"You shouldn't have come here the cheap way," a voice whispered—not from his headset, but from the corner of the room.
Hades let out a low, rumbling laugh that vibrated in Alex’s chest. "In the House of Hades, there are no refunds."
With a final, violent jerk, the room went black. On the desk, the computer monitor sat cold and dark. The only thing left was a single line of text etched into the plastic of the screen:
The site looked like a digital graveyard—shady pop-ups for "hot singles" in his area fought for space against flashing "DOWNLOAD NOW" buttons. Alex knew better. He knew the risks of malware and the ethics of piracy. But he was broke, and the urge to escape into the Underworld was stronger than his common sense. With a hesitant click, the download began.
"The Prince of Death doesn't appreciate stowaways," the shadow said, stepping into the light. It was Hades himself, his burning eyes fixed on Alex’s trembling hands. "If you want to play the game without paying the ferryman, you must pay the toll another way."
The monitor began to glow with a blinding intensity. The pixels stretched out like liquid, wrapping around Alex’s wrists, pulling him toward the glass.
The screen flickered with a harsh, neon glow as Alex hovered his mouse over the link:
