He was Jack “Zero” Miller, a former scholar beaten by Victor Sterling, the casino mogul’s heir who stole his fiancĂ©e, then tossed him in a dumpster! But the blow to the head unlocked THE EYE OF TRUTH, a cybernetic interface that exposed the value of every object! Jack used his new power to cheat a pawn shop, enter Victor’s high-stakes blind auction, and BID $400K ON A RUSTY BOX OF TRASH! Victor laughed, but Jack pried open the container to reveal $850 MILLION IN GOLD BULLION and the ORIGINAL DEED TO THE CASINO LAND! He didn’t just win the auction; he became the boss! Victor was left foaming on the ground after his own security tasered him, and the scheming fiancĂ©e was BANNED FROM THE PREMISES after his ‘Eye’ revealed her true, money-hungry thoughts! 👇
PART 1: THE ZERO
The neon lights of the Las Vegas Strip didn’t reach the back alley behind the Sterling Grand Casino. Here, the air didn’t smell of expensive perfume and oxygen-pumped lobbies; it smelled of stale beer, rotting shrimp, and shattered dreams.
Jack “Zero” Miller was on his knees, scrubbing a stain of unknown origin off the concrete loading dock. He wore a grey jumpsuit that was two sizes too small, with the nametag JANITOR stitched crookedly on the chest. His knuckles were raw, his back ached, and his spirit was thinner than the cheap coffee he’d had for breakfast.
Three years ago, Jack had been a rising star in the History Department at UNLV. He had a keen eye for antiques, a scholarship for archeology, and a beautiful fiancée named Clara. Then came Victor Sterling. Victor was the son of the casino mogul who owned half the strip. Victor was a man who collected people like he collected sports cars. He wanted Clara. He also wanted Jack’s research grant. He got both by framing Jack for the theft of a rare coin collection from the university museum.
Jack lost his degree, his girl, and his reputation. Now, he scrubbed the vomit of the people who had ruined him.
“Missed a spot, Zero.”
The voice came from above, dripping with amusement. Jack froze. The brush slipped from his hand.
He looked up to see Victor Sterling standing on the loading dock. Victor was wearing a white tuxedo that cost more than Jack’s life. Beside him was Clara, looking stunning in a red dress, clutching a glass of champagne. She didn’t look at Jack. She looked at her Jimmy Choo shoes, refusing to acknowledge the man she had abandoned.
“The charity gala starts in ten minutes, Victor,” Clara murmured, her voice tight. “Let’s go inside.”
“In a minute, babe. I want to tip the staff. It’s good for PR.” Victor reached into his pocket and pulled out a gold-plated poker chip. It was a $1,000 chip. He smirked, held it over the edge of the dock, and dropped it.
It didn’t land in Jack’s hand. It landed in a puddle of dirty, oily mop water.
“Fetch,” Victor laughed.
Jack stood up slowly. His hands were shaking, not from cold, but from a rage so old and deep it felt like magma.
“Go to hell, Victor,” Jack said. His voice was raspy from disuse.
Victor’s smile vanished instantly. His eyes went cold. He snapped his fingers.
Two massive bouncers stepped out of the shadows behind him. They were human walls, wearing earpieces and expressions of bored violence.
“Teach him some manners,” Victor said, adjusting his cufflinks. “Then throw him in the dumpster. He’s ruining the view.”
The beating was efficient and brutal. Jack tried to fight back, but he was malnourished and outnumbered. A fist connected with his ribs—crack. Another to his jaw. He tasted copper. He fell to the concrete, curling into a ball to protect his head.
He heard Clara gasp, “Victor, stop, you’ll kill him!”
“He’s already dead, Clara,” Victor sneered. “He just hasn’t stopped moving yet.”
The bouncers lifted Jack’s limp body. With a grunt of exertion, they tossed him.
Jack flew through the air and crashed into the open, massive metal dumpster filled with discarded electronics, broken glass, and casino waste.
His head slammed against something hard—a jagged piece of a broken neon sign that had been thrown out. A sharp shard of electrified glass sliced across his right eyebrow, piercing the skin and grazing his eyelid.
Pain exploded in his skull. It wasn’t just physical pain; it was a blinding white light that seared his neural pathways. It felt like his brain was being rewired by lightning.
He screamed, clutching his bleeding eye, as a robotic, mechanical voice echoed inside his mind. It wasn’t a sound; it was a thought that wasn’t his.
“Bio-metric signature detected. Host verified: Jack Miller. Trauma levels critical. Initiating Emergency Protocol.”
“System: THE EYE OF TRUTH (Version 1.0). Installing… 10%… 50%… 100%.”
“Installation Complete. Welcome, User. The world is now your inventory.”
Jack’s vision went black. He passed out among the trash, the blood from his forehead dripping onto a discarded circuit board.
PART 2: THE AWAKENING
Jack woke up to the sound of a garbage truck reversing. The beep-beep-beep pierced his headache like needles.
He gasped and scrambled out of the dumpster, falling onto the asphalt. His body ached, his ribs screamed, but strangely, the agonizing pain in his right eye was gone. He touched his face. There was dried blood, but the wound was sealed. There wasn’t even a scar.
He blinked.
The world looked… different.
The morning sun was rising over the desert, but the light seemed to carry data. He looked at the dumpster he had just crawled out of.
Suddenly, a translucent blue holographic window popped up in his vision, floating next to the metal bin. It looked like a video game interface, but hyper-realistic.
[Item: Industrial Waste Container] [Condition: Poor / Sanitary Hazard] [Contents: Food Waste, Recyclables, 1x Discarded Antique Mechanism] [Total Scrap Value: $45.00] [Hidden Value: High]
Jack rubbed his eyes. “I have a concussion,” he muttered, leaning against the brick wall. “I’m hallucinating. Brain damage. Great.”
He focused on the text. Discarded Antique Mechanism?
A blue arrow appeared in his vision, pointing into the trash bags he had just slept on.
Driven by a curiosity he couldn’t control, Jack climbed back into the dumpster, ignoring the smell. He dug through the bags where the holographic arrow was pulsing.
At the bottom, wrapped in a greasy napkin and stuck to a half-eaten burger, was a muddy, cracked pocket watch. It looked like junk. The glass face was shattered, and the gold paint was peeling.
He picked it up.
Ding! A soft chime rang in his head.
[Item: Breguet Grande Complication Marie-Antoinette (Prototype #2)] [Status: Damaged / Dirty] [History: This is NOT a replica. This is the lost prototype stolen from the Jerusalem Museum in 1983. It was discarded by a drunk patron (Victor Sterling) who believed it was a cheap gift shop knockoff.] [Material: 24k Gold, Platinum Gears, Sapphires.] [Restoration Cost: $500] [Real Market Value: $12,000,000]
Jack stopped breathing. The air left his lungs.
He knew this watch. Every historian knew this watch. It was the holy grail of horology, commissioned for the Queen of France. The original was in a museum. But rumors of a second prototype had circulated for decades.
“Twelve… million?” Jack whispered, his thumb brushing the grime off the casing.
He looked around the alley. He looked at a stray cat sitting on a fence. [Item: Feline (Stray). Status: Hungry. Value: $0]
He looked at his own shoes. [Item: Generic Sneakers. Status: Decrepit. Value: -$5.00]
It wasn’t a hallucination. It was an interface. A cheat code. He could see the truth of everything.
Jack clenched the watch in his fist. He stood up, and the smell of the dumpster no longer bothered him. The shame of the night before evaporated, replaced by a cold, burning fury.
Victor had thrown this watch away because he was too arrogant to see its value. Just like he had thrown Jack away.
“Victor,” Jack smiled, and for the first time in three years, it was a smile of genuine confidence. “You wanted to gamble? Let’s play.”
PART 3: THE PAWN AND THE KING
Jack couldn’t just walk into an auction house looking like a homeless man. He needed seed money. Liquid cash. Fast.
He pulled the hood of his stained jumpsuit up and walked to Gold & Silver Dreams, a high-end pawn shop three blocks away from the strip. The owner, a greasy man named Lou “The Shark” Gellar, was known for ripping people off and fencing stolen goods.
Jack walked in. The bell jingled.
Lou looked up from his newspaper, eyeing Jack’s dirty clothes. “We don’t give handouts. The shelter is two blocks east. Get out.”
“I’m selling,” Jack said, placing the muddy watch on the glass counter.
Lou picked it up with two fingers, grimacing. “What is this piece of crap? Look at the glass, it’s cracked. It smells like trash. I’ll give you fifty bucks for the gold casing. Take it or leave it.”
Jack’s right eye shimmered. A blue grid scanned the shop, then focused on Lou.
[Target: Lou “The Shark” Gellar] [Psychology: Greedy, Impatient, Nervous.] [Secret: Currently hiding a stolen “Blue Star” diamond in the wall safe behind the painting of Elvis.] [Negotiation Weakness: Paranoia.]
Jack leaned forward, resting his elbows on the counter.
“Fifty bucks? Lou, look at the serial number inside the casing. It’s a 19th-century French movement. Even as scrap parts, the gears are platinum.”
Lou frowned. He popped the back open with a tool. His eyes widened. He saw the platinum. He didn’t know it was the Marie-Antoinette, but he knew it was worth at least five grand in parts.
“Okay, okay,” Lou grunted, trying to hide his excitement. “You got a good eye for a bum. Five hundred.”
“I want twenty thousand,” Jack said calmly.
“Get lost!” Lou laughed, spitting a little. “Twenty grand? You’re high!”
“If you don’t give me twenty thousand,” Jack lowered his voice, leaning in until his face was inches from the glass, “I’ll tell the police about the Blue Star diamond you have taped to the back of the filing cabinet in your safe room. The one reported stolen from the Mirage last week.”
Lou froze. His face went pale. The blood drained from his cheeks.
“How… how do you know about that?” Lou stammered. “Who sent you? Are you a cop?”
“I have eyes everywhere, Lou. Twenty thousand. Cash. No receipt. And I leave the watch here as collateral for a month. If I don’t come back, you keep it. It’s worth way more than twenty.”
Lou was sweating. He didn’t care about the watch anymore; he cared about prison. He scrambled to his back room. Jack heard the safe spin (Jack noted the combination: 44-19-82).
Lou came back with two thick stacks of hundred-dollar bills.
“Take it. And get out. If I see you again, I’m calling my guys.”
Jack took the cash. He tucked it into his pocket. “Pleasure doing business, Lou.”
He walked out into the blinding Las Vegas sun. He had $20,000. It wasn’t millions, but it was enough for a suit, a haircut, and an entry fee.
He went to a luxury menswear store at the Forum Shops. He bought a fitted black suit, a crisp white shirt, leather shoes, and a pair of dark aviator sunglasses to hide the faint blue glow that sometimes flickered in his right eye.
He looked in the dressing room mirror. The janitor was gone. A predator stood in his place.
PART 4: THE ARENA
Tonight was the “Centennial Blind Auction” at the Sterling Grand Casino. It was Victor Sterling’s pet project, a way to flex his power. Ultra-rich clients from around the world gathered to bid on “Storage Vaults”—unopened shipping containers seized from tax evaders, drug lords, and bankrupt billionaires.
It was the highest-stakes gambling in the world. You could pay a million dollars for a container full of old newspapers, or ten thousand for a container full of gold bars. No inspections allowed. Only the exterior could be seen.
Jack walked to the VIP entrance of the ballroom.
“Name?” the bouncer asked. It was the same bouncer who had beaten him up yesterday. He looked right at Jack but didn’t recognize him in the Italian suit and sunglasses.
“Mr. O’Malley,” Jack said, handing over the $5,000 entry fee from his pocket. “I’m new in town.”
“Go right in, Mr. O’Malley.”
The ballroom was dripping with opulence. Waiters served caviar on silver spoons. The elite of Las Vegas mingled—oil tycoons, tech moguls, and Hollywood stars.
In the center, on a raised stage, stood Victor Sterling, holding a microphone. Clara was by his side, looking tired but beautiful in a shimmering silver gown.
“Ladies and Gentlemen!” Victor boomed, his charisma filling the room. “Welcome to the event of the season! Tonight, we sell mystery! We sell dreams! We have five mystery vaults tonight. Who feels lucky?”
Jack took a spot in the back, sipping a sparkling water. He activated his System.
“System Scan: Wide Range Mode Initiated.”
Data streams flooded his vision. He ignored the jewelry on the women (mostly fake) and the watches on the men (mostly leased). He focused on the five massive metal containers on the stage.
[Container #1] [Contents: 1960s Vintage Cadillac parts, heavily rusted.] [Estimated Value: $15,000]
[Container #2] [Contents: Illegal Ivory (Contraband). Risk of Arrest: 100%] [Estimated Value: $0]
[Container #3] [Contents: Designer Clothing (Moth-eaten) and old mannequins.] [Estimated Value: $2,000]
[Container #4] [Contents: Empty Safes and rocks.] [Estimated Value: $500]
Jack frowned. It was all trash. Victor was scamming his own guests. He was selling junk wrapped in the allure of mystery, probably salting the audience with fake bidders to drive up the price.
Then, Jack scanned Container #5.
It was the smallest container. Rusted. Ugly. It looked like it had been dragged from the bottom of the ocean.
[Container #5] [Origin: Estate of eccentric billionaire Howard Hughes (Uncatalogued storage from 1950).] [Contents: Surface layer – Old Newspapers and Rotting Furniture.] [Hidden Compartment Detected: False Floor.] [Item: The original, hand-signed deed to the Las Vegas Strip Land Trust (1946).] [Item: 500kg of Gold Bullion.] [Total Estimated Value: $850,000,000]
Jack choked on his water. Eight hundred and fifty million.
The deed to the land. The Sterling Casino didn’t own the land; they leased it. If someone held the original 1946 deed, they owned the ground the casino was built on. They would own Victor.
“And now!” Victor announced, skipping the first four duds. “The final item! Vault Number 5! Look at this rustic charm! It smells of history! Who wants to start the bidding at $10,000?”
“Ten thousand!” a Texan oil tycoon shouted.
“Twenty!” a tech CEO yelled.
“Thirty!”
Jack waited. The price climbed to $100,000. The crowd was losing interest. It looked like a box of trash.
“Going once at $100,000…” Victor raised his gavel.
“Two hundred thousand,” Jack said. His voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the room like a knife.
Victor froze. He squinted into the dimly lit crowd. Jack stepped forward into the light and took off his sunglasses.
Victor’s jaw dropped. “Zero? What the hell are you doing here? Security!”
“I paid the entry fee, Victor,” Jack said, holding up his bidder paddle. “Unless your auction is rigged? Are you afraid of a janitor?”
The crowd murmured. They loved an underdog.
“Let him bid!” someone shouted. “Money is money!”
Victor’s face turned red. He laughed nervously, trying to save face. “Fine. Let the rat throw away his life savings. Two hundred thousand from the janitor. Do I hear three?”
“Three hundred thousand,” Victor said himself. “I’m not letting you win, Zero. I’ll buy it myself just to burn it in front of you.”
“Four hundred thousand,” Jack said. That was every penny he had left from the pawn shop (he had lied about having more, banking on intimidation).
“Five hundred thousand!” Victor sneered. “Come on, scrub! Show me the money! I bet you don’t even have ten bucks.”
Jack smiled. He tapped his temple.
“System. Activate Skill: Bluff Enhancement.” [Skill Activated: Charisma +500%. Intimidation +200%.]
Jack laughed. It was a relaxed, arrogant laugh that echoed off the vaulted ceiling.
“Victor, Victor. You always were short-sighted. You think I’m bidding on this box because I want it? No. I’m bidding because I know what’s in your private vault upstairs.”
Victor went pale. “What?”
“The ‘Red Dragon’ Ming Vase you claimed was destroyed in a fire for the insurance money last year?” Jack lied smoothly, though the System had flagged Victor’s high “Fraud Probability” earlier. “I bet the FBI agent standing at the bar would love to know it’s sitting in your office safe right now.”
Jack pointed vaguely at a random man in a suit near the bar.
The crowd gasped.
“You’re lying!” Victor screamed, sweat beading on his forehead.
“Am I?” Jack stepped forward. “Then let me have the box, Victor. If it’s trash, I lose everything and you win. But if you bid against me one more time, I pick up this phone and call the insurance commission.”
Victor hesitated. He was sweating profusely. He did have skeletons in his closet—maybe not that specific vase, but enough tax fraud to bury him. He couldn’t risk an investigation over a rusty box of trash. He thought Jack was bluffing, but the confidence in Jack’s eyes was terrifying.
“Fine!” Victor threw his hands up. “Take the trash! Sold to the loser for $400,000! I hope you enjoy your box of old newspapers! You’re bankrupt!”
Victor banged the gavel hard enough to crack the wood. “Sold!”
PART 5: THE REVELATION
Jack walked up to the stage. He pulled out his phone and transferred the funds. The transaction cleared. He had $42 left in his bank account.
“Open it,” Victor mocked, crossing his arms. “Let everyone see your stupidity. Let Clara see what a failure looks like.”
Clara looked at Jack with pity. “Jack… please, just go. Don’t humiliate yourself.”
Jack ignored them. He grabbed the crowbar from the stagehand. He pried open the rusty doors of Vault #5.
Dust billowed out. The crowd leaned in.
Piles of yellowed newspapers from 1950 spilled out.
Victor howled with laughter. “Newspapers! I told you! Ladies and gentlemen, this is what happens when the uneducated try to play with the big boys! He spent half a million dollars on kindling!”
Jack didn’t flinch. He walked into the container. He activated his [X-Ray Vision].
He walked to the back wall of the container. He kicked the metal floor panel. It sounded hollow.
“He’s kicking the floor!” Victor wiped tears of laughter from his eyes. “He’s lost his mind!”
Jack picked up the crowbar again. He jammed it into the seam of the false floor. With a grunt of exertion, he heaved.
SCREECH. CLANG.
The metal panel popped off.
Gold.
Rows and rows of gold bars glinted under the stage lights. The reflection was blinding.
The laughter died instantly. The room went so quiet you could hear the air conditioning hum.
Victor stopped breathing. Clara covered her mouth.
Jack reached in and pulled out a leather document tube. He opened it and unrolled the parchment. It was perfectly preserved.
“According to this,” Jack spoke into the microphone, his voice calm and steady, “this is the original land deed for the Las Vegas Strip Land Trust, plot 4B. The plot this casino stands on.”
Jack looked at Victor.
“Your father leased the land from Howard Hughes’ estate in the 70s, Victor. But the lease expired last year. This deed says the land reverts to the holder of the original title.”
Jack held the paper up.
“I own your casino. I own your hotel. I own the ground you are standing on.”
Jack smiled coldly. “Get off my property.”
The room erupted. Phones flashed like a stroboscope. People screamed.
“No! That’s fake! That’s mine!” Victor rushed the stage, his eyes wild with madness. “You stole it!”
Jack turned his gaze to Victor.
“System Scan: Victor Sterling.”
[Target: Victor Sterling] [Status: Panicked / Homicidal] [Possessions: 1x Derringer Pistol in ankle holster (Unlicensed).] [Action Prediction: Reaching for weapon.]
“He’s got a gun!” Jack shouted, dropping to the floor.
Victor, in a blind rage, reached for his ankle. The security guards—the same ones who had beaten Jack yesterday—saw their boss pull a weapon in a room full of billionaires. They didn’t hesitate. Their job was to protect the VIPs.
Three tasers fired at once.
ZAP.
Victor convulsed and collapsed onto the stage, foaming at the mouth, the tiny gun skittering across the floor.
PART 6: THE NEW KING
One Month Later.
Jack sat in the penthouse office of the newly renamed O’Malley Grand Casino. He was wearing a bespoke suit. He watched the city below through the bulletproof glass.
The System hummed quietly in the back of his mind, categorizing the traffic flow, the revenue streams, the probabilities of the poker games downstairs.
The door opened. Clara stood there. She looked nervous. She was wearing the same red dress she wore the night she left him, trying to evoke a memory.
“Jack,” she said softly. “I… I was so scared for you that night. I only stayed with Victor to protect you. You know that, right? I tried to stop him.”
Jack turned his chair around. He looked at her. He didn’t feel anger. He didn’t feel love. He felt nothing.
He activated the System.
[Target: Clara Vance] [Affection Level: 5% (Opportunistic)] [Current Thought: “If I cry, maybe he’ll pay off my credit card debt and let me move into the penthouse.”] [Truth: She cheated on you because she thought you were a loser.]
Jack sighed. He took a sip of his espresso.
“Clara,” he said.
“Yes, honey?” She stepped forward, hopeful.
“Security is waiting for you downstairs. You’re banned from the premises.”
“What? Jack! You can’t do this! I love you! We were engaged!”
“No,” Jack said, turning back to the window. “You loved the potential of a professor. Then you loved the money of a mogul. Now you love the power of a casino owner. You never loved Jack.”
He pressed a button on his desk. Two guards entered.
“Escort Miss Vance out. If she returns, call the police.”
“Jack! You monster!” Clara screamed as she was dragged out.
The door clicked shut. Silence returned to the office.
Jack looked at his reflection in the glass. His right eye flickered with a faint blue light.
[Mission Complete: The Revenge.] [New Mission Available: Global Market Domination.] [Reward: Legacy.]
Jack smiled. He touched the antique watch in his pocket—the one that started it all.
“System,” he whispered. “Accept mission.”
THE END.
