The Time Gambler's Curse

Chapter 4: The First Undoing

The world folded, and for a moment, Damian felt weightless, like he was floating between two realities. Colors bled into one another, the familiar kaleidoscope of time breaking and re-forming. His heart raced, and his hands clutched the time device tighter. It buzzed against his wrist, groaning under the strain of one last jump. Then, with a jolt, the world snapped back into place.

Damian found himself standing on a cracked sidewalk under the glaring sun of June 8, 1996. The familiar buzz of traffic filled the air, and just across the street, he saw the bookie's shop—the place where he had made his first bet. A nostalgic wave washed over him, but it quickly dissolved into a knot of dread. This wasn't a victory lap. He was here to undo his first mistake.

He glanced at the time device on his wrist. The once-shining copper dials were now blackened, and the machine sat cold, no longer buzzing with energy. Elias's words haunted him: "This is your last jump." If Damian failed here, there would be no second chance. Time was already fractured, and if he didn't set things right, the erasure would begin. He'd be wiped out of existence—every decision, every breath he ever took, would vanish like dust in the wind.

Damian drew a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. Undoing the bet—something that had once brought him so much excitement and triumph—now felt like betrayal. He could still remember the rush when the bet had paid off, when the winnings had piled up and he'd felt untouchable. But that victory had been his first step into chaos, the first ripple that had torn apart the fabric of time.

With determination, Damian crossed the street and pushed open the door of the bookie's shop. The smell of smoke and cheap perfume hit him like a wave of nostalgia, and he was met by the same familiar scene: men hunched over slips of paper, a haze of cigarette smoke swirling around their heads.

The man behind the counter, Mick, was just as Damian remembered him—an aging bookmaker with a permanent scowl etched into his wrinkled face. Mick was counting a wad of cash, flipping through the bills with the same careless ease. He didn't look up when Damian entered, just grunted in acknowledgment.

Damian's pulse quickened. This was it. He needed to reverse the bet, to make sure it never happened. But how? Just walking up to Mick and telling him to erase the wager wouldn't work. He'd need to be clever.

He approached the counter and leaned in, trying to steady his voice. "Hey, Mick. I placed a bet here a few hours ago, on the Bulls game. I... I need to pull out. Cancel it."

Mick looked up from his bills, raising a skeptical eyebrow. "You what?"

"Cancel the bet," Damian repeated, his voice firmer now. "I made a mistake. I need my money back."

Mick snorted and shook his head. "Not how this works, pal. Once it's placed, it's placed. No take-backs." He returned to counting his bills.

Damian's frustration mounted. He had expected resistance, but he hadn't thought Mick would be this stubborn. His mind raced—he couldn't afford to waste time here. Every second was precious. He needed to find another way.

He scanned the shop quickly, his eyes landing on the phone on the far wall. An idea sparked. Mick had told him before that bets were logged in the system through phone calls to a central office. If he could access that system and delete the record before it went through, the bet would never exist. But how could he get past Mick?

Damian fumbled through his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. "Look, I'll double what I bet earlier. Just... cancel the first one and let me start fresh. I need this to happen."

Mick's eyes gleamed with interest, but he still didn't move. "Double, huh?" he muttered, eyeing Damian carefully. "You running some kind of hustle here?"

"No hustle," Damian lied, forcing a grin. "Just trying to hedge my bets. I'm serious about doubling down, but that first one—it's gotta go."

Mick considered it for a long moment, then shrugged and gestured toward the back of the shop where the phone was. "All right, I'll see what I can do. But no promises. The system's tight, and I can't just erase stuff at will. Give me a sec."

Damian nodded, watching as Mick made his way to the back room. The moment the door swung shut behind him, Damian bolted. He raced across the room and grabbed the phone off the wall. His fingers trembled as he dialed the number he'd seen Mick use earlier. After three rings, a voice on the other end picked up.

"Yeah, this is Central. You got a bet to log?"

Damian's heart hammered in his chest. "Actually, no. I need you to cancel a bet from earlier. Name's Cole. Placed a bet on the Bulls game—short position."

There was silence on the other end, and Damian's stomach dropped. Did it work?

The voice crackled back after what felt like an eternity. "What's this about? We don't do cancellations unless there's fraud, buddy. This ain't a charity."

Damian's mind scrambled. "It... it was fraud. I overheard something about the game being rigged. You can check the system—get it pulled before it goes through."

Another long pause. "All right, we'll look into it, but don't expect any refunds if you're pulling a fast one." The line went dead.

Damian exhaled, his hands trembling as he placed the phone back on the wall. Had it worked? Did they believe him?

Just then, the back door creaked open, and Mick returned, his expression unreadable. "No dice," he said, shaking his head. "System's locked for the game. Bet stands."

Damian's heart sank. He gave Mick a curt nod and left the shop, feeling the weight of failure pressing down on his shoulders. Out on the street, the world continued as it always had—people walking by, unaware that their future was being rewritten, one small act at a time.

He stood on the corner, unsure of what to do next. Had the call worked? Would the bet be erased in time? The uncertainty gnawed at him.

Then, from the corner of his eye, Damian saw a flicker. At first, it was just a blur—like a figure at the edge of his vision. But when he turned, it was gone. A cold chill crept up his spine. Time was watching. He didn't have long.

He couldn't rely on luck anymore. He needed to make sure, and if that meant finding Elias again—or even forcing his way into the very fabric of time itself—so be it. He wasn't going to let the world erase him.

As Damian moved down the street, the flicker returned, this time closer. The erasure was beginning, and now, time was playing its final hand.