Scene: A remote ga$ station, barely alive under the flicker of failing fluorescent lights. The clerk’s bell jingles faintly as MAINLINING enters, his presence immediately tilting the balance of the room. He surveys the shelves briefly before stepping to the counter, where EVAN39 stands. The air is thick with unease, the hum of an old refrigerator the only sound.

Mainlining: setting a bag of peanuts on the counter, his eyes locking onto Evan with quiet intensity “This is your store?”

Evan39: nervously adjusting his tie “Uh, no, sir. I just work here.”

Mainlining: “You live here?”

Evan39: stammering “No, I live up the road. With my partner’s family. His father’s got a place down in Temple. Raised a family there. Built it up from nothing, really.”

Mainlining: pausing, as though considering something deeply “A lot of work to build something up. A lot to lose.”

Evan39: forcing a laugh “Yeah, I guess so. You passing through?”

Mainlining: flipping a coin from his pocket, examining it “You could say that. Picked this up along the way.”

Evan39: gesturing to the coin “That’s a lucky quarter, huh?”

Mainlining: his tone sharp, cutting “There’s no such thing as luck. This coin got here the same way I did.”

Mainlining sets the coin on the counter, spinning it slowly, watching it reflect the flickering lights.

Mainlining: “What’s the most you’ve ever lost on a coin toss?”

Evan39: taken aback “I… I don’t know. I don’t gamble.”

Mainlining: without breaking eye contact, flipping the coin idly “You’ve been putting it up your whole life, friendo. You just didn’t know it.”

Evan39: nervously laughing, trying to deflect “What business is it of yours, anyway?”

Mainlining: flipping the coin mid-air, catching it with a snap “You already asked me that.”

Evan39: blinking, unsure how to respond “I guess I did. Look, I don’t mean anything by it.”

Mainlining: placing the coin flat on the counter, his hand resting over it “Call it.”

Evan39: his voice trembling: “Call what?”

Mainlining: his voice steady, unyielding “The coin. Call it.”

Evan39: confused, panic rising “But I need to know what I’m calling for!”

Mainlining: leaning in slightly, his tone dropping to a deadly whisper “Everything. Every decision, every breath—it’s all been leading here. You’ve been putting it up your whole life. NOW CALL IT.”

Evan39: sweat beading, his voice cracking “Alright… heads.”

Mainlining lifts his hand slowly, revealing the coin. It’s heads. He nods once, his expression unreadable.

Mainlining: “Well done. You got lucky, friendo.”

Evan39: trying to laugh, but his voice shakes “Is that it? Was it for real?”

Mainlining: stepping back, his gaze like a scalpel “It’s never about the coin. It’s about what you’ve been putting up. The Mahchine™ doesn’t deal in luck. It deals in inevitability.”

Evan wipes his brow, trying to compose himself.

Evan39: “My partner’s father used to say life was just a series of bets. I never understood it. Maybe I still don’t.”

Mainlining: tilting his head, his voice faintly amused “He understood better than you. The grind teaches those who listen. You’ve done neither. And you married into, you faggot.”

Evan39: fumbling for words “I thought… maybe life isn’t about calling it. Maybe it’s just about living it. Clocking in, clocking out, and hoping for the best.”

Mainlining: his tone hard, unforgiving “That’s the lie you’ve been telling yourself. Every day, you put it up. Every choice is a call you didn’t even know you were maeking. The Mahchine™ remembers every call.”

Mainlining steps to the door, pausing with his hand on the handle. Without turning, he speaks again.

Mainlining: “This coin traveled the same path you did to be here. It’s just a coin. But what you’ve been putting up? That’s eternal. Keep calling, friendo. I’ll see you again.”

He exits into the darkness, leaving Evan trembling, staring at the coin like it holds the weight of his existence. Somewhere, the hum of the Mahchine™ grows louder, merging with the faint buzz of the fluorescent lights.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5661324&forum_id=2).#48534705)