Glad to see you backin’ up your bark, chicken bone.” House sneered. “Engorged your ego with some liquid courage?”

“Just enough to dull my senses and make this a little fairer for you.” I quipped back. “Go ahead and start, there’s a long line behind me.”

“Your wager.” He extended a hand to the bald man’s red chip in the center of the table.

I tossed it in, but the point was lost on me. I’d be winning it back in a few moments.

“Keep your eyes peeled, now.” House slid the red ball under the center chalice and began his routine. This time he did not gradually build up his tempo, electing instead to blitz the cups in a writhing, serpentine pattern. It would be impossible for me to keep up with my eyes alone.

So I didn’t.

Firing up my optical scanner, I trained my HUD on the center of his pupils.

Current Emotion: Annoyed, Choleric

Physiological Status: Placid, at rest

That was counterintuitive - my scanner claimed he was at rest while moving his hands like a pair of ionic pistons.

Pupil Display:

Watching from his perspective did not slow the cups any, nor had I expected it to. I was keen to discover the trick he played to maintain control over the outcome of each round. There’s no way in hell a guy like this, who spent the entire evening railing on the “boring” and unimpressive,” would pass up the opportunity to self-select the winners of these trials.

In the middle of a twirl between the middle and left cups, I caught it. The shine of the red ball slipped from under the lid closest to House, out of my field of view, into the loosened cuff of his buttoned shirt. Any chalice I selected would be wrong - none of them contained the prized ball that led to safety.

I resumed my point of view as the chalices slid to a halt. He grinned at me, not a hair out of place on his head or a drop of sweat on his brow after his herculean display of dexterity. I had yet to decipher the gimmick behind that seemingly effortless maneuver.

A draft swayed the chandelier above the table. The sparkling faces of multi-faceted crystals refracted spots of light on my forehead. Despite my confidence in the situation, a nervous trickle of sweat weaved its way down the crook of my back. House had a gaze that could make a shadow blanch.

“You’re quiet.” He broke the silence.

“Yes. I’m trying to figure out which of these cups looks the most full.” I brought a fist to my chin as if to ponder a serious quandary.

He shot me a quizzical glance. Little did he know, I’d already used the Gloves of Heka to materialize the soft red ball into the palm of my enclosed hand. It melted gently into the fabric, squishing under the pressure of my clenched knuckles.

Lover of irony I was, I longed to unclasp my fingers and flaunt the little sphere in his surly, apish face. However, that might give away one of my most covert utilities to the remainder of the competition - an advantage I was not yet willing to part with. The grand reveal would wait for another round.

Seconds dragged on as I continued my facade of deliberation. Seconds turned to minutes and the smirk on his face gradually turned to slate irritation.

“Make a damn choice, already!” Vushk bellowed from the bar. I don’t know why the delay bothered him so much. He’d taken the opportunity to slam more of that delightful-looking black tar down his gullet.

“I’m inclined to agree.” House tapped his finger against the polished table.

I gave the gamemaster an innocent look. “Is there a time limit on my choice? I didn’t hear that in the rules.”

“No. But if you don’t damn well hurry up I’m going to forfeit your choice. I make the rules here, and it’s only my kindness that allows you to play by them.”

“Alright, alright,” I said, raising both hands in the air in resignation.

I crept a finger towards the middle chalice, watching the grin sprout on his mustached face once again. At the last moment, just before I touched the silver of the base, I flicked my finger over to the right-most cup.

“That one. That is the one!”

“A wise choice,” House remarked before lifting the lid. His smile turned sour as he inadvertently revealed the glossy sheen of the ball.

“It appears so!” The contestants behind me murmured in approval. Amy laughed, along with a male voice I didn’t recognize. It couldn’t be the Dralid - probably the blonde man whose friend currently sat in the loser’s lounge.

The blue of House’s eyes turned into a tempest. He said nothing, though the clenching of his jaw spoke volumes. I’d triumphed over the House at the cost of alerting him to my underhanded capabilities. He knew now that I had a trick up my sleeve, something that could outmatch his own.

I shuffled the two red chips into my case. “I’ll be taking these.” The 50,000 credit increase put me just shy of 600,000. By my quick estimations, I figured that placed me at around 4th - behind the Dralid, Vushk, and Amy, in that order.

Before House could utter a retort, Vushk pushed his way to the table.

“I’ve waited long enough. Get out of the way, human. I am going.” His claws sank into my shoulders and hoisted me over the back of the chair. When he plopped himself down onto the seat cushion I heard a dangerous creak from the thin wooden legs below. It held, and he slammed his claws on the table. A red chip rolled out of his clutches and into the center.

“Deal me in.”

“Alrighty, then,” House replied, his voice still stone from my triumph. He placed the ball under the middle chalice and began his routine once more. This time, he started with a more gradual pace. I scoffed. I knew he said the difficulty would rise as the pot grew, and I just reset the pot, but his targeting of me was clear by the insane pace he put on during my bout.

Vushk leaned forward to rest his chin on an outstretched claw. He dragged a nail the length of a penknife along the raised edge of the table, not even bothering to follow the movement of the cups.

The Undu Shadow was easily the most vibrant personality in the game. If anybody would get a fair shot at these trials, it would be him. His antics kept the crowd entertained during the long hours of flipping cards and sipping drinks meekly around a wooden table while other contestants shot each other across snowy alpines or duked it out in single combat. But still, his sheer arrogance with 1/3 odds of victory astounded me. Perhaps he would surprise us with a gambit too.

The cups skidded to a halt.

“You really are a gambler, aren’t you?” House remarked.

“No. Just a winner.”

Vushk slammed his fist against the table, sending a palpable shockwave through the room. It may be shadows playing tricks on me, but I swear I saw a crack sprout in the hardwood where his fist made contact. The House’s eyes widened.

“The hell are you doing!”

A piece of trivia from some tabloid I read came circulating back to me. The bumps that covered Undu hide served more of a purpose than intimidation. They were acutely sensitive to pressure and vibration. The Shadow used a crude form of pressure-echolocation to determine the true mass of each cup and its potential contents. The cups reverberated with the energy of his strike, sending vibrations through the air. The cup with the “densest” vibrations would contain the ball.

“Winning.” Vushk snorted, pointing at the left cup.

House yanked the cup away in exasperation. Lo and behold, the red ball sat underneath Vushk’s selected chalice. Though primal in appearance, Vushk knew how to use his inherent skills to his advantage; he disguised his ingenuity with overbearing vanity. Clever.

“I ought to up the ante on this damn game,” House grumbled, clearly disturbed at losing yet another round. Vushk merely chuckled and reclaimed his red chip before staggering back over to the bar. The bartender shot him a disgusted look as he lurched for his half-finished coconut drink. Poor guy.

-----

Two players flunked out after Vushk’s performance - the raven-haired woman and Amy, surprisingly. The former expressed her displeasure at the game, calling it a cheap parlor trick before storming off. Amy just shrugged her shoulders and made her way back to the bar. Indifference or confidence, I couldn’t tell.

The old bum went next for a growing pot of 150,000 credits. House displayed an increasingly disturbed expression as the codger mumbled about karflies and cherry trees.

“Just pick a cup,” he said with exasperation.

The old man shot him a toothy grin. “Bumblebee flies and horse neighs, in the right-hand cup the orblet stays!”

House groaned as he peeled away the cup to reveal the ball.

“I suppose you are right, but I question your methodology.”

“All is well, and well’s in all. We all is in all, and thus it remains.” The man nodded sagely at House and collected his winnings.

“Crackpot.” I heard him mutter low enough so only those leaning around the pillars could hear him.

That left three to go - the Dralid, blondie, and the fellow with a marked mask.

Much like the rounds of Mardok, Dralid swept Chalices with ease. With similar hubris to Vushk, though much less bravado, the skulker paid little attention to the cups. When House finished his impressive cupsmanship, the Dralid pointed a rigid finger at the center cup to claim victory.

House had nothing to say, and neither did he. His silence appeared to be infectious.

The blondie struggled for a while and didn’t display a clear strategy about his decision-making. Wise, if intentional. Either way, he selected the right chalice and remained in the game. I made a mental note of this - he may be a dark horse in this competition.

The masked man watched the chalices intently as they flitted about the table. I couldn’t see his eyes through the thin slits that offered him vision, but by his body language, it seemed he followed the movement of the ball-cup precisely, despite its inconceivable speed of movement.

“Go ahe-” the House started, but the masked man cut him off with a wave.

“Left cup.” He rumbled, already taking his chip back.

“Huh. So it is.” House conceded, sitting back in his chair.

I felt my hair stand on end as the masked man swept by me. A cold chill followed the drifting cape that trailed behind him. I doubted the practicality of a straggling piece of cloth like that in combat, but I’m sure he had his reasons.

“Alright, well that was fast and easy. For some of you.” House rose from his chair and made his way to the head of the table. “Three of you wait for the rest in the loser’s bracket, and we’ve got six strapping competitors to carry on with the gambler trials.” Sarcasm laced every word. House wasn’t pleased with the outcome of his first “trial.”

“Don’t go anywhere,” he smiled at the trio sitting in the lounge above the playing area. “We’ll be right back with you.” He slammed his palms down on the table. “In the meantime, we are going to crank this shit up. Next game is simple - but one of my favorites. You’ll play me in a best of three match of Co-... an… to the w-... do a redo…”

What the hell?

House visually clipped in and out of existence while explaining the next trial. Even his words, the audio, distorted to the point of incomprehensibility. I looked around at the other contestants to find a similar phenomenon taking place. Vushk’s bulky form wavered at the bar, the masked man blurred into an indistinct hue of gray, and blondie’s face warped into a horrific digital glitch that looked like someone had zipped his face in half.

I staggered back, my mind reeling in sensory overload. My HUD opened a light blue dialogue box that read:

Error #42AQE…

Then it disappeared. Then reappeared. Then disappeared. I felt a tingling sensation in my wavering legs that threatened to give out. Even the lighting in the room grew dimmer with each passing moment.

I collapsed into an open seat at the table and looked up. Although grossly distorted, House was making his way over to me, what appeared to be confusion on his skewed visage.

ATHENA’s voice came over the chaos. Or at least, I thought it was ATHENA’s. It sounded an octave deeper, though still feminine. The dissonant sound gave my heart a shock.

“Contestant #45,590, error code 7823. System layer protection protocol enacted. Rebooting…”

Then silence.

When I came to, I vaguely smelled the sterile must of a hospital ward. What felt like a million pinpricks seized my body all at once as an array of tubes and needles separated from my flesh. The metal door of my holding pod swung open with a flush of gases and steam. My bleary eyes adjusted to the low lum, and I took in my surroundings.

I was out of the BIOS system, in a wide annex with a high ceiling instead of the dark confines of my cell. When did they move my body? I hadn’t experienced any other breaks in my BIOS synchronization until this point. I crawled out of the pod on trembling legs, grasping the edges of the pod entrance to stabilize myself.

Dozens, if not hundreds, of these dark metal, egg-shaped pods sprouted from the linoleum tiled floor. Every few pods, a lab station of sorts was set up with all manner of intrusive utensils, robotic operating limbs, and terminals. Despite appearing like a well-manned institution, I could not spot a living being among the onyx boulders.

I staggered over to the pod nearest mine and allowed myself to collapse against it. It felt like I hadn’t eaten or drank in days. Who knew how long I’d truly been in the BIOS system, subject to LimeLight’s bizarre experiments.

The shiny gloss of the metal caught my attention. Its chrome lit so brilliantly, and the polish was so unblemished I could use it as a mirror. Curiosity overtook my senses and I backed up to get a view of myself.

Wordless shock filled my mind. Staring back at me was a man unrecognizable to the one that entered. Only a gasp escaped my lips as I took in my true form for the first time since entering this damned competition.