"The harder you work, the luckier you get."
Levi had believed that once. Hell, most people did. It was one of those sayings that got repeated so often it felt like truth. Work hard enough and good things will come. Put in the hours and eventually you'll catch a break.
He stared at the glass of flat soda on his desk, chin resting against the wood so his eyes were level with the brown liquid. When had someone put it there? Yesterday? The day before? It didn't matter anymore.
The saying had held true for a while. He'd seen it happen. Not for everyone, sure. Plenty of people worked themselves to the bone and never got anywhere. Stuck in the same dead-end jobs, scraping by paycheck to paycheck, wondering what they'd done wrong. Life wasn't fair that way. Some people could work twice as hard and get half as far.
But for him? It had worked, for a time.
Five years of pouring everything into his writing. Every spare hour after his shifts at whatever job was paying the bills that month. Nights when he should have been sleeping, weekends when normal people were out having lives. He'd sacrificed all of it for the story.
And it had paid off.
His webnovel had taken off. Real readers who commented on every chapter, who cared about the characters, who drew fan art and wrote theories. A publisher had picked it up. Hardcover release. A book signing with an actual crowd. Over two thousand chapters. Five years of his life turned into something that mattered to people.
He'd worked hard. He'd gotten lucky.
Except the sickness wouldn't let him enjoy any of it.
Diabetes that had gone from manageable to complicated seemingly overnight. Blood sugar that crashed without warning. Chronic fatigue that made some days feel like moving through concrete. High blood pressure that his doctor kept warning him about with that look that said "you're too young for this."
The medications helped, when his body decided to cooperate.
His update schedule had started slipping. Fourteen chapters a week became five. Then one. Then a week in the hospital getting his insulin adjusted while his readers waited and wondered where he'd gone.
Most of them had been understanding. But not all.
And that's when his luck had really kicked in. The last four weeks was when he got signed up for a program called, HELL.
Dark circles hung under his eyes like bruises. His skin had taken on a grayish color over the past few weeks, the kind that came from never seeing sunlight. His hair, dark brown and too long now, fell across his forehead in greasy strands. When had he last showered? Three days ago? Four?
The lamp in the corner provided the only light. His curtains were drawn tight across the window, blocking out whatever time of day it was. Morning? Afternoon? It all felt the same now. The space heater hummed in the opposite corner, fighting against the October chill. Someone had brought it in last week. Joel, probably.
His hand twitched slightly, fingers moving toward the glass before stopping. Too much effort. Everything took too much effort these days.
Papers lay scattered across the desk around the glass. Manuscript pages covered in red ink that wasn't his. Corrections to scenes he'd already written and demands for new content that made his stomach turn.
Whole paragraphs crossed out and rewritten in someone else's handwriting.
The laptop beside the glass glowed with pale blue light. No WiFi icon in the corner. They'd killed the connection the second week. His phone wasn't on the desk either. It hadn't been since one of them pocketed it on day five.
The cursor blinked at the end of a sentence he'd written an hour ago. Maybe two hours. Time moved strangely now.
His wrist itched where the IV line was taped down. The clear tube ran up to a bag hanging from a portable stand someone had wheeled in beside his desk. He watched the steady drip of fluid flowing into his arm. The bruise from when he'd tried to rip it out during the first week was still yellow at the edges.
In the trash bin beside his desk: needle caps, empty insulin vials, a crumpled protein bar wrapper from days ago.
Four weeks. It all started four weeks ago with a fan of his called Marcus.
It had been four weeks since Marcus had stopped showing up alone. Since he'd brought Vanessa, then Joel. Since "helping" had turned into something else entirely.
The book signing had been three weeks before that. Marcus had shown up at the signing with his enthusiastic smile and his hardcover copy, showing Levi his Webnovel profile. Over 100k fan value. His top supporter. Someone who'd been there since chapter one.
They'd talked in the parking lot afterward. About the story, about where the side story was going. Normal fan conversation.
Then Marcus had left and Levi thought that was the end of it.
Until the knocking at two in the morning a week later. He was persistent and wouldn't stop. He'd dragged himself out of bed to check.
Marcus in his hallway with two other people. The door barely open before they pushed inside.
Now they were in his apartment, living with him and making life a hell for him.
For insurance, they'd said when Joel set up the cameras in the corners. To protect everyone.
But the cameras only pointed at him.
"The harder you work, the luckier you get," he thought, staring at the flat soda. What a fucking joke that had turned out to be.
He'd worked himself sick. Literally worked until his body started breaking down. And his reward? Three people who thought his story belonged to them. Who held his medication hostage. Who forced him to write scenes that destroyed everything he'd built.
Footsteps sounded in the hallway outside his room.
His jaw tightened but he was too exhausted to move.
The door swung open without a knock. There was never a knock.
A woman stepped inside. Early twenties, blonde hair in a deliberately messy ponytail. Expensive hoodie designed to look casual. Her eyes went straight to the laptop screen.
"You're still on the same paragraph," she said to him in a light and casual manner, like she was commenting on the weather.
He didn't turn to look at her. Just kept staring at the glass.
She moved across the room and leaned against his desk, arms crossed, waiting.
When he didn't respond, she leaned over to check the screen.
"Hey." The casual tone sharpened. "I asked you a question."
"I heard you."
"Then answer me. Why haven't you written anything?"
"I'm thinking."
She let out a short breath through her nose. "You've been thinking for two hours."
Had it been two hours? He'd lost track.
She reached over and grabbed the laptop, pulling it toward her. Her fingers left smudges on the screen as she scrolled.
"This scene was supposed to be done by now," she said. "Marcus wanted to read it before lunch."
Marcus. The name made something cold settle in his stomach.
"I need a break," he said quietly.
"You took a break yesterday."
"For twenty minutes."
"Still counts." She let go of the laptop and straightened up. "You know how this works. Finish the chapter, we proofread it, then you get your meds."
The cold spread outward. "I haven't had my insulin since yesterday."
"I know. Joel's tracking it." Like she was doing him a favor. "You'll get it when the chapter's done. Think of it as motivation."
His hands were shaking against the desk. Not from fear. From his blood sugar dropping too low. From weeks of irregular meals and interrupted sleep and endless stress.
Four weeks since that night. Four weeks since they'd forced their way in and refused to leave.
The woman in front of him was Vanessa. The quiet one was Joel. Marcus was the ringleader.
"Come on," Vanessa said, tapping the desk. "The scene with Elara and Kade. You know what needs to happen."
He knew.
They wanted the characters to sleep together. They wanted it detailed and explicit. Never mind that it made no sense. Never mind that it destroyed the arc he'd spent months building.
"It doesn't work for the plot," he said weakly.
"It works for the readers. Your last few chapters got comments saying the quality dropped. People want more romance, more drama." She leaned closer. "We're helping you. You should appreciate that, Levi."
Appreciate.
Appreciate being held prisoner. Appreciate having his story corrupted. Appreciate having his medication withheld unless he performed.
"I can't write it," he whispered.
Her expression stayed patient. She was calm.
Somehow that was worse.
"Yes, you can. You're a good writer. You do it or we do it. Your choice," She glanced at the IV bag. "That's almost empty, by the way. Joel will swap it out after you're done."
She pushed off the desk and headed for the door.
"Get it done," she said. "Marcus is getting impatient. Don't make him come back here. You remember what happened last time."
He did. Marcus's hand squeezing around his throat. The calm explanation that they were "all in this together now."
Then she was gone with the door clicking shut.
Not locked. Didn't need to be. Where would he go? He'd tried on day three. Made it to the hallway before his legs gave out. Joel found him collapsed by the stairs. The neighbor from the other apartment knocked the next morning about a noise. Joel answered, smiled, explained Levi was just clumsy with his health issues. The neighbor never came back.
His wallet was in Vanessa's bag. She "handled his finances" while he focused on writing. Debit card, credit cards, ID, all locked away with his phone. He knew they'd probably emptied his bank accounts now.
He sat there staring at the flat soda.
The liquid hadn't moved, hadn't changed. Just sat there, useless.
The cursor blinked.
Elara and Kade.
His hands moved to the keyboard. Not because he wanted to. But because he knew better than letting them write anything else in his story. They went back to edit and make changes to events and inserted things he normally wouldn't. Not just the sex scenes. But they were changing his story in real time.
And he couldn't do anything about it because of three things.
Diabetes, high blood pressure and Chronic fatigue syndrome.
Three diagnoses. Three ways they controlled him while calling it help. Surely he could call someone for help, right? Someone must have noticed he'd gone missing for a month, right?
No, he was an orphan who'd aged out of the group home at eighteen with nothing but a Walmart gift card and a handshake. No family to notice he'd gone silent. His caseworker had closed his file and wished him luck.
Friends from the home had scattered years ago. The few people he'd met later had drifted away when writing consumed everything, when he'd become too sick and too broke to maintain relationships.
Writing had been his escape. From loneliness. From dead-end jobs. From mounting medical bills. From having no safety net.
And people had cared about his stories, for a while.
His webnovel wasn't revolutionary. Post-apocalyptic, aliens through dimensional rifts. Humanity fighting back. People awakening powers called Sparks. Standard genre fare.
But he'd made it his own. Five years developing the power system, the alien ecology, how society restructured after near-extinction. Characters who felt real.
The main story had finished two months ago. Over two thousand chapters.
Then readers wanted more. Side stories. Prequels. Content about characters he'd barely touched.
Because he needed the money and wasn't ready to let go, he'd agreed.
Four months ago the side story started strong. Readers loved it. Then his health collapsed. Update schedule slipped. One week hospitalized for insulin adjustment. Posted nothing.
Comments turned vicious.
Most readers were understanding. But not all.
And Marcus, Vanessa, and Joel decided the story belonged to them now.
Hours crawled by as his vision was swimming. But he kept typing because stopping meant no medication and no medication meant shutdown.
Finally he reached the end.
Elara and Kade in bed. Character development destroyed.
Done.
He sat back, staring at the screen with hollow eyes.
The door opened. Marcus must have been watching the cameras.
"Let's see it," Marcus said, walking over with that smile. The one that had seemed genuine in the parking lot. He had car keys in one hand. He'd be leaving soon, like always. Vanessa and Joel stayed to monitor. Marcus just collected chapters and left.
Levi slid the laptop across without a word.
Marcus read in silence. Scrolling. Nodding. Stopping to reread sections.
"This part here," Marcus said, tapping the screen. "Where Kade hesitates. Cut that. Makes him seem weak."
Levi stared at the highlighted sentence. The only moment of genuine emotion he'd managed. Kade's internal conflict.
The only human part of the chapter.
"Cut it," Marcus repeated.
He pulled the laptop back, selected the paragraph, deleted it.
Marcus smiled. "Good. See? You're learning. This is going to get a great response when we post it tonight." He pocketed his keys. "Joel will take care of you. I've got errands. Keep working on tomorrow's chapter. We need momentum."
Then he was gone. Footsteps receding. Apartment door opening and closing.
Joel appeared. Silent. Fresh IV bag in one hand, pill container in the other.
"Good work today," Joel said quietly. No fake enthusiasm or casual cruelty. Just facts. "Your readers are going to love this."
His readers. Who had no idea. Who thought he was taking creative risks. Who didn't know every word for the past month was written under duress.
Joel crossed the room and disconnected the nearly empty IV bag. Efficient movements. Practiced.
Joel had mentioned being a nursing student that first night. Knew medical equipment. Medication schedules.
That knowledge made him invaluable. Made this possible.
Joel hooked up the fresh bag, checked the line. Then opened the pill container, held out three pills with water.
Insulin. Blood pressure medication. Chronic fatigue pills that barely worked.
Levi took them and swallowed. The medication started working almost immediately. Fog clearing slightly. Shaking easing.
Vanessa appeared in the doorway, phone in hand. "Marcus just texted. Wants another chapter by tonight. Think you can handle that?"
She wasn't really asking.
Joel finished adjusting the IV stand and stepped back.
That's when Levi noticed it.
The space heater in the corner. The one from last week when he'd complained about cold. Old model with pilot light. Natural gas from the building's central line. The kind you weren't supposed to use in small enclosed spaces for long.
The connection valve where the gas line attached looked wrong. Loose. Like someone bumped it and didn't check.
He could smell it now. Faint but distinct. That sulfur smell added to natural gas.
How long had it been leaking? Hours? Days?
He stood slowly. Carefully. Hand gripping the IV stand for balance. Took a tentative step forward.
"Easy," Joel said quietly, reaching out.
But Levi was already moving. Shuffling forward. IV stand rolling beside him. Legs weak and unsteady.
"Hey," Vanessa's voice cut sharp. "Where are you going?"
"Bathroom," he muttered.
"That's the other way."
He stopped, swaying. The IV stand rolled forward on momentum, wheels squeaking.
Toward the corner. Toward the space heater with its loose valve and steady gas leak.
"Careful with that," Joel said, stepping forward.
The stand's wheel caught on the gas line connection. The loose valve that had been leaking for who knows how long.
He could stop it. Should stop it. Grab the stand and prevent what was about to happen.
Instead he looked at Vanessa with her phone and casual cruelty. At Joel with his medical knowledge keeping a prisoner functional. At the cameras watching everything. At the laptop showing a story that wasn't his anymore.
At the glass of flat soda no one bothered to replace. At four weeks of hell compressed into one moment of absolute clarity.
"The harder you work, the luckier you get," he thought. And he'd gotten so fucking lucky.
He let go of the stand.
It tipped forward, metal pole swinging wide. The IV bag crashed into the heater. The loose valve tore free completely.
Gas hissed into the room. Loud. Unmistakable. Terrifying.
"Shit!" Joel lunged forward. Too slow. They were all too slow.
The pilot light flickered. A tiny flame no bigger than a birthday candle, dancing in the rush of gas.
Levi closed his eyes and felt something like relief.
The world turned white.
~~~~
Hey, if you're enjoying the story, please support it. Toss in a few power stones, leave a comment, and add it to your library. It helps more than you think and keeps me motivated to keep pushing out chapters.
Thanks for reading, and please keep the support coming.