Neon lights were starting to spark up bleak and darkening streets around. Davis’ thin white t-shirt stuck to the inside of his jacket, the day’s sweat still waiting to be dried off. His hard boots barely dragging on the edge of the concrete under him, singing the scratch of footsteps to the now empty sidewalk. His dad’s old JAG jacket was half-zipped, its faded colour melting away into the bleak surroundings.

Davis could see some night-women in mini skirts straight ahead, a thin cloud of smoke drooping over their heads. Most of it was probably from cigarettes but from where he was, he could smell the pot and hear some hard sniffs as well. A mixture of joints and leftover coke lodged in their sinuses easing them into a busy night.

Eva was probably among them… He would always hit the gas station store at the same time she would be buying her cigarettes. They exchanged smiles and would ask about each other’s day.

She was nice…he was polite. Occasionally he would chuck her some extra fruit or snacks that he was able to afford, sometimes she’d share some bubble gum or dark chocolate that she could splurge on from a rich, out-of-town “client”.

….Eva loved dark chocolate.

Davis looked away. His mind seemed to drift as the smell of gasoline that hung in the air stung his nostrils.

Maybe he’d roll higher than a 3 today. The other week he got a 4, but the contents of that week’s shopping had gone quickly. His sister needed food to help her concentrate….she’d get frustrated and lose focus if she didn’t eat enough. He didn’t mind though…his parents had poured their Roll’s into him when he needed to study.

And maybe Jessie would roll better, hopefully landing a gig as a nurse…maybe marry a doctor down the road.

He knew she wanted to be one herself, but it was near impossible for anyone from the Outer-Tier’s to get a good job like that…especially when all the med school’s were towards the East.

The Inner-Tiers had good schools and good money….their housing was better and their air was cleaner. Something that the people in the Outer-Tiers would almost never get to taste. Still, a gig at a Hospital would put her in a good place…away from here anyway.

It’s not that his family was poor….but Davis’ parents would never amount to anything more than what they were. Middle class in the down and dingy Outer-Tier, in a Suburb, called St. Clair.

And unfortunately…or fortunately, whichever way you looked at it, it seemed the same for Davis. His Dad worked in a steel factory that helped make the trams and trains that slid into the other parts of the city…his mother was stuck boxing in a busy factory not far from where they lived.

Davis was a smart kid who looked to be earnest enough to make it as a Teacher, or Nurse himself, in a better Tier…there were even talks of him maybe getting into the Forces, the military-like Police that helped keep order throughout the city.….but that’s not how it works.

You don’t get a job or a place at a University based on your grades….you get it based on your Roll. And Davis rolled average. Just like his Dad…just like his Ma.

1–6…all bets in. After 12 years of schooling, that’s the way it is. If you finish up with good grades, you get to roll that virtual dice and whatever you land on gives you the options of where you get to go. The rudimentary jobs, 1–2, trades were 3–4 and elite level work and high thinking (also better opportunities) were 5–6.

That holographic blue-lit die would spin as you swiped it….slowly twisting and turning, toppling and rolling… till it showed you the number that would determine your life.

It didn’t matter how smart you were or how hard you worked…that hadn’t mattered for nearly 10 generations. It was all down to luck.

“In God’s hands” as women at church would mutter, waiting for their children’s first Roll in their last year of school.

Most of us only ever celebrated a four or a five…. But it wasn’t always a good thing, the last person who rolled a 5 ended up getting shanked two days later. They were walking back home with a loaf of bread and a bucket of honey to celebrate.

Jealousy was a disease in the Outer-Tier… and if someone else couldn’t make it, then you didn’t have the right to either.

Davis noticed the last of sunlight emptying behind the cold grey buildings around him. The remnants of the day’s blue sky were now coated in a nice pink and orange hue, probably the only beautiful thing out here was the afternoon sky.

He looked down across the street, his backpack barely hung from his shoulders…he had been sawing hardwood all day for the framework of a house in the Mid-Tier. His traps and back were tired and sore…but he’d slug some of that leftover whiskey in his cupboard, to help ease the pain. There wasn’t much left, so Davis decided that if he’d roll anything more than a 2 today, he’d splurge and get a cheap bottle of Jack to replace it…provided he got Jessie’s snacks first.

He could see the faint glow of a green “W” across the road, its neon spark brighter than all the other shops and stores.

Davis looked both ways, before crossing the puddle and pot-holed road and down towards the entrance.

Andy was working today, he thought, it’d be a sight for sore eyes…he hadn’t seen anyone from high school for a while, most of his classmates were now trying to navigate the wretched lifestyle they were all cursed with.

Andy worked as a shopkeeper…he rolled a 2 on the same day that Davis rolled a 3. But all Andy wanted to do was be a painter…he dreamed of going to some fancy Art’s school in the Mid or Inner Tier, hoping he’d end up splashing and stroking colours on canvas’ for snobby collectors and curators to critique.

But he rolled a 2. So he was stuck here… as a glorified checkout chick.

Davis stepped off the footpath and whistled through dry lips to grab his attention. Andy was sitting in a dimly lit booth, coated in graffiti and scratches over its protective glass. A door to the store behind him and an identical one just outside for customers to walk through.

Andy immediately looked up and smiled as Davis raised his hand.

“Davis ya knucklehead, how are we?”, he said raising a fist to be bumped from the other side of the glass.

“Aw not bad brother…yourself?”, Davis replied, tapping the glass with his own.

“Hard day today?” he asked teasingly, pushing his ginger hair back with his slim fingers.

He always knew how hard it was, and as if the dirt and pit stains on Davis’ white shirt wasn’t obvious enough.

“Na, easy as shit mate,”

A smirk etched itself on Davis’ lips…seeing a friend always made a tough day better.

Davis looked Andy once over and spotted a medium-sized sketch pad already littered with pencilled drawings… it was the same one they give out for art classes at school.

Andy kept his, a remnant of a dream that was taken from him.

“Let’s see if your luck continues brah,” he said

Davis winked…but he knew he’d roll the same as he always did. A 3 or a 2….it’d be a one per cent chance to get a 4 and anything more was a fantasy.

“No one’s rolled more than a 3 today,” Andy continued. “Which is shit coz a couple of them needed it…and they can’t afford more Rolls anyway, the credits they get only allow them the buy 1 or 2 a week….fucked up,”

Andys voice trailed away as he reached out through the gap, handing his licence to be scanned. It was always the same old and very sad story….

“Who needed it?” asked Davis. It was a stupid question because everyone needed it.

Andy’s face darkened…

“…Mrs. Carter….”

Davis clenched his jaw.

Mrs Carter was well known in the community. She had two kids with Mr Carter…or Jimbo as the locals called him. They struggled a lot since their youngest daughter was always sick and they both worked type 1 and 2 jobs. Mrs Carter, a cleaner for some company and Mr Carter collected rubbish …both in the Mid-Tier. Both long hours…both stressful lives.

Their son, Preston, wasn’t much help, a wild boy that only listened to older men, something that was scarce in their neighbourhood. He was a good kid though…but he was always mixing with the wrong crowd. In fact, if it wasn’t for Davis and a couple of the older boys dragging him back home before nightfall, he probably would’ve ended up being tattooed by a local gang and forced to roll heroin and coke into the Mid and Inner Cities for rich Inner tier kids. Those snobby, little shits were always looking to party with some easy scapegoats…

“…Carlie has got some fever now…they needed a 4 to afford a sack of rice and whatnot with her meds, which they can get by on…but Mrs Carter rolled a 2,” Andy said “..I tried to see if I can bargain with the pharmacist but apparently he’s got eyes on him after some painkillers went “missing”…fucker was probably taking them himself,”

Prescription pills and recreational drug use was common. If you rolled more than a couple of 1’s and 2’s for some time… then that shit became your life.

“…far out…,” The words were all he can manage…Davis knew they didn’t mean shit but it was the best he could do.

“Yeah…she’s still in there, tryna figure out if she can manage with the money….but it’s looking tough…oh well at least Preston’s at home,” he continued, “ I think some sense is nailing into that thick skull of his… not that he’s got much of a chance, but at least he ain’t a burden anymore…” Andy said through gritted teeth.

“Anyways…you got a couple of good rolls you’ve been saving up I see….is it just the one or maybe try your luck with the 50/50,”

Davis watched as just outside the door in front of him his details slurped to life. His face and date of birth, licence number and the number of credits he’d been saving, as little as it was, lighting up his eyes. A large blue-lit dice, and a red and a black coin sat right below it.

He could only realistically afford a roll today, and that’d be his food for the week…going for the 50/50, an option which meant he gets either the benefits of a 6 or the qualms of a 1, was out of the question. His parents would beat his arse if he ever touched that Black and Red option.

His mind wandered for a second…maybe one day…he thought. And if he won, he’d share it, people like Mrs Carter needed it more than he did, I mean what was he going to do with that much anyway?

It was wasted on a twenty-something construction worker, who could make do on stale bread and bottled water.

The image of Carlie’s face being mopped of a feverish sweat by her mother…her dad arriving home, stinking of the rubbish of people who lived more exuberant lives. Preston staring on in the doorway, a blank look on his face, barely filling out hand-me-down t-shirts and faded jeans.

Davis lost focus…without thinking he reached out to the warm light and swiped his fingers on the holographic Die. He could hear the novelty sound of its spinning….his eyes though, stuck to the floor, he didn’t want to even bother looking. It wasn’t exciting, it wasn’t interesting…the one thing it was though, was unfair.

And there was nothing he could do about it.