"A poker tournament is like a competitive hunt. Once the easy prey has been eaten, only the hunters remain, but these hunters aren't normal. They're cannibals...and they're always hungry."

It was a shorthanded game, which meant bigger action. Fewer players meant Joey could play more hands because the worst position he could start in was now middle position.

Every player widens their starting hand range as their position improves, entering with more hands preflop. In a 10 handed game, as the first player in, the typical winning tight player might raise around 35% of his hands from the button, the best position. Yet, if the same person was in early position, the worst position after the blinds, he might only raise around 5% of his hands.

There are a few reasons for this. First, a player in bad position will have to play the entire hand in bad position, reducing his profitability. Good position can be mathematically calculated in terms of actual profit. If your position is poor, many hands will lose money that could make money in good position. The discrepancy can be very large, as seen by the massive difference between 5% and 35%. That's the value of position.

Second, the more players yet to act behind you, the higher the chance someone will be dealt a monster. If you're on the button, there are only two blinds behind you and both are in worse position. If you're in early position, there will be 7 to 9 players behind you and most of them will have better position. The chance of eating a reraise from one of them is high, and even if no one reraises, you'll still be in bad position the whole hand. So you have to be selective.

Between early position and the button, the percentage of hands you can play rises as your position improves, drifting from 5% to 35%. Now, here is where shorthanded creates action.

Shorthanded changes the positional dynamics. In a full-ring game, there are 10 players. Late position includes 2 seats: the button and the cutoff. To their right, there are 3 seats which are middle position. To their right, there are 3 seats which are early position. Combined with the 2 blinds, that makes 10.

A shorthanded game is 6 or fewer players. That means that early position doesn't exist. Middle position becomes the worst position, so instead of 5%, a player would raise around 15% of their hands at minimum, which means they would play many more hands per minute. This creates more action. In addition, those percentages are for a typical player, but Joey was not a typical player--he was a steamroller.

Joey knew the common adage in poker was that tight-aggressive is the winning style. That stood for tight preflop, but aggressive when you enter a hand. The majority of winning players would be classified under this style. However, some of the best players wield a different style—loose-aggressive. This style is unorthodox and dangerous, but with the highest potential profit. High risk, high reward.

Loose-aggressive players are involved in many more hands, so they can lose a lot more, but they can also win a lot more. In the already dangerous game of poker, it's like adding a circle of fire around their seat. Yet, some of the greatest make it work, and work well.

Joey wasn't always loose or always tight. He preferred adapting his style to the conditions. In this game, it was a situation that called for him to be loose-aggressive. There was a simple reason for this—he had his opponents in the palm of his hand. Enough time passed that Joey found their weaknesses and tells. The other thing Joey had going for him was his fear aura.

Joey was the chip leader at the table. He was also aggressive, fearless, and skilled. Everyone could see that. The most terrible thing was...he was a harvester of souls! Few were conscious of it, but watching the way he decimated sunglasses left them with a hint of fear.

All of them have seen players lose countless times. It happened every day they played, but a player getting tilted so hard? It was rare. The trauma looked like it might haunt sunglasses like a ghost, coming home with him, traveling with his family anywhere they moved!

It seemed like it might follow him into the cycle of reincarnation, crossing space and time, and tilting him in his next life!

When they watched it, everyone had a sense of unease.

In chaos theory, there's a principle called the Butterfly Effect, where a butterfly flapping it's wings on one side of the world causes a hurricane on the other side. To these competitors, it seemed like playing a hand against Joey could cause a terrible butterfly effect in their lives. They worried they would tilt so hard that they'd later divorce their wives or beat their children!

For most of them, it wasn't an obvious thing. It was like a subconscious impulse to stay out of Joey's way, like the instinct to freeze when hearing the approach of a terrifying beast. Though some were more aware of it than others.

One player imagined sunglasses driving years from now, when out nowhere, the memory of this tournament struck his mind. It then led to a bout of rage that engulfed him like an acid flashback, causing him to crash his car!

Most of these people played for fun. While the normal tension of poker was enjoyable, flying out of a windshield was not.

For them, rather than deal with Joey, this tilt maker, this forklift, it was easier to stay out of his way. Too bad for them, because playing it safe isn't always safe.

While the store owners were away, Joey came out to play, looting the shops empty in the middle of the day.

He raised preflop not only to steal the blinds, but to build the pot, so that even if someone called him, he could steal a bigger pot later! He was fattening the pigs for future slaughter! And slaughter them he did!

Like mindless livestock following each other into a harvesting line, players were blinded out or busted out in succession. Before anyone knew it, the tournament was in its late stages, with two shorthanded tables remaining. As everyone fought for the final seats, the conflict approached a climax.

...

Joey emptied the bullet casings of his revolver, having finished turning another man into swiss cheese, leaving him cold on the dirt ground. There were a mere dozen gunslingers left now, holed up in various locations in this old western town. Yet, even with fewer enemies, there was no safe place left. It was a land of death.

Dry blood covered the wooden floorboards and saloon doors, painting the colorless town crimson, and filling the air with iron. From time to time, you could hear a gunshot or a bone-chilling scream. Joey reloaded his silver revolvers and cocked the triggers, his back against a wall as he peeked out the window with a sharp gaze. Surrounding the entrance to his building lied a dozen corpses. This was already a famous forbidden zone to anyone left alive to know the difference.

It was savage, but only 10 men could leave here alive and everyone knew it. Some bid their time, some were desperate, some were bloodthirsty, but none were safe. Kill or be killed.

At the peak of everyone's tension, an event occurred that paused the carnage. A fat man took slow steps into the middle of the desert road bisecting the town. He strutted like he was invincible, oblivious to the dozen pistols aimed at his head and heart. Yet...no one dared to shoot.

The sound of him chewing bubble gum blended with the wind, creating a unique soundtrack to this spectacle. On occasion, his laughter rang out louder than the church bell, shattering the previous dead silence of the battlefield. He was laughing about something he read--a funny bit in a comic book.

His footsteps halted. After turning the last page, he looked up. Then he announced, "Bathroom break!"

...

All the gunslingers put down their shooting arms, exhaling in relief.

The fat man continued. "There are 10 players left! We'll take a short break then commence the final table. The table's over there!" It was an eccentric tournament staff member, arriving to break the illusion in ridiculous fashion.

Joey didn't move. His table was chosen to become the final table. As he checked his phone, he heard a familiar voice over his shoulder.

"Hello, Joey."

Joey looked over and his eyes flashed with both vigilance and excitement. "What's a feller..." Cough. "I mean...what's a 25-50 player like you doing here?"

"…Oh, just getting some fresh air." Richard smiled. As he locked eyes with Joey, you could almost see sparks flying between them. Richard wasn't pretending to be drunk today. He didn't need to. He would go all out, and that would be enough.

Joey welcomed it. No more surprise attacks. A direct duel. He was eager! He wanted a proper showdown!

As for Richard? He only wanted one thing--revenge.