Michael was deep asleep, dreaming of wealth and having it all—until the dream shifted.
Before him stood a woman, ethereal and otherworldly, her eyes were a striking shade of gold, the pupils shaped like stars. She was pale, dressed in a stunning silver gown with an almost celestial glow. Her long, flowing hair matched the same silvery hue, cascading like moonlight down her back.
"My beautiful children," she whispered, her hand gently brushing his cheek, her voice as tender as a mother's lullaby.
She then turned to the infant beside him, offering the same gentle touch, her warmth radiating like pure love.
"Live well," she whispered.
And then, everything began to crumble—like the world he had witnessed was breaking apart, piece by piece. It fell away like a brittle leaf snapping from its branch, drifting slowly to the ground, only to crumble into dust.
Then–
Darkness.
Michael jolted awake in his bed, his heart pounding against his chest.
He placed his palm against his face, trying to steady himself. Who was that? She seemed familiar. Just picturing her—wow—she was beautiful. But then… the way the world crumbled around her—it felt less like a dream and more like a memory.
Shaking off the lingering haze, he pushed the thoughts aside and quickly got out of bed, trying to focus on the day ahead.
Stumbling into the bathroom, he stood in front of the mirror and stared at his reflection—just an average guy. Six feet tall, messy brown hair, and a noticeable gut. Nothing special.
He sighed.
His name is Michael Nelson, 23 years old—broke, single, friendless, a loner, and yeah… He is a bit overweight.
He'd let himself go over the past few months, but he was confident he could get his abs back with a little effort.
Currently he lives in a run-down apartment, barely scraping by to make rent. Life's far from perfect, but it's the only thing he got.
He didn't have the money for college, nor was he any good at soaking up knowledge—these days, he could barely remember how to solve for X and Y. Honestly, if it weren't for his sister, he probably would've ended it all a long time ago.
Unlike him, She was off at university on a full-ride scholarship, and he couldn't be prouder. She had her whole future ahead of her, while he was stuck grinding away at a minimum wage job, just trying to stay afloat.
He sighed, a familiar tightness settling in his chest, and gently slid a photo out his wallet.
Both of their parents were gone—his mother taken by cancer, his father by a sudden heart attack. All he had left now was his sister.
Sliding the photo back into his wallet, Michael checked the time on his phone.
"Great, I'm gonna be late for work," he muttered.
Buzz.
[Notification]
"Huh, a new message," he muttered.
He tapped the screen to unlock his phone—then froze. A chill ran down his spine.
"Where's our money?" It was from a Bulldog debt collector .
"Shit…" he whispered.
He'd forgotten he borrowed money from them to pay for his mother's funeral.
He sat back down on his bed, panic tightening in his chest, his hand clutching his head.
He didn't have the money. Should he respond or ignore the message?
He was as good as dead unless he could somehow strike a deal. But even then, it would mean working for them, repaying the debt on their terms.
In the end he chose not to respond, blocking the number instead. With a shaky breath, he got dressed and walked out of his apartment, dashing toward his car—old, beat-up, but still hanging in there. Climbing into the driver's seat, he twisted the key in the ignition.
The engine sputtered, coughed, and refused to turn over.
"Come on, you piece of shit, work!" he shouted, twisting the key again.
With a loud cough, the engine finally roared to life. Without wasting another second, he took off, speeding toward work.
Now, off to his destination—Bostco, where he worked long hours for minimum wage.
As he drove, he didn't take notice of a all-black sedan trailing behind him, keeping a careful distance.
Miles away on the East, 23-year-old Rani Nelson walked briskly across campus, heading to her next class. She was pursuing her master's degree in engineering and, unlike her brother, she was well-versed in a wide range of subjects.
Her brother had a habit of getting into fights—but strangely enough, he always won. Maybe he had a talent for something after all.
As she walked into class, a sudden whisper brushed her ear, like someone was right behind her. It sent a chill down her spine. She quickly turned around—nothing.
"Odd… I could've sworn I heard something," she murmured, eyes scanning the hallway.
She turned her head back and continued toward her class, stepping into a room already filled with students. She took a seat in the middle row just as the professor entered.
"Welcome, students," the professor said, adjusting his glasses as he walked to the front of the room. "Today's lesson will be on Rifts."
He gestured to the board and continued, "Please turn to page 80 in your textbooks. All the important information is there."
He paused before diving into the topic. "As you all know, Rifts are a common occurrence in our world. It's believed they form due to cracks in the fabric of reality—tears between our world and another. Our world is surrounded by an energy field, but when that field weakens or fractures, these cracks open portals. Through them, Rift creatures are able to cross over into our realm."
This class was somehow part of her engineering curriculum, though she couldn't understand why. She sighed, bored out of her mine.
Back to the west Michael arrived at his work parking and to To his surprise, a line had already formed outside. All this… for eggs? he thought. People really don't play around when it comes to sales.
Then he saw it—a black-tinted sedan slowly rolling past him. At first, it didn't register. But then it clicked. Wait… could it be the Bulldogs?
It had to be.
Panic surged through him. He had to get out of there.
Michael rushed toward his car—but out of nowhere, a truck came barreling in, slamming into it with brutal force. His eyes went wide in shock as he watched his car—his old, beat-up baby—get crushed beneath the weight of the truck.
His knees gave out, hitting the pavement hard. All that hard-earned money, gone in an instant—his car, totaled before his eyes.
Then he heard them—heavy footsteps behind him.
The truck door slammed open.
Out stepped one of the higher-ups. The man wore a white undershirt and cargo pants, a baseball bat in his hand.
Tattoos covered his massive arms, and the look in his eyes promised one thing: pain.
"Well, well… if it isn't Michael the underdog," Victor sneered, a grin spreading across his face.
"One of our best fighters, and you ran off to go work retail?"
Michael raised his hands, trying to reason. "If this is about the money, I can pay it back—just give me a few fights in the ring."
Victor chuckled darkly. "And what makes you think we'd let you back in the ring? You walked away, remember? We let you go because you wining your freedom in a bet. Fair and square."
His eyes narrowed. "But then you came crawling back for cash—and now your payments are late. Real late. And you know how the Bulldogs feel about money, Michael. We take it very seriously."
Before Michael had a chance to respond, the bat slammed against the side of his head. Pain exploded through his skull as blood trickled down his face, his vision blurring instantly.
He staggered, spitting out a tooth onto the pavement. "I left the ring because my mother was dying," he gasped, voice strained. "I needed the money for her funeral… She wouldn't have wanted this kind of life for me."
"Boo hoo," Victor mocked, his voice sharp with cruelty. "You should've thought of that before joining a gang."
Michael barely had time to react before a hard kick slammed into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him.
"You were the only one we ever let walk away without a bullet in the head," Victor sneered. "But now? Now we're coming for your sister."
"Don't you dare touch my sister!" Michael growled through gritted teeth. "I'm the one who took the loan. If you're going to kill anyone, kill me."
Victor chuckled darkly before delivering a swift blow with the bat, knocking Michael out cold.
"We'll get the money one way or another. His sister better be ready to pay up."
He turned to his men with a smirk. "Tie him up. We'll use him as leverage—a little motivation never hurts."