The city reeks of desperation when rain falls on concrete. People rush past with urgency—not because they have somewhere important to go, but because nobody wants to look poor under a broken umbrella. In the middle of all that gray chaos, Elias Ramirez sits on the sidewalk in front of a closed store, clutching a bag of stale bread and a phone that stopped buzzing long ago.
Not because it's dead.
But because nobody calls him anymore.
"Fifteen dollars," he mutters, checking his grimy wallet as if there might be a secret compartment at the bottom. But no. Just that damn crumpled bill and a couple of coins that wouldn't even buy a cheap coffee.
In front of him, a bus passes by, splashing dirty water. The muddy spray soaks his pants. He doesn't react. Not anymore. He's gotten used to it—to losing, to getting soaked, to feeling his stomach gnaw at itself while the city devours those without connections or fancy last names.
Elias is 24 years old. He graduated high school with decent grades, worked everything: waiter, call center, warehouse assistant. But today he's just another number on the unemployment list.
And to top it all off, he owes three months' rent. Mrs. Rosa, his landlady, already told him that if he doesn't pay this week, it's over. He's out on the street.
"I could sell the phone," he thinks aloud, turning it between his fingers.
It's not a bad device. Not the best, but it works. It's the only thing he hasn't pawned yet. But without it, he couldn't look for work, communicate, or even watch YouTube videos about making money fast online.
As if any of that shit actually worked.
A violent cough to his left snaps him out of his trance. It's a hunched old man with a tattered shirt, soaked to the bone. He's holding a box of matches in one hand and a plastic bag in the other. He can barely walk. His steps wobble, clumsy.
"Are you alright?" Elias asks, standing up.
"I'm... cough ...fine... just a little cough ...lost."
Elias grabs his arm before he falls. The man weighs nothing. He seems made of wet paper.
"Come on, sit here. I'll get you something hot." Without thinking too much, Elias ducks into a small store that's just opening its metal shutters and comes out with a steaming coffee and two bread rolls.
Five dollars less. Ten remain.
"Thank you, young man..." says the old man, taking small sips. "Nobody stops for anybody in this city. But you did."
"It was nothing."
"For you it might be nothing..." The old man looks at him with eyes that shine strangely, as if he could see beyond the wet clothes and sadness. "But maybe it'll change your life."
Elias smiles, uncomfortable.
"If you want to change my life, pay my rent," he jokes.
"Maybe I can't pay your rent," says the old man, standing up with newfound steadiness. "But I can give you something much more valuable."
Elias was about to let out a laugh, but stops.
Because the old man is gone. Vanished. Just like that.
"Huh?"
He looks both ways. Nothing. Nobody. Not even the coffee that was on the ground.
As if he'd never been there at all.
"I must be hallucinating."
And then it happens.
In front of his eyes, floating in the air, a message appears. Transparent, but readable.
[Profit Multiplier System Activated.][User: Elias Ramirez.]
[Level 1 – Street Apprentice.]
[Every intelligent action from now on can generate multiplied benefits based on the user's risk, ingenuity, and persistence.]
[First Challenge Unlocked: Earn your first multiplied dollar before the day ends.]
[Reward: Passive Ability – "Money Scent."]
Elias blinks. Twice. Three times.
"What... what is this? Am I dreaming? Did someone drug me?"
But it's not a dream. The message is still there. He can even swipe at it with his finger, like an augmented reality interface. It feels solid, real. Digital, but present.
Then, a final line appears:
[The system has been permanently linked. It cannot be canceled or transferred.]
And below that, a small warning in red letters:
[Failing the first challenge will result in total system loss. Time remaining: 14 hours 37 minutes.]
Elias looks at his hands, the street, the ten-dollar bill still tucked away in his pocket.
He needs to make money today. But not just make it... multiply it.
And suddenly, something in his chest—something he thought had died months ago—begins to ignite. A spark.
Ambition.