In the back corner, under a flickering neon sign that read “Bally,” Vance Hopper leaned over a pinball machine. His denim vest was unzipped over a faded band t-shirt, his long, dark hair falling across his face as he worked the flippers with a sharp, practiced jerk of his wrists. The machine rattled and flashed, the score ticking higher.

Vance’s eyes flicked up from the glass. His fingers froze on the flipper buttons. For one long, suspended moment, the machine’s ringing seemed to fade into a dull buzz. He just stared, his breath catching somewhere in his chest. Then his jaw tightened. He looked back down at the machine, his grip turning white-knuckled. He gave the cabinet a hard, sudden shove with his hip, making it rock on its legs.

The impact jolted Vance’s arm. His silver ball, moments from a bonus multiplier, sailed straight down the center drain. A loud, final clunk echoed, followed by the game-over buzz.