[Alex's first-person POV] [Let's go a few years back...]

  My eyes opened, and for a moment, the world seemed blurry. But as the haze cleared, I didn't see the grimy ceiling of my dingy New York apartment or anythiely familiar. Instead, a s floated before me, suspended mid-air like some low-budget sci-fi hologram.

  [2 BROKE GIRLS - LOADED]

  The wlowed faintly, the font eerily simir to a title card for some old sit. What the hell? I blinked hard, rubbing my eyes, but the s didn't disappear. It hovered there as if mog me. Then, without warning, the words dissolved, leaviaring at a void where I expected an expnation. That was when it hit me: the st thing I remembered.

  I had died.

  My heart raced at the memory. That night, the ughter, the dim lighting, the warm breath of a woman who I thought I loved. She'd whispered something, teasing, and light, while her firaced along my chest. I thought she erfect, an escape from the monotony of my existence. Well, some are not meant to be happy and I fucked up royally. What I didn't know was that she was also the daughter of a powerful mafia boss. And when her father found out about our "little fling," he greeted me with an unnerving grin, a cigar in one hand and a gun iher.

  He didn't even give me a ce to plead. I mean, why would he when his daughter was strapped onto the bed and blindfolded while I was standing on top of her naked? Before anyone says anything, let's make it clear. It was her idea. We saorno st night and she wao recreate that se.

  And... Bang!

  One shot.

  One final breath.

  Then nothing.

  Except now, I was here.

  My surroundings began to take shape. A small, crumbling apartment with naked pornstar apers and a window that barely let in the sunlight. The smell of dust and mildew made my nose wrinkle. I gnced around and realized I was lying on a lumpy mattress on the floor. There were no sheets, no furniture, just ay beer bottle tipped over by my side. As I shifted to sit up, the ache in my muscles firmed it... this body wasn't mine.

  A cracked mirror leaned against the wall. Hesitant, I crawled over and stared at the refle. The man looking back at me wasn't the man I used to be. The face was leaner, sharper, with a mop of u dark hair and stubble that suggested rather than style. His or my eyes looked tired, like someone who hadn't known fort in years.

  Then I noticed the work boots o the door, caked in dirt a. The overalls hung on a chair nearby, patched and worn. A hammer and a few rusty nails sat on the floor. Then there was that yellow ID card he yellow helmet. Ok. I was a stru worker. A broke stru worker.

  "Goddamn it," I muttered, slumping against the wall.

  What kind of sed ce was this? I'd hoped for heaven or at least a det afterlife. Maybe some cushy mansion with unlimited beer and good musistead, I got this... sit hellhole? And why Two Broke Girls of all things? Ok. Fihe girls are beautiful. But that's not the problem. The main problem is that I've only seen YT shorts and don't have mufo on this world.

  My mind raced as I tried to piece things together. Was this punishment for something I'd done? Sure, I wasly a saint in my past life, but I wasn't a monster either. Just a guy trying to survive. I'd worked a o-five, saved for vacations I ook, and made poor decisions with women. Okay, very poor decisions, but still...

  I stood up, wing at the stiffness in my limbs. I need more information.

  I fumbled through the pockets of my new body and found a crumpled he handwriting was messy, the ink smudged in pces.

  "Alex—rent's due in three days. Don't screw this up. We've got work at 6 a.m. sharp. No excuses."

  The signature was indecipherable, just a squiggly mess. "Fuck it!" I crumpled the note and tossed it aside. Whoever had written it clearly wasn't the friendly type.

  I rubbed my hand through my hair, trying to focus. 'Alright, Alex. You got another ce at living. It's not what you were looking for, but you are alive. And that has to t for something, right?' I looked around the room again, trying to find any clues, answers, or anything that would help me.

  Well, there wasn't anything other than some pendis, bills, and my name. I remember some faint memories of this guy. I'm Alex Wilson, 19 years old guy. A dropout, thanks to no money. My so-called parents just ran away, God knows where leavih debts. Those bastards! I worked part-time at the local stru pany that pays shit. I had a girlfriend who dumped me six months ago. And I live in a shitty apartment with a ndlord who's already threateo evict me twice.

  'Great,' I thought bitterly. 'Just fug great.'

  I sat on the bed, looking bnkly at the wall. There were no pictures, os, nothing which hi life beyond bare survival. It felt like I was living in some kind of limbo between worlds. Like purgatory trapped me.

  I looked at the cracked clock hung on the wall, with hands that seemed to slowly drag themselves from o number. 5:30 in the m. Ah! I remember now. Tsk. Work starts early today, and this body wasn't going to allow me any kind of special sideration to help me get into the adjustment. My stomach growled, but there was no food within sight except a half slice of pizza left on the tertop. Huh? That freaking mold stippling on the crust. Wtf is this guy eating?

  "Great," I muttered, snatg up the overalls. They smelled of sweat and cheap detergent, but they fit well enough. The work boots were stiff; they bit at my heels as I slipped them on. It could have been worse, I reminded myself. Could've woken up ing sewers or nuclear power pnts instead of w on stru.

  The job site... A half-finished building loomed ahead; scaffolding and mounds of rubble surrou at all ers. Workers mill about: some smoke and others speak in gruff tones with one another. A foreman, beer gut and always scowling, seems to yell orders across the way. He spots me then and jabbed a thick fi me.

  "Alex! About time you showed up. You're on pster duty today. Get to it!"

  I nodded, holding back a sarcastic remark. The man was too serious and I needed no more drama. My body seemed to move from muscle memory alone as I mixed pster, carried buckets, and trowelled like I was some sort of expert doing work for years. his guy's been w for three years. Underage w in a stru site... Sigh! What a luck. But it's better than nothing, right? I ime to adjust and think things through.

  The hours dragged on. My arms felt like jelly, and my back screamed for mercy by lunchtime, but the meal provided by the pany was some kind of unappealing sandwid lukewarm coffee. But at least that way, one didn't starve.

  "Not bad for a newbie," one of the wrunted as we sat under a makeshift tent. The man was burly, shaved-headed, and had tattoos snaking up his arms. "Keep it up and the foreman might just remember your name."

  The shift dragged on painfully, each passing hour feeling like a small eternity. By the time the foreman finally yelled, "That's a !" my body ached in pces I didn't even know could hurt. I quickly took my backpad walked out of the site.

  The sun was setting, casting long shadows over the cracked pavement as I made my way back toward the apartment. My boots ked heavily against the ground, and I could feel the sting of blisters f on my heels. I was too tired to care, but my mind wouldn't let me rest.

  The memories of my past life ed alongside the disjointed fragments of Alex's, merging into a fusing mess. What was the point of this sed ce if it was just another slog through mediocrity? At least in my old life, I had some forts—small luxuries that made the grind bearable. Here, even the idea of a cold beer seemed out of reach.

  I paused by a small park, its grass patchy and rown. A few kids pyed on a rusted swiheir ughter eg faintly in the distance. Across the way, an old man fed pigeons, his face weathered and serene.

  I slumped onto a bench, the worn wood creaking under my weight. The cool breeze offered a small reprieve from the stifling day, and for a moment, I allowed myself to breathe, to think.

  "What am I even doing here?" I muttered, leaning bad staring at the darkening sky. The frustration of it all, the ck of answers, the randomness of this world... it g me.

  Then, like before, it happened.

  A holographic s appeared, materializing in the air before me. The light was soft yet vivid, impossible to ignore.

  [Pick 1 Starter Package]

  [Unlimited Money]

  [Roulette 1x/day]

  [Random Skill]

  I blinked, my jaw tightening as I read the options. For a moment, I thought I might be halluating, but the s remaieady, its glow unwavering.

  "Starter package?" I whispered, the words tasting strange on my tongue. "What the hell is this? Some kind of game?"

  But this wasn't a joke. The s was here, and the choices were clear.

  Unlimited Money: A tempting option. No more scraping by, no more worries about rent or food. I could live like a king, indulge in every whim. But was that really what I needed? Money might solve a lot of problems, but it wouldn't give me purpose.

  Roulette 1x/day: The gambler in me perked up. The thrill of randomness, the possibility of striking gold or disaster. It was risky, uain, but strangely appealing.

  Random Skill: Practical, versatile. A skill could mean anything, from cooking to bat, from speaking a new nguage to mastering a craft. It felt like the most grounded choice, something that could give me an edge in this strange, new life.

  I stared at the options, my mind rag. This was the first sembnce of trol I'd been offered since waking up in Alex's body. Whatever I chose could shape the path ahead, for better or worse.

  Taking a deep breath, I reached out, my finger h over the s.

  And then, I made my choice.

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