“Say, would you care to hear a joke?”

“Only if it’s funny.”

The blonde-haired bartender was named Ture, who despite his aggressively European name, had the accent of an American trying too hard to sound American. Unlike most Americans, however, he was neither talkative nor terribly outgoing, as the whole ten minutes Hugo had been here Ture had only asked him for his drink order and insulted him for it. And for the past nine minutes, the two men had simply waited in silence, neither of them volunteering much in the way of information or conversation.

But Hugo was a socialite at heart, and nine minutes of silence was too much to bear, especially with a brand-new mind for him to pick apart.

“I can’t promise you’ll find it funny, but I can guarantee it’s tasteful.”

“Then your taste in jokes must be better than your taste in drinks.”

Hugo took a sip of spritzer. “Layla”, sung by Eric Chapton, was playing on some invisible radio.

“So, a dog strays into a jungle, and is terribly lost and scared. While he wanders, a lion notices him, and never having seen a dog before, figures him to be an easy meal. The lion charges, and the dog, thinking quickly, sits next to some nearby bones and says aloud ‘what a delicious lion!’. The lion, overhearing the dog, panics and runs away.”

The bartender folded his arms over his chest.

“So the dog had seen a lion before? Otherwise it wouldn’t know what animal was charging it.”

“I suppose it must have, at some point.”

“Alright. Go on.”

“Well. A nearby monkey happened to see this and figured he could befriend the lion by telling him the truth. So the monkey tells the lion what the dog did, and furious, the lion says ‘get on my back, we’ll get him together’.”

The bartender leaned backwards. His bangs fell into his eyes, which he pushed aside with a single finger.

“So the monkey’s seen a dog before?”

“Perhaps. Or maybe it knew the dog hadn’t created the skeleton.”

“But the lion didn’t.”

“I’m sure a monkey would pay more attention to stray skeletons than a lion would.”

The bartender bopped his head from side to side, thinking.

“Alright, I’ll concede that.”

“Anyway, the dog sees the lion and monkey charging, and gets another idea. Aloud, he says ‘where the heck did that monkey go? I sent him to fetch me another lion an hour ago!’”

There was a pause. Ture eased his butt against the wooden railing of the ornate bar behind him, where hundreds of bottles of liquor were on display behind a sheet of beautiful glass, shimmering despite the sole, dull light in the room.

“...and?” He pressed.

“And that’s it. That’s the joke.”

“Fuck. Lame joke. You should stick to drink orders, now those are worth a laugh.”

“I’m sorry it wasn’t to your taste.”

“And I’m sorry I have good taste. Christ, my life would be so much better if I didn’t.”

“Hmmm. Are they quite done in the other room, do you think?”

“When they’re done, you’ll know. This ain’t a social club.”

“I can tell.”

“I serve drinks, man. I’m not paid to be charming.”

Hugo Snidely aspired to be a gentleman. One might argue he had already achieved that goal but he would firmly rebuke such claims. To be a gentleman, he argued, was a journey, never a destination. Gentleman is an evolving label, with a foundation steeped in tradition but an ever-shifting body to accommodate the sensibilities of modernity. Unfortunately it was a somewhat dirty word these days thanks to cretins who misappropriated it for their misogyny or self-aggrandizement. But he tried to not shy away from it himself: after all, no one could reclaim the word if nobody tried.

There was no reason to be ashamed of being a true gentleman anyway. Gentlemen practiced respect for all people, restraint in all times, wholesomeness in thought and deed, and dignity in all situations. Upholdinging these four principle pillars would make anyone a gentleman, no matter who they were, what they wore, or how magnificent the mustache (although he was certainly proud of his handlebar).

All the same, he often found himself tested. Ture was hardly the most outrageous man to test him but his attitude combined with the surreal nature of this establishment was putting him on edge. He asked for another spritzer. Ture predictably sneered.

“If you want I could just jack off into a bottle for ya.”

“That’s quite alright, the spritzer will do. I personally don’t care much for alcohol. A sensitive nose means a sensitive tongue, you know.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

As the cap was popped open, however, the door to the main parlor opened. Teresa was standing in the door, head bowed down apologetically.

“Thank you for your patience, sir. Your opponent is ready to play.”

“Ah, speak of the devil. How delightful. Well, thank you for the company, Ture.”

“Don’t choke old man.”

Of course, when Hugo first arrived at the Silver Wheel Gambling House, he had the same confused reaction that any level-headed man would. But with the mellow atmosphere, scented air, and the familiar beats of Tears for Fears thrumming in his ears, he had gotten over his initial shock quite quickly and painlessly. The same could not be said for the man on the other side of the table: the moment his eyes opened his mouth followed suit, and he started screaming and thrashing as if the devil itself were worming its way into his gut. The host, a gentle-looking latino man, had invited Hugo to the bar while they tried to settle down his fellow guest. It seems they had finally managed the feat, as the wiry, frazzled-looking sir was currently seated quietly, nursing a small glass of straight vodka.

“H-hey.” He started with a sore, quiet voice. “Sorry about that…”

“It’s quite alright, friend.” Hugo smiled. “I was quite panicked myself at first. May I have the pleasure of a name?”

“I’m, uh… Benny.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Benny. I’m Hugo Snidely. Although you’re welcome to call me Hugo. And you?”

He turned to the well-dressed man at the head of the table. The host. He smiled back.

“I’m Juan, your host and the arbitrator for the game you’ll be playing today.”

“Yes, your lovely associate- where did she go, anyway- well, Teresa told me about this place. Quite fascinating, if I should say so myself.”

He took a seat at the table, opposite his opponent for the evening. Benny flashed a smile, revealing a row of twisted, yellow teeth. Hugo kept a straight face, and cringed only on the inside. Juan offered a smile that was easier on the eyes, and placed both hands on the table.

“Ha! She might have told you the rules, but that’s sort of my whole thing. So I hope you don’t mind if I do a little refresher.”

“Go ahead, sir.”

“It’s… fine.”

“Alright. Well. Here at the Silver Wheel gambling house, we allow our guests to wager anything for anything. You can wager your health, your home, your money… anything you own, as long as both parties agree it’s fair. The only exception is time: you can’t wager years of your life.”

That little exception seemed fair enough. Otherwise someone could live almost to two hundred, Hugo figured, and that might be a bit suspicious.

“The second rule- the first being about what you can gamble, I mean- is that once the game starts, it must be played till the end. If you decide to leave early, it counts as a forfeit, and your opponent wins. Here, every game is all-or-nothing.”

“The final rule,” Juan cracked a slightly sinister grin, “...is that if you’re caught cheating, you lose automatically. Remember: cheaters never prosper!”

Hugo nodded, and Benny did the same. They both took a sip of their respective drinks, then turned their attention to one another.

“Well, with introductions out of the way, I suppose all that’s left is to make our wager. But it’ll be hard to know what to bet if I don’t know anything about my opponent.” Hugo mused aloud.

“I know… I know what you should bet.”

“Oh? But we’ve barely met, sir. I might not be able to provide-”

“-your mental health. Please. Wager your mental health.”

Hugo, despite himself, did a double take.

“...excuse me?”

“I, uh, I’m not in the best place right now. B-but you, you’re so… you seem so composed. You’re so… together. I… I want that. And I know if I were to have it, I, I could do so much more with my life. I want it. I need it. It’s the only thing… it’s the only thing I want to play for. So please. Bet your mental health.”

“...I see.”

That was not a small wager. Far more than he had anticipated betting when Teresa first told him the rules. He’d hoped for something small and fun: cars, money, perhaps a talent or a skill or two. But something like his own mental soundness… not only was it a rather large wager, it was one that came with all kinds of philosophical implications. About the nature of the mind, and the nature of the soul. What would become of him, he wondered, if he were to lose his mental soundness. Would he inherit the mental stability of his opponent? Would he just go completely mad? Would he no longer be a proper gentleman? He furrowed his brow in thought.

“Well, let’s say I made that wager. Would I… go insane if I lost?”

“At the Silver Wheel, you cannot wager yourself to death, so to speak. In this case, you two would switch mental states, if you should lose,” Juan stepped in.

“...I see. And what would you bet in return?”

“I… I’ve had a lot of time to practice things. Drawing. Piano. Coding. I’ve had people say I’m the most, um, talented artist they’ve ever seen. It’s how I make my living right now. Heh. I’d wager that.”

Of course, Hugo was interested at the idea of winning some easy skills. Who didn’t want to sing like an angel, or draw masterpieces that the world would admire? And this fellow, Benny, seemed rather desperate. He had this look of impossible yearning, as if this were his only chance to turn his life around. And Hugo felt an immense sympathy for that. All the same…

“I would feel terrible, asking you to wager the source of your livelihood.”

“It’s fine! It’s okay. Please. Just make the wager. Please. I’ll be fine. Please.”

Benny was practically doubled forward. His hands were white as they gripped the table. Hugo suspected that drugs were involved with his degraded mental state, but he couldn’t know for sure. Either way… to imagine himself, so desperate, and in such pain… he didn’t want to chance that.

But then again… he would hate to deny Benny this spot of hope. After all: if he ever was so desperate, and in such pain, he could only imagine the earth-shaking disappointment if he were to be refused. So he took a deep drink of his spritzer, and placed it aside.

“...very well. I’ll wager my mental health.”

Pure black chips appeared next to him in three, equal stacks of ten. He felt his mind numb and tremble as they materialized, as something impossibly profound and important was torn from the very core of his brain and placed at his side. He winced and his toes curled, but when his eyes opened, he was fine... his mental stability was still tethered to his soul, but it was by the thinnest of threads. The light above them swayed slightly. And the shadows danced to the tempo.

Instantly, Hugo was filled with regret. His breath grew ragged as his eyes locked on the chips. The mental health stolen from him. The mental health he’d have to protect.

“And I’ll wager my skills as an artist.”

...and yet, nothing happened.

“E-excuse me, I said I’d wager my skills as an artist.”

“Yes, we heard you the first time.” Juan nodded. “But both parties must agree that their bets are fair.”

“Y-you heard him, though. He agreed to the bet...”

“Indeed he did. So clearly you’re the one with the problem. Benny, you know that wager isn’t fair, don’t you?”

Benny looked away. Not so much humbled as frustrated. Not the kind of frustration that would slow him down, however, and he quickly added.

“F-fine! My coding talent too! And the piano! Everything!”

And so, striped yellow-and-white chips appeared at his side. Nearly every valuable talent at his disposal, put on the line. And yet, this made Hugo feel even worse: how terrible must his affliction be that he had to gamble so much for this game to be fair?

But the chips were on the table. There was no backing down now.

“Very good.” Juan closed his eyes, reaching into his front pocket to fish out five red dice. “The game, gentlemen… is craps.”

Craps is one of the oldest gambling games in existence, and while the oldest recorded reference to the game was in the 14th century, called “Hazard” within the Canterbury Tales, it’s suggested its history could span back even further to crusading times, created by knights under Sir William of Tyre during the siege of Azart or Hazarth. Craps as we know it, however, was first developed in 17th and 18th century European gambling parlors, with simplified rules for easier competitive play. It was brought to America by a man named Bernard Xavier Philippe de Marigny de Mandeville (just one of his many accomplishments), who, upon discovering the game was unpopular amongst his own social class, took it to the working man, who found it far more agreeable. He was also the man who, some say, gave it the name “Craps”, although there’s some disagreement on this.

There are two ways to play craps - bank craps, which is played in casinos against the house, and street craps, where players wager against each other. Of the two, street craps was simpler (and the version played at the Silver Wheel gambling house), but it was still far from a simple game.

At the start of each round, the players bet “Pass” or “Don’t Pass”, and the shooter (the person rolling the dice) takes two of five dice offered by the house. They then throw the dice, but the roll is only valid if both dice bounce against the back wall of the table (although many casinos will call the roll valid if only one hits the wall). This is where things get interesting.

If the shooter rolls a seven or eleven, then anyone who bet on “pass” wins, while “don’t pass” loses.

If the shooter rolls a two or a three, then anyone who bet “pass” loses, while “don’t pass” wins.

If the shooter rolls a twelve, then anyone who bet “pass” loses, while “don’t pass” are forced to push - that is to say, keep their chips on the table until a new roll is thrown.

If the shooter rolls anything else, the second phase of the round begins. The number rolled is marked - for example, a four - and the shooter rolls the dice again until they either roll a seven, or the marked number. If they roll a seven, the “pass” bets lose and the “don’t pass” bets win. If they roll the marked number, then it’s vice-versa. At this point, the round is over, and the next shooter rolls.

“Of course, at the Silver Wheel gambling house, we play things a bit differently. Since you are not playing against the house, you’ll have to cover each other’s bets, until you are out of chips. That is the first main difference between this and normal craps.”

“The second difference, to keep things going at a decent clip, the roll of twelve is considered an instant loss, like a two and three. No pushing in this house!”

“...but we have a final, third extra rule to make things a bit more… interesting. You see - three of the five dice we have at this table are perfectly normal. Two, however, are loaded: one of them will always roll a three, and the other a four, but only when thrown properly.”

Juan tossed all five dice into the air, catching them with a relaxed ease that defied the tension between the two men at the table.

“At the start of each round, before the shooter chooses his two dice, the other player can pick one die and keep it on their side of the table. And at any point during the second phase, the other player can replace one of the dice the shooter is currently using with the die they picked.”

“...other than that, it’s exactly like normal craps!” Juan finished with a smile, although Hugo was not smiling. No, he was thinking… because these loaded dice fundamentally changed the way the game would be played. Having either the guaranteed three or four would mean it would be impossible to roll a two, three, or twelve in the first phase of the game, giving a substantial edge to any “pass” bets, and making it impossible for “don't pass” bets to win in the first throw. And if you had both loaded dice: it meant you’d simply win at first toss.

But it really became interesting during the second phase. Normally, a seven is the most statistically common roll you can get with two dice, which is why in bank craps, rolling it counts as a loss for the “pass” bet during the second phase of the game. But having one loaded die evened those odds: a guaranteed three or four meant the other die would have to roll a four or three, respectively, to get that seven. A one in six chance. And since you had a one-in-six chance of getting whatever number was marked, on the surface, this situation gave an enormous advantage to the “pass” bets in both stages of the game.

But that could all change if the non-shooting player was smart about the die they take away, or when they choose to replace it. But that would only matter if you could find some way to know which die was loaded, and from what Hugo could tell, there was no way to figure that out...

...right?

“To determine who shoots first, we’ll flip a coin. Are you both okay with this?”

“Yeah…”

“Yes, that’s fine.”

Hugo turned his attention to his opponent. Benny had bloodshot eyes and a terribly wild expression that was underlined by his unkempt hair and twitchy motions. But he didn’t look totally lost, either to the game or the implications of the dice. He was staring at them with a savage intensity, as if his sheer obsession would be enough for the loaded dice to present themselves to him. Or maybe he always had that look of unhinged focus about him. Even when he was demure earlier he didn’t seem relaxed in the slightest.

But then, Hugo was hardly relaxed himself.

“Benny, would you like to call the coin?” He asked with the best smile he could manage, given the circumstance. Benny shuffled in his seat.

“U-uh… sure. Considering the wager, heh, I-I think I’ll call heads.”

“Very well.” Juan flipped the coin, and caught the glinting silver mid-air with a graceful snap of his wrist. He placed the coin on the back of his hand, and revealed it to be heads. Hugo bit his tongue… looked as if the first roll was out of his hands.

And that’s when the panic struck.

If Benny was the kind of unhinged crazy Hugo feared he was, then the smartest thing to do from a purely strategic and statistical standpoint is to wager all-in on the first roll. With absolutely no other information to go on, the odds of a “pass” victory were far higher now than in normal craps, but giving your opponent time to think of a way to strategize around the loaded dice could lose you that edge. So now was the time to strike: to make an all-or-nothing wager with your temporary advantage and hope for the best.

And if Benny did decide to do that…

“But first, Hugo, please pick the die you’d like to deny the shooter.”

Hugo was shaken from his thoughts as five identical-looking dice were pushed under his nose. Each one was in pristine condition: and as he examined them over, there wasn’t so much as a rounded corner or a flake of chipped paint that could tell one from the other. If Benny did the all-in bet, then this could very well be the most important decision of Hugo’s life. He needed to grab a loaded dice. If he didn’t, it would dramatically increase Benny’s chance of getting at least one… or, even worse, both. If he did, then he would have a way to fight back in the worst-case scenario.

Grabbing one at random didn’t seem right. So he grabbed the one in the middle, the third die, for his three children, and put it in his hand. Rolling it in his palm, it felt like a normal plastic die to him. The fact that it, and four others like it, would arbitrate the future of his mental stability, made it feel a lot heavier. So he dropped it and let it sit inanimate on his end of the table while Benny picked his two as well, apparently at random.

“H-heh, you know, t-those random loaded die sure seems like, uh… kind of pointless, huh?”

“You figure?” Hugo asked. He didn’t intend to share his thoughts but he would be happy if Benny volunteered his.

“Well if we can’t know which dice is loaded… we c-can’t really strategize around it. A-all we can do is hope, and, well… that’s all craps is to begin with.”

“I suppose so. Your wager?”

Hugo held his breath.

“I think I’ll bet pass…”

Here it comes…

“...Four chips.”

He exhaled. That was close. Or at least, it felt close.

“Four it is, then.”

Benny had no reservations about throwing four chips into the pot. Hugo was not so eager. Every time he put a hand on those pure black disks, he felt an uncomfortable twinge on the edges of his brain. Not quite a headache, more like… the painless but unnatural feeling of shaving just under the skull. He did not relish it. And when he begrudgingly pushed four chips into the center of the table, he felt a thin, invisible blade drag down from the top to the bottom of his head. It stoked the guttural, animalistic dread that he had tried so hard to suppress.

“W-well… good luck, me.” Benny sighed, bouncing the dice once in his palm before lobbing them into the table. Not quite hard enough to crash into the back wall dramatically, but there was no doubt it was a legal throw.

The first die to settle showed a four. The second showed a three. Either he was very lucky, or he got both the loaded die. Either way: thank god he didn’t bet everything.

“A natural. Pass wins.”

The mild joy Hugo felt for avoiding an instant loss was very quickly replaced with disquiet as Benny grabbed the chips and dragged them over to his side of the table. As his chips were pulled farther away, Hugo expected to feel the insides of his mind melt as his sanity was sucked from him, and yet… it was nothing so dramatic. He felt different, unquestionably, but rather than being bombarded with sanity-stripping hallucinations, he simply felt… tired. Tired and a bit anxious, as if there was a small but manageable unpleasantness around the corner that he could predict, but not prevent.

“Congratulations on your luck.” Hugo smiled in an effort to not look too perturbed. “Not to make things too personal, but I’d like to ask: how exactly are you mentally ill?”

“Hmm?” Benny’s attention was absorbed by his winnings, but he glanced up when addressed. “O-oh. Well. It’s not much, heh. O-or rather, it’s only one thing. One… one small thing.”

“...which is? I would guess something like insomnia…”

Although tact prevented him from revealing how he figured as much, he mentally pointed to a few signs: the jitteriness, the bags under his bloodshot eyes, visible anxiety...

“S-something like that… It’s more like… night terrors. Really… really bad night terrors.”

Hugo froze.

“It’s bad, man. It’s every night. Every single night. I’m so scared to go to bed because I know what’ll happen. I’ll be paralyzed in bed, staring at the shadows… they grow faces and hands and grab me and scream at me and I can feel their nails digging into my body. Sometimes it’s this giant insect thing that will stick me with the stinger and lay eggs in my guts. It c-changes up. B-but it’s been getting worse. I’ve been awake for the past two days just trying to avoid it.”

“I’ve tried everything. Nothing makes it go away. S-so you can imagine how happy I am to be here. I don’t know if I’ll win but… if I even have a shot… I’ll bet anything to get rid of this a-and get my life back.”

Hugo didn’t say anything.

But Hugo was thinking: if this was how he felt after just four chips had changed hands, he couldn’t leave this to chance.

He needed to win.

“I’m sorry for what you’ve had to deal with, sir.” He swallowed the paleness in his cheeks, “Teresa? Are you here?”

“I’m here, sir.”

He jumped a bit as he looked to the side: apparently she had been standing next to him. How… long had she been there, exactly? It didn’t matter. He grabbed the half-empty glass at his side and swallowed the rest in a giant gulp, before handing it to her.

“May I have another drink, please?”

“Of course, sir. Another spritzer?”

“No, no, I think…” he glanced at the vodka Benny had been sipping. “...I think a stout, strong beer would be wonderful right now, thank you.”

“I shall tell the bartender immediately.”

She walked away, and Hugo turned back to the table. He couldn't win immediately with an all-in wager anymore, so the reward was no longer worth the risk. And he didn’t want to give Benny any ideas, either. So he would play more conventionally for now. Benny didn’t think hard about the die he grabbed, and Hugo didn’t either.

“I’m not so bold. I shall bet just two, and I shall put them on pass.”

“T-two. Got it.”

Four chips in the middle of the table. And Hugo rolled the dice, flicking his wrists and releasing the bones to the table and the wind of fate. He was a bit more forceful than Benny was, and his two dice crashed into the wall with an audible and satisfying ‘clink’. This also meant they bounced and spun more than Benny’s did, giving them more time to watch as the numbers settled. Neither Hugo nor Benny looked especially nervous: two was a small wager, and they still had plenty of chips on the table.

The first die showed a five. He’d need a two or a six for an automatic win.

Unfortunately, he got a one. And clearly, he did not have either of the loaded dice.

“Six is marked. Shooter, roll again.” Juan noted, dragging them both back with his die stick. Benny didn’t move to replace his selected die with either of the two: the logic was fairly obvious. Since it was clear Hugo didn't have either of the loaded dice, to receive a loaded die now would be doing him a favor, since it would equalize the odds. That meant this was, for all intents and purposes, a normal game of dice.

So he rolled. A six and a four.

A four and a four.

A five and a three.

A five and a five.

And then, finally, a six and a one.

“Seven-out. Don't pass wins.”

“Hooray!” Benny cheered as he raked in his two-coin profit. He was only six ahead. Far from insurmountable. And since gambling was not a game where momentum mattered, Hugo knew he should relax. But he was having a hard time of it at the moment: that anxiety he had inherited earlier was growing worse, as was his exhaustion. A bit of paranoia had slipped in there as well, and he thought perhaps he was being watched, before a large mug of beer was placed on a coaster at his side, shaking him out of such dark thoughts. He licked his lips as he saw it, but he didn’t drink. Not yet.

“Seems lady luck’s taken a shine to you.”

“It’s just been two rounds. Too soon to celebrate… but… I… I kinda feel like I deserve it. This is the first night I can remember where something good has happened. I wanna savor this for a bit before I roll.”

“...hm.”

“O-oh, I mean, you seem really nice and I feel bad about… well, I mean, I’ll feel bad if I win but...sorry. This is my one chance. I’m not going to waste it.”

“I understand. No hard feelings.”

There were a few hard feelings, but he stomached them for now.

“Actually… it occurs to me I don’t know much about you, Hugo.”

“Yes, well, a gentleman never volunteers unwanted information. And I think if you did know more about me, it would only make this game harder for you if you’re being honest about feeling bad.”

“I guess…”

Hugo’s internal stiffness softened a bit as he saw the genuine disappointment in Benny’s eyes. He supposed a man with his malady never had many chances to socialize. So with a sigh, he continued.

“If there’s time after the game, after everything has settled, then perhaps we could share a drink and keep this dream going a little bit longer, if you’d like.”

“O-okay…!”

“In that case, I suppose we must select our dice.”

He had been watching the dice on the table all through their conversation, trying to keep an eye on the two he had chosen so as not to grab one of them before Benny’s next throw. But after dragging the dice back to his side of the table, Juan mixed them together, making it impossible to keep track of them that way.

He figured it wouldn’t be so easy. But he hoped.

The five dice were slid over to Hugo, who again had no way to know which were which. With nothing better to go off, he selected the second die from the top (after his favorite child) and let it sit on his end of the table, to watch on the sidelines with him.

Benny hovered over the dice, as if feeling their heat or energy. He picked two very deliberately, and gave them a squeeze in his pale, thin hand.

“Hmmm… l-let’s bet five. On pass.

The chips were put in the center of the table, and with one, final deep breath, Benny swung the dice loose. It was a legal throw, and the numbers revealed themselves in due time: a four and a four. Eight.

Either one could be loaded.

“Eight is marked. Shooter, roll again.”

The dice were pushed back. Benny, whose champion smile wavered slightly, gave them another toss. A four and a one.

Hugo had two choices. Assuming that four was loaded (which was a good bet), he could replace it with his die, which could get rid of Benny’s equalized odds and make it far more likely he’d roll a seven. Or… if he had the loaded die, he could replace the die that rolled a one to guarantee he rolled a seven next time… but if he didn’t have the loaded die, he wouldn’t accomplish anything.

Or, of course, he could do the third thing. Take a big, long swallow of beer while Benny rolled a third time, getting the same results: a four and a one. Out of carelessness or forgetfulness, he didn’t shuffle his dice before rolling them, so it was easy for Hugo to see the clearly loaded die.

“Switch the die that just rolled a four with mine, please.”

“Aww.” Benny huffed as Juan oversaw the swap, a knowing and confident little smile on his face as he did so. A smile that made Hugo uncomfortable, as when they locked eyes the host made it clear it was directed at him.

He swallowed his hesitation, then his fear, then his doubts. It was a lot to digest, but he’d have to do it later: for the time being, he dropped the swapped die directly in front of him and leaned forward to watch the rest of the rolls.

A three and a three. He possibly gave him a loaded dice.

A six and a three. It seems he could have won last round if he had swapped the other die. He slouched in his chair.

A one and a three.

“Heh, this one feels lucky…”

A six and a three again.”

“Or not.”

Then, the five and a three.

“O-oh, I was just one off.”

Hugo dropped his head and sighed, loud and hard and wet, so hard it momentarily turned into a throaty cough. He was down another five. And had lost eleven in total. Even more of his mind was scraped, uncomfortably, as the chips were dragged away to Benny’s side, and he was starting to really feel the impact of it now. Anxiety had escalated to a shade of necrosis. It was as if there was a pit of darkness where his hope used to live. It was heavy and thick and it almost felt as if it were strangling the parts of himself he took for granted. If this was only a fraction of what Benny endured… then those once-irritating chuckles and laughs he had been peppering their conversation with became a bit more admirable.

Hugo did not feel like smiling or laughing.

How could he? He was a family man. There were people who relied on him, every day, for support. For care. To be there for them, or to be there at all. When he first agreed to his “mental health”, the novelty of his situation and his pity had overwritten his caution. Now he felt trapped. He couldn’t run. And he knew he couldn’t ask for mercy: Benny, for all his smiles and cheer, would not provide it. All he had to rely on were his slowly-waning wits and his luck, which seemed to have abandoned him now, when he needed it most. And he was starting to really feel the lack of chips. Did he also inherit Benny’s lack of sleep? Everything wasn’t spinning, or swaying, but more… shifting. Like a distant mirage. And there was a fuzziness to his eyes he couldn’t seem to shake. His breathing was no doubt raspy and-

“Excuse me, Hugo?”

A hand on the shoulder shook him from his stupor. His focus returned.

“Ah. My apologies, I zoned out there.” He murmured an excuse.

“Happens to me all the time,” Benny said from across the table. I’m sure it does, Hugo thought bitterly, but kept it to himself as Benny grabbed a random die: his desire to be a gentleman would be the last thing this game stole from him.

The dice were pushed in front of him. Like Benny did before, he held his hand over them for a moment before grabbing two, the top and the bottom. Unlike Benny, however, he pulled them close to his face and blew on them.

“For good luck.” He explained, “And… in that spirit...I think I’ll bet eight this time.”

Hugo muttered as he pushed a stack forward.

“On… don't pass.”

“...wait, what?” Benny tilted his head. “Is this… because he’s been losing chips?”

Hugo understood what that implied. But he didn’t dwell on it. With focus, resolve, and a touch of dramatic flair, he threw both dice at the wall. They crashed like the waves of a storm, appropriate, as “I’ve Got a Lot to Learn About Love” was streaming into the parlor from the barroom.

The dice settled.

A four and a one.

“Looks like a five to me.” Juan hummed. “So five is marked.”

Benny was looking at that four, and playing with the die he had selected. Playing with the idea of replacing it. But one four was no guarantee it was loaded, and both of them knew it. So Hugo got to roll again.

A five and a six. Nothing loaded here.

“R-replace the six with my die, please.” Benny pushed his die forward, and Juan oversaw the swap. It was only natural he would do as much: with a bet on “don't pass”, equalizing the odds between rolling a seven and a five was the best idea, if he had the loaded die. And if he didn’t… then nothing changed.

Hugo took the new dice to his face to blow on them, since they were technically new, and gave them another chuck.

A five and a three. Maybe the new one was loaded.

A six and a three. Probably loaded.

Another six, another three. He felt safe in assuming this die was loaded. Cupping both die in one hand, he decided to take a quick drink from his beer… but he drank a bit too fast, too deeply, or too anxiously: either way, he found himself coughing, covering his mouth to avoid spraying over the table.

“Get this… from me please.” he wheezed as he pushed the beer away. “I think it’s just making things worse.”

“You alright?” Benny asked with tilted head.

“Yes, yes, just… let’s roll.”

He rolled again.

A five and a three. Hugo couldn’t hide the mild excitement at the sight of his fourth three in a row.

Then, finally: a four and a three. Hugo didn’t smile, but he did sigh: relief. But all the weight that had dropped off his chest dropped on Benny.

“Seven-out. Don't pass wins.”

“H-heh. Guess it couldn’t last forever…” Benny sighed. Eight chips were handed over: all yellow and white. It seemed he was intent on keeping the black mental health chips as long as he could. “G-good roll…”

“Thank you.”

The die were shuffled without much ceremony, and all five were presented to Hugo. He grabbed one at random and watched Benny pick his, after taking a long chug from his vodka, emptying the glass completely.

“Okay. Okay. M-maybe I’ll give it a try, too.” Benny half-smiled, blowing on his two dice as he rolled them in his palm. “I’ll wager… um… eight. eight again.”

“...on?” Juan pressed after a brief pause.

“O-oh! Right. Pass. Pass, please.”

And he rolled. He seemed keen to mimic Hugo’s styling this time, and threw the dice with power. He lacked confidence, however, so the bones didn’t so much clatter victoriously as they popped up against the table, jumping only a few times before settling on a five and a four.

“Nine is marked,” Juan announced, and Hugo smiled.

"Before you roll again, please replace the five with my die.”

Benny was caught off guard by this declaration, but Juan, with his knowing smile, did as he was told, and gave Benny the new die. He didn’t seem to like them very much, his face twisted in distaste as he weighed them in his palm... but they were the only dice he could use. So he threw them.

And he got a three and a four.

“Seven-out.” Juan announced, and all eight of the wagered chips were sent to Hugo, who cracked a faint smile as he stacked them up, savoring his new advantage. But the loss was making the cracks in Benny’s mask become all the more pronounced. He let out a small breathy chuckle, followed by a half-second sob, and grabbed the sides of the table until his pale fingers trembled from a lack of hot blood.

“H-how did you do that?” He whimpered between clenched teeth.

“I didn’t. It was just bad luck, friend.” Hugo shook his head, “Take your die, please.”

They grabbed their die. Benny picked slowly but impatiently, forcing himself to be slow as if it might somehow help. Hugo grabbed his dice casually, and gave them a slow, romantic blow from relaxed lips. The extra few seconds that took seemed to fill Benny with agony. Two losses, and the bags under his eyes became pronounced, and his twitches grew more erratic.

“I’ll bet… two. On pass.”

He chucked the dice without passion. As they bounced against the green table, they barely bounced against the back wall. Some casinos could rightfully call it illegal: but Juan held his tongue as the numbers unveiled themselves: a one and a two.

“Aces Deuce. No pass for our gentleman friend.”

Benny looked enthralled. Hugo didn’t so much as flinch. Two wasn’t much. But it wasn’t nothing. And Benny would take every victory that he could. He had no choice. And Hugo, despite everything, still admired that desperate optimism. If this should go poorly, he hoped he could be so strong in the face of his newfound adversity.

He grabbed a die. Benny grabbed his two. And Hugo leaned down to take a deep, slow breath.

“There’s certainly a lot of tension in this game, wouldn’t you say?” Hugo lamented. “If it were legal, I’d suggest we take a break at the bar to cool our heads.”

“H-heh. I could use a break… yeah…”

“I never enjoyed high stakes gaming, myself. I like knowing I can win. I like being able to blame something other than luck when I don’t.”

“I… I get that.” Benny shook his head and shuddered. Some unnatural mix of a moan and a laugh fell out of his mouth. “B-but… heh… I-I guess I’m used to it. All I could do all my life is… blame my shitty luck. That this just… happened to me, that this became my whole life. Is it wrong, do you think, that I can only blame luck? Is there something else I’m supposed to do?”

Hugo was silent.

“I guess I can blame god, too. Or… or blame my parents for falling in love and… and making me. Heh.. . you, you know what, I-I’ll blame just about anything except my luck right now because it… it’s all I have right now. Okay!? J-just this once I need good luck, please!”

Hugo looked away. Benny grabbed his dice.

“...I bet three. On pass.”

He threw the dice. A one and a three. A four.

“Four is marked.” Juan reported, but Benny looked horrified, and Hugo knew why. If that three were the loaded die, then that meant Benny would need to roll another one if he was going to win. But: Hugo could replace either die with his own, assuming it was loaded, and it would be impossible for him to win. So there was no logical reason for Hugo not to replace the die that showed the one with his own die.

And yet, he didn’t. He remained perfectly silent even as Juan slowly dragged the dice over, giving him the chance to replace either die. He just watched. Silent even as they were rolled again.

A four and a five. His dice wasn't loaded.

A three and a six.

A two and a two. Benny finally exhaled, and deflated.

“Four is hit. Our luckless friend has another win, and our score is even.”

The chips were returned, and they were back where they started. Thirty chips to either side. From a gains standpoint, nothing had changed. But the rolls they had shared had rattled them. There was a maelstrom in the thin, unmoving air that surrounded them. Lightning struck every time the dice touched the table. And the electricity was affecting them both. Hugo had grown numb and cold as his mind still ached with what was lost. Benny had the look of wild hope of some injured animal thinking they could still wrestle out of a lion’s maw. And there was fear seeping in from every corner not illuminated by the cheap lights above the table.

Benny took his die.

Hugo grabbed his. One in each hand, blowing into them one at a time.

Then, with calmness, he pushed one stack of chips into the center of the table.

Then the second stack.

And then the third.

“All in. Pass.”

Benny turned white as a sheet. As mentally exhausting as this game had been, he was not prepared for it to be over. He was not ready for things to be decided. The mask fell away completely, revealing Benny’s true self: hollow, empty, and sick. The false light that shimmered in his eyes had faded, and the charmingly ill smile that he had painted on his lips chipped away into an exhausted melancholy that dragged every corner of his face down with its tremendous gravity. He was tired in so many ways. But he was scared to rest.

“...are you sure?” he asked. His voice had cooled, and so his stammer simmered into a small tick of the lips.

“Yes.”

“I see.”

“...are you ready?”

“No. But that doesn’t matter, does it?”

“I can wait.”

Benny scrunched his fingers into thin dull claws that raked across the green table.

“Juan… am I asleep right now? In the real world?”

“Yeah. You are.”

“Well… no matter what, then… I… I guess at least I got a good night’s sleep out of it, eh?”

He tried to smile. But with his true face exposed, it was clearly an impossible task. After the edge of his lips cracked a few times, trying to fight that gravity, they fell back down into a static, numb, nothing.

“Alright. Here I go.”

And Hugo rolled.

The dice bounced and leapt across the green table as they escaped his palms. Spinning in an unobservant glee, throwing themselves into the tall green cliff on the other side of the table. They were deflected, and rocketed up. Into the heavens, their six faces twirling with the grace of dancers, their corners and dots blurring into something indistinct and beautiful.

They bounced once, and clapped together, falling to opposite ends of the table.

They bounced again, losing their upward momentum, rolling into the green as each one tumbled towards a man on either end of the table.

And with the final tumble, skidded to a stop.

The die in front of Benny was four.

The one in front of Hugo was three.

A natural seven.

“So. How did you do it?”

Benny was still sobbing, uncontrollably, in the parlor. His wails had gone uninterrupted for the past fifteen minutes. Juan and Teresa were still trying to console him, to spare him the wrath of one “Mr. Eight”, who might be summoned if things got too messy. Hugo, too, had tried to offer consolation, even going so far as to try to give the wagered chips back: but Juan had informed him that’s not how things work here. You lost what you lost, and you won what you won. There was no negotiation. There was no way for him to help.

So instead, he sat in the bar, and he nursed a spritzer.

Benny’s wet heaving cries weighed heavily over the entire establishment, casting a dark shadow over everyone and everything except Ture, who seemed characteristically ambivalent to the enormous human suffering happening on the other side of the door. Hugo was not. Hugo had preserved his sanity, but he did not feel very good about it. Not at all.

“Hey. Answer me.”

“W-what?”

“How’d you do it?”

“...I was lucky, is all.”

“Pft. Bullshit. We both know this game wasn’t designed for luck.”

He was slouched on the stool. He was told he could leave anytime, but he couldn’t turn his back on Benny. Not after knowing what would happen to him when he woke up. And not after knowing he was responsible. Not after they had agreed to a drink once it was all over.

But guilt was hard to drown in spritzer.

Still. He didn’t answer. So Ture leaned forward, and allowed the most devilish of grins to slide onto his face, revealing a row of surprisingly sharp teeth.

“Alright. Well. Let me take a stab at it, won’t you?”

Hugo looked away. Towards the door leading towards the void.

“Well. You knew that the loaded die gave a pretty big advantage to the ‘pass’ player, amiright? It could, in theory, help a don't pass bet… but only if you knew which dice were loaded. But since all the dice looked the same, you’d have to mark ‘em, right?”

Hugo furrowed his brow. The words were weighing heavily on his mind.

“But hey: two problems with that. For one, any obvious mark would be noticed by your opponent, and you’d be back to luck of the draw. And for two, well, marking dice is cheating. And you wouldn’t want to get disqualified, would ya? So you had to mark them, but… you couldn’t do it in a way that your opponent would notice.”

“Where are you going with this?”

“I’m just saying, it’s weird that a guy who doesn’t drink, because he doesn’t like ‘the smell’, would order one of the smelliest drinks on offer. And it’s weird that he suddenly started coughing and sighing when he was pretty damn sure he had the loaded die in front of him. And, isn’t it funny that you started blowing the dice -- pulling them right up to your face and within smelling distance -- the moment you got your beer?”

Hugo clenched his teeth until his jaw turned white.

“Oho. I’m right…”

“Shut up.”

“Hey, hey… no judging here, man. In fact… you played perfectly.” Ture leaned forward so his cruel grin cast a shadow over the slouched man. “You noticed it, didn’t you? How we had you pick the die before you bet, rather than after? The game was designed for people like you.”

Hugo flinched at what came next.

“I really admire it, man. You saw his trust and you played him like a fucking sap. Is that what gentlemen do these days, eh?”

“I said shut up please.”

“The door’s right there, man.” Ture gestured to the void. “You can wake up anytime you want.”

It was tempting. This space offered him nothing anymore. The air itself seemed contaminated by the tragedy, a tragedy he had unfortunately perpetuated. But as l’appel du vide evolved into a far more intense, tangible desire, he noticed the wailing from the other room had steadied. Hugo turned to the other door, the one that lead to that accursed parlor, with eyes wide and expression stiff.

“...Ture. Could you pour me a glass of vodka?”

“Wanna see what loser tastes like?” He goaded, but Hugo did not engage. When the glass was poured, he picked it up, as well as his unfinished spritzer, and advanced towards the parlor for the second time this evening.

Even knowing what he had done, and the lengths he had gone to achieve it, he had made a promise.

And he would keep it.

When Hugo woke up, he was filled with inspiration.

He was a fairly busy man, but he had a yearning he could neither explain nor wished to ignore. He found the time to take night classes, and started practicing drawing, piano, coding: things he had admired from afar but never imagined he would ever attempt himself. It only took a few lessons in each to discover he was a natural: with steady hands, an inspired mind, and his sharp wit, he was proficient at all three in a matter of months, and had nearly mastered them before the end of the year. He was able to entertain his family at Christmas with his piano, paint his wife for her birthday, and impress his boss with his knowledge of C++ and Python. And best of all, he felt fulfilled... it may be impossible to teach old dogs new tricks, but he was no dog -- he was a gentleman. And gentlemen, above all, are never too old or too experienced to be beyond self-improvement. Especially if it brings joy into the lives of those around you when you share your gifts freely, and with laughter.

He was oblivious, however, of a young man whose life had become a living hell. Nightmares had plagued him every night, but they had been getting worse: he had always been plagued by demons as he slept, but now, they were coming from his own creations. He would watch, paralyzed and helpless, as the subjects of his drawings crawled out of their pages and slowly ate him alive. The scream of some abyssal piano would hound his ears and wrack his mind. Even his computer seemed to ooze with an awful, terrible evil that he could feel even if he couldn’t see it.

They were the worst nightmares he’d ever had. So awful, that when he was awake, he couldn’t bear to look at his art, or the computer, or the piano. Even approaching a canvas with a brush in hand brought back horrible memories, and paralyzed him anew. And he felt an undeniable dread with every line drawn… as each one, he knew, would bring life to even worse nightmares when he was forced to sleep.

At one time, his work and art had been his one reprieve from his miserable existence. Now, they were his greatest tormentors.

And he was left with nothing.

The risk one takes when they roll the dice at the Silver Wheel.