Another day, another pain in the ass.

My least favorite thing about working as a bartender was how much I saw the detriment of humanity. Customers came in all shapes and sizes, genders, and religions, but to me, they might as well have been the same. Small-time criminals or thugs, cheating spouses, scammers, low-life alcoholics, all types of people came to relieve themselves at the sanctuary known as Maynard's Bar.

The establishment opened fifteen years ago, boasting high popularity and hospitality. All were welcome there. Most people took that to heart at first, but over time they vanished one after another.

At first, my hours were long and gruesome, rewarded with low pay and ungrateful comments from the bar's patrons. As the number of customers decreased over the years, somehow, my workload doubled as my coworkers went with them. I didn't mind, however.

The bar was my home.

I wouldn't leave it behind for anything in the world. So, imagine my surprise when I got my hands on a foreclosure notice from the damned IRIS. It was there right before my eyes in big, bold red letters, as if taunting me.

If there's one thing I hated most in the world, it was having my time wasted.

I crumpled up the foreclosure noticed and tossed over my shoulder. Out of sight, out of mind. Soon enough, a creaking door reached my ears, followed up by the sound of heavy footsteps hitting the wooden floor.

"You gonna pick that up, Troy?" A gruff, disembodied voice asked. I looked over my shoulder and spotted the owner of the bar himself, Gideon Maynard.

"It's not my job to pick up trash when I'm off the clock," I returned my attention to the single glass of Jack Daniels on the bar counter.

"Ah, so you're gonna be an asshole today," Maynard presumed and walked around the bar counter. "Go on and spill it. What's got you all pissy today?"

"I found that piece of trash letter from the IRS in your office," I answered.

"The fuck were you doing going through my office?!" Maynard hollered.

He tried to dodge the topic by pushing the blame onto me. But I wouldn't have it. The bastard wanted to play hardball, so that's how I played.

I raised my fist and slammed it on the counter. "Why didn't you tell me the IRS wanted to foreclose on us?!"

I got straight to the point of the argument. I wouldn't let Maynard sweep it under the rug like the other times.

He heaved a heavy sigh and reached under the counter. He pulled out a bottle of whiskey with one hand, and a couple of glasses with the other.

"Got nothing to say?!" I challenged.

"Let them," Maynard said. He opened up the whiskey bottle and poured us some glasses. He handed a drink over to me, which I reluctantly accepted as he continued, "The bar's run its course, Troy. It's been fun."

"You're going soft, old man?! You're gonna let those bastards take our home?!"

"Yeah," Maynard answered without any hesitation. "You think we can scrounge up three-hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars in two weeks?"

"I don't believe this shit!" I grabbed my glass and tossed it across the room. It shattered against the wall, sending glass and alcohol all over the place.

It wasn't the Maynard I knew. The old Maynard wouldn't have given up without a fight.

He'd beat my ass if I ever showed any signs of surrender.

"God damn it! That's coming out of your paycheck!" Maynard shouted.

"Fuck you!" My rampage continued. I directed my anger toward a nearby chair, launching it across the room with a kick.

The furniture smashed against the wall and fell to pieces upon impact to my satisfaction, but Maynard's frustration.

"Stop breaking shit!"

"What do you care?! If those fuckers want this place, might as well give them shit to take!" I declared as I looked around for anything else to destroy in the bar. I wouldn't give the bastards the satisfaction of taking my home from me without a fight. I'd rather see it destroyed before anything else.

"So that's how it's gonna be? You're just gonna throw a temper tantrum?" Maynard presumed, but I saw it more like a provocation.

I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths to calm myself down.

"No, I'll stop this." I gathered my composure and headed for the door.

"Stop what?" Maynard asked.

I stopped at the door and answered, "The foreclosure. What else?"

"Troy, stop it. You'll never make it in time. We can always find a new place. Maybe the Bahamas or Hawaii."

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"No, we've lost enough shit in one lifetime. I'll be damned if we lose any more," I put my foot down on the matter. I wouldn't give up, no matter what.

Maynard threw in the towel, so it was up to me to pick up the scraps and save the one place in the world that we can call home.

"What's your plan here? Get the money, save the bar, and then stay here for the rest of our lives?" Maynard wondered.

It didn't sound bad to me.

"What's wrong with that? What if staying here with you is what I want?" I asked.

Maynard's face contorted in disgust. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked away as he said, "For the last time, Troy, I'm just not into you that way."

"God damn it, old man! Take this seriously!" I groaned angrily. He always made terrible jokes at inappropriate moments. Everything must've been one big gag to him.

"Learn to take a joke," Maynard smiled.

"Fuck you," I rolled my eyes.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Maynard continued to test my patience.

"Keep it up with your jokes. We'll see who'll get the last laugh when I get back." I opened the door and took one last glance at Maynard before ultimately leaving. It pained me, knowing that I was alone in my crusade to save the bar, but it only fueled my determination. I wouldn't lose the bar--that I swore.

Once outside, I took a stroll down the sidewalk and contemplated my next course of action. Sure, I talked a big game about saving the bar, but I didn't have an actual plan in mind.

"Quit fucking around and give me everything you got!" A disembodied voice reached my ears. I stopped and looked toward the source of the sound. My gaze shifted to the alleyway close to the bar. I spotted a masked man robbing another man in a suit at knifepoint. "Don't even think about screaming!"

"I wouldn't dream of it," The panicked tone came from the victim of the mugging. He stepped away until his back hit the wall. He was trapped.

"You've got ten seconds to hand over all your shit! Hurry up!" The masked man demanded.

"Hey, asshole!" I called out to the mugger as I stormed into the alleyway. "Take this shit somewhere else! You're too close to the bar!"

The mugger shrieked and turned to face me. "Who the fuck are you?! Stop moving unless you want your throat slit!"

He talked a big game, but his unsteady hand and amateur posture left me unconvinced about his threat. I removed my hands from my pockets and proceeded with my advance.

"Relax, I'm unarmed," I raised my hands in the air, leaving them out on full display.

"Didn't you hear me?! I said--"

I didn't allow him to finish. The moment I reached his range, I disarmed him and knocked him unconscious with a kick to the face. The poor bastard crashed into some trash bins and got buried underneath the trash.

"Idiot," I squatted down and rummaged through the man's pockets. I found a few bucks and pocketed the money.

"Magnificent! Truly magnificent! You dealt with that mugger quite swiftly!" The man in the suit praised me. "You have my thanks for saving my life!"

"I didn't do it to save you," I assured the man as I turned to face him. "The bar's already got enough problems without having some bastard chasing away potential customers."

"Regardless of your reasons, the fact that you helped me deserves praise." The man said.

"I'd rather have money," I inspected the knife on the floor. My eyes constantly shifted to the blade and the man in the expensive suit. "How much money you got?"

"You're not planning on robbing me, are you?" The man asked nervously.

"Depends on how much you got," I said.

It wasn't the best response in the world, but life dealt me a shitty hand. I needed the money to save my bar, and the man looked like he carried wads of cash on him. Or at least some credit cards.

"Money troubles, I assume?" The man wondered.

"You could say that." I nodded my head.

The man smiled and approached me with his arms spread out, "Well, you're in luck, sir. I have a proposition of a lifetime for you as thanks for saving me."

"Proposition?" I narrowed my eyes.

"You see, I'm a game recruiter. I've been tasked with the honor of gathering suitable participants to play in a few life-changing games of ours."

I folded my arms over my chest and gave the man a sideward glance. "You trying to recruit me into becoming one of the players?"

The man snapped his fingers and pointed at me. "Bingo!"

"What is this for? A tv show? Why should I bother listening to you?" I demanded answers. Something about the entire situation didn't sit right with me.

"If you agree to become a player, defeat the other contestants, you can leave with the grand prize of one million dollars." The man happily revealed without missing a beat, making me far more suspicious.

"You serious? One million dollars just for playing a few games?" I exclaimed. It was surprising to hear, but I couldn't entirely trust the man or his proposition.

The man reached into his suit and pulled out numerous photos. He handed them over to me. The images featured different people holding briefcases full of money.

"This is what becomes of our winners," The man said. I focused on the eyes of the people in the pictures. Although the people smiled, their eyes seemed hollow and vacant in comparison. "Wealth. Fame. Power. It doesn't matter what you desire. For as long as you win, anything is possible."

"Win, huh?" I lowered the pictures down to my sides. "There's no other way?"

"Of course, not. I can't just hand the money over to you,"

"It sure would save me some time," I sighed.

The man brought his hand up to his cheek and laughed. "I find it funny how people wish to become rich, but refuse to put in the effort to achieve it."

I gritted my teeth and handed the pictures back over to him. "How long do I have to make the decision?"

"Now would be nice, as I am running low on time." The man replied.

I weighed my decisions and stroked my beard. It was a lot to consider. One million dollars would be more than enough to pay off the IRS and stop the foreclosure of Maynard's Bar. However, something about the games the mysterious man mentioned didn't quite sit well with me.

I wouldn't be the only one playing in the games, and the man was vague about everything concerning the events. If I accepted the man's proposal, there would be no going back. I would be in it for the long haul.

It was all or nothing.

"Why the hesitation, Ambrose? It's one million dollars," The man continued to goad me into making a decision. "Are you that deep in the hole that such a measly sum isn't enough for you?"

Measly sum? Is that how he saw it? The bastard had so much money that one million dollars meant nothing to him? If that was the case, then I take great pleasure in taking that money from him.

"I'll do it. I'll play your stupid games and take home one million dollars." I declared.

The man smiled and extended his arm out for a handshake. I hesitated for a moment but eventually shook the man's hand to seal the deal.

"Well said," The man smiled. "By the way, I never introduced myself. My name is Trent. What's your name?"

"Troy Ambrose," I introduced myself.

"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Ambrose. Let's have fun playing these games together," Trent suddenly pulled me in close. Almost immediately, a sharp pain reached the back of my neck. I shoved the man away and caught a glimpse of the needle in his hand.

The world around me distorted, twisting, and twirling in rapid succession. In a desperate attempt to escape, I swung at the laughing bastard. Trent moved out of the way, and I stumbled to the ground. Eventually, the darkness overcame me as I lost consciousness.