Chapter 1: The King of 75 Cents

The digital clock on Leo Vance’s laptop screen glowed 11:47 PM. Outside, the city was a distant, sleeping giant, but inside his cramped apartment, the world had shrunk to the single, illuminated webpage of Aura Auctions. The silence was broken only by the soft hum of the old machine and the rhythmic creak of his worn-out office chair.

On the screen, bathed in artificial light, was his prize. A bright red, two-seater children’s electric Jeep wagon. It had rugged plastic tires, a fake winch on the front bumper, and enough room in the back for a mountain of stuffed animals. It was perfect. It was the only thing his six-year-old twins, Mia and Noah, had asked for their upcoming birthday.

The current price was $580. His stomach tightened. Six hundred dollars was his absolute limit, scraped together from weeks of freelance coding gigs that barely kept the lights on and macaroni and cheese on the table. It was grocery money, bill money, emergency money. But the image of their faces, pressed against the toy store window last month, was burned into his mind. That look of pure, unadulterated yearning was a feeling he hadn't been able to give them in a long time.

This toy wasn’t just molded plastic and a cheap electric motor. It was a symbol. It was proof that their dad, the man who used to develop cutting-edge data-analysis software before being unceremoniously kicked to the curb, could still make magic happen.

With five minutes left on the auction timer, Leo moved his mouse. His own savings account was a wasteland, but for them, he would be a king. He typed in his bid: $581.00.

“Come on,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “Just let me have this one.”

He clicked ‘Confirm Bid’. The page refreshed. For a glorious half-second, the words ‘You are the highest bidder!’ shone in triumphant green.

Then, they vanished.

[New Bid: $581.75 by KingMidas75]

Leo blinked. Seventy-five cents? Who outbids someone by less than a dollar? It was insulting. Annoyed, he punched in a new number. $590. A solid, respectable jump.

He hit enter. The screen flashed.

[New Bid: $590.75 by KingMidas75]

A cold knot formed in Leo’s gut. The response had been instantaneous. Faster than any human could have typed and confirmed. He narrowed his eyes, the tired lines around them deepening. He waited, letting the timer tick down to the last two minutes. This was a classic sniping strategy. You wait until the final seconds, drop your max bid, and leave no time for a counterattack.

The timer showed 00:15. His heart hammered against his ribs.

00:14. He typed in his max. $600.00.

00:13. His finger hovered over the mouse.

00:10. Now. He clicked.

The page lagged for a brutal, agonizing second as his slow internet connection sent the signal. Then, it refreshed. He saw the green banner flash for a microsecond—so fast he almost thought he’d imagined it—before it was gone.

[New Bid: $600.75 by KingMidas75]

The final timer hit zero. The auction was over.

Leo stared at the screen, his breath caught in his throat. It wasn’t the loss that stung, not entirely. It was the how. The inhuman speed. The cold, calculated, seventy-five-cent increment. It was a pattern. A signature.

His past life as a coder, the one Mark Sterling had stolen and buried, came rushing back. He wasn't fighting a person. He was fighting a bot. A piece of software designed to dominate, to win every auction by the smallest possible margin, ensuring maximum profit for its master.

The arrogance of it was staggering. Someone, some rich prick who probably flipped items like this for a living, couldn't even be bothered to bid for himself. He’d written a script to crush the hopes of people like Leo, automatically and efficiently, for the price of pocket change. The user’s name, KingMidas75, was no longer just arrogant; it was a declaration of war. He was the king, and this was his digital kingdom.

Rage, cold and sharp, cut through his disappointment. He clicked on the user’s profile. A long list of recently won auctions scrolled down the page: limited-edition sneakers, vintage video game consoles, bulk lots of discontinued electronics, and now, a single child’s toy. All won with the same machine-like precision.

He felt the familiar sting of injustice, the same feeling he’d had when he was called into HR and told his project—his genius—was now Mark Sterling’s property, and his services were no longer required. He was powerless then, a cog easily discarded. He was powerless now, outmaneuvered by a faceless algorithm.

No. Not entirely.

A new auction page was open in another tab. He’d been watching it as a backup, a much smaller, less flashy electric scooter. But his eyes weren’t on the scooter anymore. They were on the seller’s name. It was the same one who had listed the Jeep. Probably a store clearing out last year’s models. And scrolling down, he saw the familiar, infuriating name in the bid history: KingMidas75.

The bot was already there, lurking.

An idea, reckless and terrible and beautiful, bloomed in the wasteland of his defeat. He couldn’t win the toy. He couldn’t afford it. But the bot didn’t know that. A bot only knows what it’s programmed to do: win, at any cost, up to a certain hidden maximum.

Leo looked at the scooter. The current bid was $80. Retail, it was maybe $150. A slow, grim smile spread across his face.

“Alright, your highness,” Leo muttered to the empty room. “You want to win? Let’s see how much you’re willing to pay for your crown.”

He didn’t bid to win. He bid to burn.

He threw in a bid of $100. Instantly, KingMidas75 countered: $100.75.

Leo laughed, a short, sharp bark. He hit it with $120. The bot replied: $120.75.

He was no longer a desperate father. He was a saboteur. A ghost in the machine. With a reckless fire in his eyes, he began to push.

$150. $150.75.

$180. $180.75.

The scooter was now officially overpriced. Any profit margin for a reseller was gone. But this wasn’t about profit anymore. It was about pride. It was about making the invisible king bleed.

With a minute left, he shoved the price to $250. The bot, unthinking, unfeeling, followed its programming. $250.75.

Leo’s hands were shaking, a heady mix of adrenaline and vengeance pumping through his veins. This was his money he was playing with, real money he’d have to pay if the bot suddenly hit its ceiling and he was left holding the bag. It was a terrifying, exhilarating game of chicken.

Thirty seconds left.

He typed in an absurd number: $400.

The screen refreshed.

[New Bid: $400.75 by KingMidas75]

A wild grin split Leo’s face. He could feel the bot’s owner on the other end, somewhere in a sleek office or a penthouse apartment, completely unaware that his perfect, efficient little money-maker was being bled dry by a broke, desperate father in a third-floor walk-up.

Ten seconds.

He went for broke. He typed in a bid for $599, just one dollar under his limit for the Jeep. It was a symbolic gesture. A final act of defiance. He clicked confirm.

The page refreshed one last time.

[Auction Ended. Winner: KingMidas75] [Winning Bid: $599.75]

Silence.

The Jeep was gone. The scooter was gone. He had won nothing. His kids would get a much cheaper, much less magical birthday present. The heavy reality of his failure began to settle in his chest.

But as he stared at the final price, the feeling was replaced by something else. A fierce, burning satisfaction. He imagined the look on King Midas’s face when he saw the charge. Six hundred dollars for a scooter he could have bought at Walmart for a quarter of the price.

Leo leaned back, the old chair groaning in protest. He had lost the battle. He had lost the prize. But in the quiet darkness of his apartment, staring at the ludicrous price tag born of his own spite, he felt like he had just fired the first shot in a war he never knew he was meant to fight. And it tasted like victory.