The subway car rattled along the tracks like an old beast refusing to die, its metallic groans echoing through the dimly lit tunnel. Lucas gripped the overhead strap with one hand, his other scrolling absently through his phone.
The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting harsh shadows on the faces of the few passengers scattered around him. It was late, past midnight and the air smelled of stale sweat, cheap coffee, and the faint metallic tang of the rails.
Another twelve-hour shift at the warehouse done, another day closer to burnout.
He glanced at the headline glaring from his screen:
"Government Implements New Tax Reforms to Bolster Economy."
Yeah, right. "Reforms" was just code for squeezing the little guys harder while the fat cats up top got fatter.
Lucas felt the familiar knot of anger twist in his gut. Rent was due next week, and after this latest hike, he'd be scraping the bottom of his account again.
No overtime pay bump, no relief for folks like him slinging boxes for minimum wage. Just more "contributions" to a system that didn't give a damn.
"They don't govern," he muttered under his breath, loud enough that the woman across from him, a nurse in rumpled scrubs, shot him a weary glance before looking away.
"They just collect taxes and pat themselves on the back. Infrastructure? Ha. The potholes on my street could swallow a car whole, and the trains? This one's probably older than I am."
Lucas was twenty-five, stuck in a dead-end job that paid just enough to keep him afloat but not enough to escape. Grew up in a cramped apartment in the city's underbelly, parents working double shifts until they couldn't anymore.
College? He'd tried, but the loans piled up faster than his motivation. Dropped out after two years, traded textbooks for a forklift license. Now, his life was a loop: work, take the subway home, crash on the couch, repeat.
The only break came from his games, late nights diving into virtual worlds where he actually had control. He loved management sims the most. Games like Civilization or Tropico, where you built empires from scratch, balanced resources, crushed rivals.
Turn a backwater village into a global powerhouse. And the war ones? Hearts of Iron, Company of Heroes, those were his jam.
Strategizing troop movements, outflanking enemies with tanks and artillery, managing supply lines in brutal campaigns. He wasn't some armchair general, but he'd read enough military history books, borrowed from the library or pirated PDFs, to know the basics.
Blitzkrieg tactics, trench warfare horrors, the sheer logistics of feeding an army. In games, he always won because he planned, adapted, and didn't waste resources on bullshit.
"If I ran things," Lucas thought, staring at his reflection in the dark window, a tired guy with messy black hair, sharp eyes shadowed by exhaustion, "I'd treat it like one of my sims. Optimize the hell out of it. Cut the wasteful spending, invest in what matters, jobs, tech, defense. Hell, I'd build an army that could actually protect people instead of parading for photo ops."
The train screeched to a halt at the next station, doors hissing open with a puff of cold air. A handful of passengers shuffled off, their footsteps echoing in the empty platform. In came a few more, a couple of night-shift workers, a kid with a backpack slung low, and an old man who moved like he owned the place.
The old guy was straight out of a forgotten era, wrinkled face half-hidden under a wide-brimmed fedora, a long coat that brushed the floor, and a cane with a polished handle that looked like carved ivory. He scanned the car with eyes that were too sharp for his age, then made a beeline for the seat right across from Lucas. The cane tapped rhythmically as he sat, adjusting his coat with deliberate care.
Lucas shifted uncomfortably, pretending to focus on his phone. Great, just what he needed, a chatty stranger. But the old man didn't say anything at first. He just sat there, staring out the window as the train lurched forward again.
Minutes ticked by in silence, broken only by the rhythmic clatter of the tracks. Lucas tried to lose himself in a quick game on his phone,.a mobile strategy sim where he was building a virtual kingdom.
Swipe, allocate resources, crush a rebel uprising. Satisfying. But his mind kept drifting back to the real world. Another buzz: a notification from his banking app.
Overdraft Alert: Insufficient Funds for Upcoming Bill.
"Damn it," Lucas grumbled, louder than intended. "Another tax grab, and they can't even fix the economy. What are we paying for? More yachts for the elite?"
The old man turned his head slowly, those sharp eyes locking onto Lucas like a hawk spotting prey. "Pardon me, young man," he said, his voice gravelly but steady, carrying an accent Lucas couldn't quite place, old-world European, maybe?
"Did you say something about taxes?"
Lucas hesitated. He wasn't in the mood for conversation, but the guy seemed harmless. "Yeah. Just venting. The government's hiking taxes again. They say it's for 'stability,' but all I see is more instability in my bank account."
The old man chuckled softly, a dry rasp that sent a weird chill down Lucas's spine. "Ah, the eternal complaint. Governments come and go, but the gripes remain. Tell me, what would you do differently? If you were in charge, I mean."
Lucas blinked, caught off guard. The nurse across the aisle was pretending not to listen, but he could see her ear tilted their way. Why not? It wasn't like he had anywhere to be but his empty apartment.
"Me? In charge?" Lucas leaned forward, warming to the idea. "First off, I'd stop treating people like walking wallets. Taxes? Sure, but they'd go to actual fixes, roads that don't crumble, schools that don't leak, jobs that pay enough to live on. I'd cut the bloat, streamline everything. Like in my games, you know?"
The old man raised an eyebrow. "Games?"
"Yeah," Lucas said, pulling out his phone to show the screen, his virtual empire mid-construction.
"Management sims, strategy games. I play a ton of them. Build cities, manage resources, wage wars. In Civilization, you turn a tiny settlement into a world power by smart planning. No wasting on useless projects. And war games? Hearts of Iron, that's all about logistics, flanking, outmaneuvering. I'm a bit of a military enthusiast. Read about real battles too, Verdun, Stalingrad, blitzkrieg tactics. If I ran a country, I'd apply that, efficient defense, no endless quagmires. Build an army that's lean and mean, tech that's cutting-edge. People would thrive, not just survive."
The old man nodded slowly, his eyes glinting with something like amusement or was it approval?
"Fascinating. So, you believe games teach governance? That virtual empires prepare one for the real thing?"
Lucas shrugged, getting into it now. The train rocked gently, but he barely noticed. "Why not? It's all about decisions. In games, if you mismanage resources, your empire crumbles. Same here. Our government? They're playing on easy mode with infinite cheats, tax us more, spend on crap. Me? I'd play smart. Balance the budget like a pro, invest in tech and people. Hell, I'd even handle wars better. No pointless invasions, just strategic strikes, secure resources, build alliances that last. I've simulated enough world wars in games to know how to win without bankrupting everything."
The old man leaned back, tapping his cane thoughtfully. "Resources, you say. Like... crystals in a mine? Or oil in the ground?"
Lucas laughed and continued. "Oil? Yeah, exactly. In my war games, controlling resources wins half the battle. Fuel for tanks, materials for factories. If I had that power in real life, I'd make sure we never ran short. No shortages, no famines. Just progress."
A smile crept across the old man's face, slow and knowing. "Bold. Very bold. But words are easy. Action is the true test. Tell me, young man, if you truly had the chance to run a country, to wield that power... do you swear you could fare better than these 'clowns,' as you call them?"
Lucas met the old man's gaze, feeling a strange intensity in the air. The train seemed quieter now, the other passengers fading into the background.
"Absolutely. I'd build something unbreakable. A nation of steel and... well, whatever it takes. I'd do it right."
The old man chuckled again, deeper this time, the sound vibrating through the car like distant thunder.
"Very well. I shall hold you to that. And I'll be coming to inspect, to see if you truly run the country well."
Lucas frowned, confusion bubbling up. "Inspect? What do you mean? Who are you, some kind of auditor? This isn't a joke...."
Before he could finish, a wave of vertigo hit him like a freight train. The world tilted. His vision tunneled, edges fraying into black. The old man's face blurred, but those eyes stayed sharp, piercing through the haze.
"Wait..."
Lucas gasped, clutching the strap as his knees buckled.
But the word dissolved in his throat. The subway lights dimmed, then winked out. A cold void rushed in, pulling him down, down, into endless nothing.
Everything went black. No pain, no scream. Just silence.
And in that silence, the faint echo of the old man's chuckle lingered, promising... something.
Something big....