow—"

Elias interrupted, his voice low and grim. "It's not just the trades, kid. It's everything. Every action you took, every bet you made—it's all tangled up now. Time's trying to erase you, wipe the slate clean."

"Erase me?" Damian whispered, his throat dry.

Elias nodded. "Yeah. If you don't act fast, you'll blink out of existence entirely—like you were never born. That's time's version of balance."

Panic clawed at Damian's chest. He could feel the weight of every decision, every reckless bet, pressing down on him like a vice. "How do I stop it?"

Elias reached into his coat and pulled out a small notebook, its pages filled with strange symbols and notes. "This is your only chance. Go back to where you made your first jump. Undo it. Every action you took—reverse it. But you only have one more jump left. The machine's fried, and the next trip will be your last."

Damian stared at the notebook, his hands trembling. "What if I don't make it? What if I mess up?"

Elias shrugged. "Then you disappear. Simple as that."

The alley seemed to close in around Damian, the walls pressing tighter, the night growing colder. He looked down at the time device on his wrist, its copper dials now dull and lifeless. One last jump. One final chance.

He nodded to Elias. "Fine. I'll do it."

Elias gave him a grim smile. "Good luck, traveler. You're gonna need it."

Without another word, Damian twisted the dials on the machine. The gears groaned in protest, sparks flickering from the worn wires. He set the date to the moment of his first jump—the day he bet on the Bulls game.

With a deep breath, Damian pressed the button.

The world folded again, the alley disappearing in a blur of light and shadow. As reality collapsed around him, Damian whispered a silent prayer.

If he failed now, there would be no second chances. No fortune waiting at the end. Only oblivion.

And the game, Damian realized with a sinking heart, had always been rigged against him.