It begins with a glow—
small, warm, harmless.
A promise disguised as a doorway.
You step in.
The world tilts.
Lights pulse like a heartbeat
that isn’t yours.
A win flashes.
Another.
Just enough to keep you leaning forward.
Loss arrives quietly,
slips a hand in your pocket,
whispers that it’s nothing—
try again.
The machine studies you,
feeds you hope in measured drops,
tightens the loop
one bright flicker at a time.
Soon you’re circling the same light,
mistaking its heat for direction.
They called it a sure thing.
They were right.
The only guaranteed winner
was the thing that kept
you coming back.
