If Charlie tried to reflect back on the past two weeks, it was a blur.

A blur of head injuries, impossible odds, explosions of inspiration, unfathomable coincidences, surprise surgeries, genetic mutation, at least three errant lightning strikes, near endless travel, thankless rescues, overzealous drug use, chases, romances (and one very uncomfortable orgy), unlikely reveals, quickly-forged friendships, natural disasters, a terrorist attack, lawsuits, award ceremonies, gala invitations, misplaced luggage, wrong numbers, poorly-addressed packages, long-lost relations, uncovered forgeries, and more trips to the police than he could reasonably count. He had lived a thousand lifetimes in fourteen days, and looking at himself now, he almost didn’t recognize himself.

On top of gambling for perfunctory or curious things (like dreams, childhoods, legs, REM patterns, eyelids, ZIP codes, heartbeats, etc) he had also gambled for things that actually mattered. For example, he now had an encyclopedic knowledge of exactly 300 subjects. He knew how to play every instrument and speak 431 of the world’s 6,500 spoken languages fluently. His memory was flawless (which did not, in fact, make the weeks any less of a blur; they were simply blurry weeks). He was so good-looking that when it was impossible for him to physically change any further, society’s concept of beauty was warped until it was basically his reflection. His health was perfect, his senses were honed to indescribably fine points, and he was obscenely wealthy.

But more important than any of that, he was in Marie Walker’s good graces.

Because even as an apex of his species, that woman scared the hell out of him.

“It took a bit of searching but we were able to find a reality with a dead earth that’s close-ish to our relative position in space, and a waaaay faster speed of light. So we’re finally able to start strip mining it for our very first Walker-brand Dyson sphere. This motherfucker will make me the only energy producer in this reality worth giving a damn about, and there’ll be enough left over for our -- drumroll please -- deep space program!”

Before, he had never been privy to the actual depths of Walker Horizons. He was too low on the ladder even as the CO of Engineering. There were layers upon layers upon layers to uncover about Marie Walker and her ambitions, and every time he thought she had passed genius into the realm of insanity, she found a way to dig deeper.

This was one of those moments, when he realized what her plan was.

“You’re using an alternate reality as an intergalactic subway system,” he said.

“Ding ding ding! Bingo! Should put you in charge of marketing. Wormholes next to earth? Scary. Wormholes next to a dead earth in some other reality? The EU and China won’t ride my ass about that. And with a faster speed of light we can set up the other end of this wormhole way faster. Twenty years from now, we’ll be sending people to an alternate reality, throwing them to Andromeda via space tube, pulling them back to this reality, and they’ll be screwing blue aliens before breakfast.”

She was eating a chunk of cooked flesh only slightly less pink than her lipstick. He didn’t bother asking what animal it was from, it could be anything at a place like this. The kind of establishment where you needed at least ten figures to even know it existed, and eleven to comfortably buy anything. It was also the kind of place that didn’t have a menu, which offended his chronic need to be orderly and logical about all things. It had annoyed him so much, in fact, he hadn’t bothered ordering anything. He was just watching her eat.

“But fuck me,” She said in a way that only half-suggested she didn't mean it. He was Eros incarnate, after all. “You know how long it takes to find those realities?”

“No.”

“Ages. We’ve got nine supercomputers running 24/7 and it took them three years to find this one, and even then it’s only like a 70% match. There are too many variables. Too many realities to shuffle through. It’s impossible. It’s fucking impossible. A turtle could get a shoe pregnant before we find what we’re looking for.”

Here it comes.

“...that’s why I need you to go back to the Silver Wheel.”

“I suspected as much.”

“Wow, get that rod out of your ass. This is good news for you. Good news for me. It’s good news. You get more money and more shit and I get more data about their fucking dimension magic. Right now the probability of finding a reality I can work with is about one in a googleplex times a bajillion. And that’s just counting the other realities, not all the other weird… shit out there. Stuff you wouldn’t believe. And since I can’t make fewer realities or faster computers, I need something that lets me mess with the odds.”

“I understand. When do you want me to go back in?”

“As soon as possible.” She spoke as she chewed. She didn’t really care that she was sending myoglobin-soaked spittle onto his face. He didn’t especially mind either. “Take my jet tonight to our lab in New Zealand. They’ll hook you up.”

“...I didn’t know we had a lab in New Zealand.”

“Really? I’m talking interdimensional dyson spheres and this is what surprises you?”

He shrugged. She snorted.

“I’ll pay you twice as much if you gamble some fucking social skills.”

Then she swallowed.

“Or at least some acting.”

In truth, Charlie didn’t mind going back to the Silver Wheel. In fact, he could almost say he welcomed it.

Not because it provided him more opportunities to “improve” himself. He was already a stranger living in a stranger’s body. There was nothing to “improve” at this point because by now the foundation had already vanished. All he could do was tack more features onto this Frankenstein's monster that he had become.

It was more because he needed something to do with himself. Technically there was nothing stopping him from retiring right now and living the rest of his life in opulent luxury, traveling the world, fucking whatever and whoever he wanted, and simply winning at everything and anything he attempted. But that sounded rather dull. And if being productive meant ruining more people’s lives he didn’t really mind. Indeed, he wasn’t oblivious to the fact that he had destroyed people, many beyond repair, and he certainly didn’t relish it with any kind of sadistic drive. He just hadn’t won the extra fucks he’d need to care.

All success throughout all of history had been achieved through the exploitation and abuse of the unambitious, stupid, or just unlucky masses. He didn’t make the rules, he was just following them.

He had decided to take the helicopter to the airport because it was a nice night and the skyline of Dubai was the most beautiful kind of ugly on the planet. But in truth, he was having a hard time keeping his eyes open. Non-stop travel for the past two weeks had taken its toll on him, and they weren’t five minutes into the air before he closed his eyes and started nodding off.

And he was mildly surprised to open his eyes and find himself back at the Silver Wheel.

“Oh. Hey ‘boss’.” Ture flashed him a grin. “Hazy Shade of Winter”, by Simon and Garfunkel, was on the radio. “Water tonight, or you in the mood for somethin’ with a bit less fish pee in it?”

“Why am I here?” He asked without moving from the door. “I hadn’t taken the pill.”

“I remind our frequent guest Charlie that typically, the Silver Wheel is the one that invites people to our establishment.” Teresa said as she helped ease his coat from his shoulders. “It would seem that is the case this time. Would you like a drink?”

“No.” Charlie grunted. This was a waste of his time. If he wasn’t being monitored by Marie then he wouldn’t produce any data, or get paid. “In fact, I’m quite sure I’d just like to leave.”

“Pfft. Not something I’d expect you to say, of all people.” Ture preemptively started making a drink for Charlie: Veuve Pelletier & Fils Brut Champagne, mixed with grape and thyme essence.

“Of course, all our guests are free to leave whenever they wish.” Teresa smiled that vacant, heatless smile. “But before you do, I suggest you at least visit the parlor. Perhaps you’ll find the game and the wager to your liking.”

Charlie didn’t trust this. He didn’t have to be a social man to know Juan hated him, and near the end of his previous visit had begun producing increasingly unfair games in an effort to make him lose. But Charlie also stopped seeing the games at the Silver Wheel as games of chance and more as problems to solve. And he did have a hard time saying “no” to a new problem.

So he took the drink Ture had prepared and opened the door to the parlor.

The table, which had been arranged for cards the last time he had been here, had once again made a grand transformation; into a roulette table.

On the other side of the table, where the players usually sit, was Juan.

“Hey. Welcome back to the Silver Wheel.” Juan’s smile was halfway between friendly and malicious. “You up for a game, Charlie?”

Charlie, indeed, had not been expecting this.

“What’s the meaning of this, exactly?” He took a step forward. His curiosity had been piqued.

“Look, Charlie,” Juan chuckled as he leaned back into his seat, “I don’t think it’s exactly a secret you and I don’t get along.”

“Obviously.”

“And I also didn’t think it was too much of a stretch to assume you’d be back before long. You love it here. You’ve got systems. You’ve got a callous ambivalence to human misery. Which is why I figured we could make our lives easier with a once-in-a-lifetime gamble.”

Charlie actually took a seat. Juan’s smile grew broader.

“Play a game with me. I’ll gamble my friendship, my cooperation, whatever best suits your needs. You’ll find your time here will be a lot easier when I’m on your side, especially with how good you’ve gotten at cheating. I mean, If you’re going to keep winning here, wellllll, simple fact is, you’re going to need my help.”

“And I take it you want me to never return if I lose.” Charlie raised an eyebrow. Bored.

“What? No.” Juan scoffed. “The Silver Wheel is all about open doors, and I like to give people second chances. If you lose, you’ll return everything that you took from everyone else, and hopefully learn a thing or two about empathy in the process.”

The bored eyebrow dropped. Never returning was simply out of the question, he would have flat-out refused if those were the stakes: Marie relied on him for this task and he dreaded to think what she would do if he couldn’t perform that vital function. But this was a far more reasonable gamble. He wasn’t eager to return everything he had won (especially for all the trouble he had gone through to make it happen), but he could still win at the Silver Wheel without these gifts (thanks to his secret alliance with that stupid bartender), and then it would only be a matter of winning them all back… which would hardly be a waste of time, since he was tasked with coming back here anyway.

It wasn’t risk free. But it was a risk worth taking for the potential rewards.

“Fine.” Charlie sighed. “I’ll wager everything I’ve won so far.”

And thirty rainbow chips appeared at his side, a shimmering, nearly holographic pile that seemed to encompass all the colors he had taken from others. It gave him a small headache to look at them directly.

“And I’ll wager my friendship, trust, and loyalty.” Juan bobbed his head to the side, thirty pure silver chips stacking themselves at his end of the table.

“Of course, since I can’t be a player and a dealer, I’ll have our second-in-command, Teresa, take responsibility for the game,” Juan said, and indeed, Teresa was already standing at the head of the table, one hand hovering over the wheel, and the other holding up a beautiful chromatic ball.

“The game,” she said with her usual lack of emphasis, “is roulette.”

It is believed, by some, that roulette was first invented largely by accident by French scientist and theologian Blaise Pascal in his misguided attempt to create a perpetual motion machine. However, roulette as we understand it first came about in the 18th century by combining a gaming wheel with cavagnole, the French lottery. The game primarily existed within French parlors and gambling dens in the 18th century, but from the 19th onward would expand into the rest of Europe and, eventually, to America, where a unique but short-lived style of roulette was created with a third “zero” space in the form of a bald eagle. It very quickly became one of the most popular games in casinos worldwide, and thus, was often the target of scrutiny and scams, as many less reputable casinos would tilt the wheel slightly to favor some results over others. Even as that trend began to fade, many people throughout history have tried to develop methods and techniques to beat this famously random game. Few have succeeded, and none for long.

“There are three types of roulette wheels. At the Silver Wheel, we use the French single-zero style,” Teresa explained. “That means there are thirty-seven spaces on the wheel, one through thirty-six, and the zero space.”

“It feels weird not explaining the game my-”

“-Please do not interrupt my explanation unless you have a question.

“Oops. Sorry.”

Teresa waited a second longer before continuing.

“Each round will start with you placing your bets. There is no upper limit, although you must always at least wager one chip. There are many ways to place a bet in roulette, and the payout changes depending on your odds of success.”

Betting on red, black, odd, even, 1-18 or 19-36 will give you a 1:1 payout. Betting one of the dozens (1-12, 13-24, 25-36), or one of the three columns (the three distinct columns that separate the numbers on the board) will give you a 2:1 payout. Betting on the six line (six numbers in two horizontal rows) will give you a 5:1 payout. Betting topline, (the 0, 1, 2, or 3) or corner (placing your chips in a corner where four numbers meet) will net you an 8:1 payout. Betting street (any three horizontal numbers, like 1, 2, 3 or 4, 5, 6) will net you an 11:1 payout. Betting split (two connected numbers, like 1 and 2) is a 17:1 payout. Finally, betting straight (placing your chips on one number) is worth a 35:1 payout.

“Once you have placed your chips on the table and removed your fingers from them, you may not touch them again. As soon as everyone has concluded their bets, the dealer shall spin the wheel and the ball on the track. When the ball lands in a destination, I shall announce the winning space and distribute chips appropriately. Once I have, you may touch your chips again. The game will end when one of the players has 100 chips, or runs out entirely. The winner will be whoever has the most chips at that time.”

“However, roulette is not a competitive game by design, and at the Silver Wheel, we prefer to introduce elements of strategy whenever possible. Which is why there are three unique rules you must be aware of before the game may begin.”

“The first is that unlike normal roulette, players must bid for each space. If Charlie places a chip on the odd space, then Juan must place at least two chips there if he wants to claim the space, kicking Charlie’s chip off and returning it to his hand. This process can be repeated as long as you so desire.”

“The second difference involves the three blank cards you see in front of you. Please make a note of them.”

Indeed, looking down, Charlie noticed there were three blank playing cards in front of him. Next to them, a fresh pen.

“At the very start of the round, you may take one of your cards, write a number between zero and thirty-six on it, and place it face-down in the center of the table. If you do so, the number that you wrote will be the number the ball lands on when the wheel is spun. Once a card is so used, it will be removed from play.”

“If both players write different numbers on their cards and place them in the center of the table in the same round, there will only be a 50% chance the ball will land on the number you wrote, and a 50% chance it will land on the number your opponent wrote. That is the second main difference between this and normal roulette.”

“The third rule is simply this: in the unlikely event you should both “win” by the same amount during the same round, it is considered a tie, and you shall both lose your winnings. However, if you used a card that round and your opponent did not, it is considered a tiebreaker and you shall win the game.”

“Are there any questions?”

Charlie was unshakably certain this game was designed very specifically with him in mind. He was a man who prefered caution and calculation. Sure bets. Not only did roulette spit in the face of that by design, but the 100-chip victory condition forced risky play: A classic example of victory favoring the bold. He had some level of control with the cards, but they would have to be used carefully…

Charlie’s early success at the Silver Wheel had been thanks to his understanding that no word was used carelessly in explaining the rules for each game. It was deliberate, and in that deliberation, there were clues to victory. And already, Charlie could see one such clue: the cards would only be discarded if they were “so used” in a round. That meant that Juan would likely try to bluff by pretending to write something on his card, placing it forward, and then taking the card back when it was neither used nor discarded at the end of the round. Likely in the hopes that Charlie would waste a card trying to counter his bluff.

His reason for wanting to do that was obvious: the cards were the sole factor of victory in this game, and wasting one would be astronomically catastrophic. All it would take to “win” is to write a number on a card then put two chips onto that number: the payout would be 70 chips, which combined with the thirty you started with, would secure you the victory. That would force your opponent to either place their own card, or to out-auction that space. A gamble, or a war of attrition. The first was severely unappealing, and the second would require more resources, which couldn’t be guaranteed without using a card in the first place. So everything about this game hinged on using them intelligently.

Indeed, this was not a game of roulette at all…

...it was a game of bluffs.

But if Juan thought he could win by making this game about reading his opponent, he severely underestimated Charlie, who was already running the simulations in his head a dozen different ways. And while he hadn’t quite thought of a way to ensure he was guaranteed to win -- he had the confidence to know that Juan didn’t have such a sure-win strategy at his disposal, either.

There was no trick Juan could conceive that Charlie could not think up as well.

“No questions here.” Juan snickered. “Heck, I made the dang thing, I should hope I understand it!”

“I’m fine.” Charlie nodded. “Let’s play.”

“In that case, please make your bets.”

Charlie mused. As he expected, Juan picked up a pen and a card and wrote something on it, sliding it forward to the center of the table. It could very well be a bluff… or… it could be an early power play. Forcing players to write and submit their cards at the start of the round was a source of endless frustration for Charlie because it meant he had to decide to bluff or call with literally no other data to work with. If Juan had written a real number, Charlie would be forced on the defensive, having to counter any potentially winning bets by outbidding them. If it was a bluff, then he could play his own card and make his own power play… but then Juan would rely on the same strategy, and would have to outbid any potentially winning bets. But then in future rounds Charlie would be at a card disadvantage, which could very well cost him the game.

He looked at Juan. The man was smiling. Having fun. A little too relaxed. Maybe it was forced? Was it always forced? Charlie didn’t know. He never paid attention to him. He made a point of ignoring him as often as possible. How was he supposed to read him, how the hell do people do this sort of thing?

He had to make a call. And he decided the reliability of the cards was more important than any early advantages playing defensively might cost him. Plus, the one nice thing about roulette was that there were always options: even if he couldn’t outbid Juan at every space, he could use street and split bets to prevent Juan from potentially creating an overpowering difference between their chips.

So he pretended to write something and slid a card to the center of the table. A bluff.

But come to think of it… who would place the first bet? After all, in a game like this even dropping the first chips would put you at an enormous disadvantage, as it would give you fewer chips to counter your opponent’s move. Even putting one chip in the wrong spot would mean that technically Juan would have more chips at his disposal which he could use to theoretically overpower-

-Juan laughed. And Charlie was in no state of mind to identify if it was combative or genuine. Mostly he was annoyed that it disrupted his chain of thought.

“Charlie, you’re thinking too much.” Juan smiled. “You’re going to give yourself a migraine.”

“I enjoy thinking,” Charlie replied, merely suggesting 'so let me get back to it' through the sheer venom in his glare. But Charlie brushed it aside with a shrug.

“I respect that. Really, I do. But think too much…” He pushed forward a stack of 10 chips onto the 1-12 betting zone with all the confidence of a man with nothing to lose ”...and you’ll miss all the action.”

Charlie was surprised. That… was an extremely lame bet. At the absolute best, he would earn 20 chips, bringing his total to 50. It wasn’t worth using a card for, which basically signaled right away he had been bluffing, and even if he had been stupid enough to use a card, the 1-12 betting space wasn’t worth contesting.

“Don’t be shy, you can bet too.” Juan snickered. “Gotta play to win, y’know.”

“I’m aware. I’m trying to think.”

“Heh, not exactly to my advantage to let you think, y’know. Besides, this is the first real chance we’ve had to ‘shoot the breeze’. Do people still say that?”

“Can you shut him up, Teresa?”

“It is not against the rules to speak.”

“Tell you what, I’ll make you a gentleman’s agreement: I’ll shut up for the rest of the round if you answer a question. Just one.”

Charlie rolled his eyes.

“Fine.”

“What makes you happy?”

“Winning.”

“No it doesn’t.”

“I answered.” Charlie’s lips twisted into a sneer. So Juan leaned back with a ‘you got me’ smugness and blissfully kept his word.

Charlie should have said “silence”.

All the same. He had the luxury to think now. Juan might not be done betting but it was clear he had no intention of putting down more chips until Charlie did. It seemed there was nothing Juan could do that wouldn’t be annoying, because Charlie had no information to work off with the chips that were currently on the table… except that if Juan wasn’t bluffing then maybe the number he wrote was between one and twelve?

Juan was still smiling. Charlie involuntarily clenched his jaw. It occurred to him only now that if he had actually written a number on his card instead of bluffing, he probably would have won. With ten chips placed down first thing, Charlie could now out-bid Juan on any other space. Doing this was effectively the same as Juan admitting his card was blank.

Two empty cards. Which meant they were literally only playing the odds.

He hated that.

Still, there was the chance that Juan was just an idiot and didn’t think that far ahead. So no matter what he played, he’d have to make sure he had at least one more chip on hand than Juan so he could out-bid any risky spots.

So with the greatest of hesitation, he slid nine, no… eigh- four chips onto the odds space. Just to have something on the table. He then looked to Juan and waited.

Juan said nothing. Did nothing. He was waiting too.

“...if there are no further bets then we will commenc-”

“-wait.” Charlie held up his hand. “I’m not done.”

“Very well. Place your chips.”

With a little less hesitation this time, he put five chips on the red space. His winnings would still be meager compared to Juan, but at least this way if neither of them won he’d still have a one chip advantage. And from a statistical standpoint, with a simple spread like this, he would be more likely to come out ahead…

There was nothing more that could be done. This was his only available play. All he could do was leave it to chance and learn for the next round.

“I’m done now.”

She cast a glance to Juan, who, as per the terms of their agreement, could only nod. She returned the gesture in kind.

“Then we shall spin now.”

With an ease and familiarity that rivaled Juan’s, Teresa spun the wheel of their fortunes, allowing the colors to mix and blend for only a moment before she pushed the ball along the track. Charlie tried to be uninvested: he had only agreed to this game because he considered his own stakes so low. All the same, he caught himself leaning forward, biting his lower lip as the wheel, as well as the ball, started to slow and stabilize.

It used to be that casinos would let you place bets up until the last second, knowing full well it was impossible for people to predict where the ball would land, even if they thought they could. But then in 2004, two Serbs and a Hungarian used laser scanners hidden in a phone to predict where the ball would fall with shocking accuracy, and they used this system to win more than 1.3 million euros over two nights. Charlie wondered if his newly-enhanced brain could pull the same trick… although it hardly mattered for this game, he imagined.

The whine of the ball grew softer. It clanked against the bars of the wheel, deciding at an agonizing pace which slot it would call home. With a final hop and click, the ball fell…

...and it landed on red five.

“Everyone wins.” Teresa reported, producing the chips. Charlie received his nine chips back, and an extra nine for his two 1:1 bets. Juan, however, got a noticeably better payoff: his ten, followed by twenty more thanks to the 2:1 bet. His bold little gamble had given him half of what he needed to win. Charlie was only barely better off than when he started.

And indeed, as Charlie had figured: both cards were returned to their owners, unflipped and unused. Juan had won a sizeable advantage through sheer good luck… aided slightly by some bluffing.

This was bad. More chips meant he could bet more and outbid spaces. Charlie was one game in and he was already pressed into a corner. And Juan was just laughing it off as if it were no big deal.

“Whew. Thrilling, right? When you just try to ride the wheel?”

Charlie snarled.

“Oof. Hit a nerve or something? Y’know, Chuck -- can I call you Chuck? -- I thin-”

“-You absolutely may not.”

Juan looked concerned but not in a sarcastic way.

“....alright, sorry about that. But Charlie, for real, it seems to me like you’ve built a lot of walls around yourself.”

“Oh god.” Charlie moaned.

“Hey, I’m not saying it’s bad. It’s probably what helps you win these games and, you know, destroy lives. I just think that when you block out all the bad stuff, it can be really hard to remember to loosen up the gates a bit to let the good stuff in.”

“I didn’t destroy lives. I provided an opportunity and they all consented.”

“Under the pretense of a fair game. Then you cheated.”

Charlie instinctively thought about denying the accusation. But something else came out of his mouth and he wasn’t unhappy with what it was.

“Cheating is a made up word used by people who don’t understand the real world. They say it’s a thing so they can pretend they’re good people when really they’re just cowards and weaklings.”

Juan whistled.

“I think that’s the most I’ve ever heard you say in one go. You sure I haven’t touched a nerve?”

“I’m just talking. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“I guess it is.” Juan leaned backwards. “Mind if I push my luck a bit?”

Charlie glanced to Teresa. She was waiting patiently to begin the next round.

“Yes, I do. Let’s play.”

Juan shut up and started to scribble on his next card, or at least pretended to. Charlie barely paid attention to that, however: being backed into a corner was obviously not the situation he wanted to be in, but if there was a silver lining, it did dramatically limit his options, which made it easier to plan his next move. And Charlie knew, no matter what Juan did, he had no choice but to actually use a card this round. If Juan used his card for real, Charlie would need to ensure there was at least a 50% chance he wouldn’t win immediately. And if he didn’t, then Charlie would have the advantage he needed to catch up, even if it did mean fewer cards for future rounds.

Still, he wouldn’t write a number arbitrarily: taking advantage of gambler’s fallacy, he wrote “7” on his card before he submitted it face-down onto the table, next to Juan’s. An odd number below twelve on the red space: basically a repeat of the 5 that won last game. He wasn’t sure if Juan was the type to fall into that kind of trap, but it was better than just choosing randomly.

So he had his number. Now Charlie needed a way to capitalize on it without signaling to Juan that he had actually used his card, so he wouldn’t feel tempted to use his winnings to out-auction his opponent at every space. So… he had to bluff, basically. That meant a few chips would have to be thrown onto the sacrificial pyre, such as it were, so he took five chips and put them on the 25-36 betting space.

Juan laughed, and put ten chips on the 1-12 betting space again. Charlie felt his heart stop for a few moments.

“Charlie, I’m sorry, but I’ve watched you play dozens of games. I know how you think. I can read you like an open book,” Juan said. “Here. I’ll prove it. Money where my mouth is.”

Juan took a small stack of ten chips, and placed two chips each on the one, three, five, seven, and nine spaces. He covered all the odd red spaces in the first twelve sections of the board. Charlie was not a good bluffer. And it was showing in the way his face twisted with a contemptible rage.

“You hate odds. You hate chances. You think too much, and a man with a system is as easy to read as… well… I guess an open book, like I said. You thought I’d fall for the gambler’s fallacy, didn’t you?”

Charlie didn't’ know what was worse: the fact he had been so easily read, the fact that Juan was so certain of his own victory he was monologuing like a villain explaining his plan before sending the heroes to their deaths, or the fact that all this probably meant that Juan had indeed not used his card this turn, which meant even if he survived he would be at a card disadvantage in future rounds.

The third one. That was definitely the worst.

He had to turn this around. Not to keep the stuff he’d won or to make friends with this cocky shit. But to prove he was better.

The question was how.

Charlie broke down the facts: at the moment, Juan knew for certain that Charlie had used a card, and that the number on it was either one, three, five, seven, or nine. With that knowledge alone, Juan could win the game. Fortunately, so could Charlie: because in Juan’s cocky maneuver of placing ten chips at the 1-12 betting pool, he had given Charlie an impossible edge: Charlie could out-bid him for any spot now.

He didn’t need to hide which spot he had written down.

He took three chips and put them on the seven space, outbidding Juan.

Juan whistled, and outbid him with four chips.

Charlie puth five

Juan put six.

Charlie put seven.

“You really want this spot, huh?” Juan said as he put eight chips on the spot.

“Don’t play stupid. It’s not endearing.” Charlie placed nine chips.

“Is there a difference in your mind between being stupid and friendly?” Juan put ten chips.

Charlie said nothing. Eleven chips.

The number of chips on the spot continued to climb. Juan didn’t speak again until he had placed his eighteenth chip on it.

“Mind if I ask you another question?”

“Yes.” Charlie snapped as he placed nineteen.

“What if I asked you the same question but you answer it honestly this time.” Twenty chips.

Charlie said nothing. Twenty-one chips.

“What makes you happy?”

“Silence.”

“That probably makes you less unhappy but I don’t think it actually makes you smile.”

“Why do you care?” Twenty-five chips on the spot. Juan was running out.

“Well, if we’re going to be friends, I mean…”

“We won’t be friends even when I win.” Charlie snarled as he put twenty-seven chips on the spot. “You’ll be my lackey. At best. And you’ll shut up the whole time you’re doing it.”

“Yeesh. Alright, sorry I asked.” Juan placed twenty-eight chips on the spot.

Charlie put twenty-nine chips down. Juan, once again, whistled.

“Those bad boys sure stack, huh?” Juan placed his last chip on it. Wagering it all.

And Charlie, as anticipated, put thirty-one on it immediately afterwards. The spot was indisputably his. He had won.

“Heh. Not bad.” Juan chuckled as Charlie leaned back. “That’d be a hell of a payout if it works out for you. That’d be… what…”

“One thousand and eighty-five chips.” Teresa informed them.

“Wow. Well, I guess it’d be a shame to not get anything for my trouble.” Juan smirked, putting two chips in the corner for an 8:1 payout when the ball landed on seven. “That’s the last bet out of me. Ready to get this ball rolling, Charlie?”

Charlie didn’t know how he was feeling, but it was a mix of unquenchable anger and victorious validation. Juan’s showboating had cost him this game. And he would relish in his inevitable victory when he-

Ture stepped forward irritably.

“Fuck, I hate being the waiter,” he grunted as he stood next to Teresa. “Okay, so, water for Juan, because he’s a giant pussy and that tends to chafe when it’s dry, and Charlie, since you didn’t fucking touch the last drink I made for you, try something new and exciting.”

He put a small bowl in front of Charlie, filled with an off-white pale drink with a milky sediment at the bottom. He recognized it immediately as makgeolli -- a Korean alcohol, and a form of rice wine. Charlie had never once indicated he liked rice wine, or even Korean food, or was even especially thirsty right now. Why was Ture randomly giving him this drink?

...Charlie looked at the board. Then at Juan, at how relaxed he was with the current state of the game. His eyes trickled over to the cards on the end of the table.

...Juan had written something on his card, hadn’t he?

Christ, he had. He must have. If he had been able to predict everything else about Charlie’s plan…then why wouldn’t he have been able to predict he’d use a card? But that meant that by putting those first ten chips down…

...he was toying with Charlie, wasn’t he…?

The confusion warped into fury. A white-hot rage that left Charlie barely able to think. This son-of-a-bitch was playing with him. The only reason he hadn’t lost was because Juan had read the situation and decided to make a fool out of him instead of winning outright. Charlie could stomach losing, but being mocked in the process? Being looked down on like a child?!

He couldn’t tolerate that. Not one bit.

But he had to put his plans for revenge on hold. The makgeolli was a sign. Ture was trying to help, he knew it. But what could he learn from some random alcohol…?

“Well you gonna stare at it like a retard or drink it?” Ture sneered. “Use your mouth, dumbass. Your fucking mouth.”

Could it be the origin of the wine? It’s the oldest alcohol in Korea, having been brewed in the Three Kingdoms Era, which spanned from the 1st century BC to the 7th century AD… too many numbers in that origin for any of them to stick out.

The number of letters in the name? Nine… Juan already had chips there. And the drink did roughly translate to “recklessly strained”, which pretty perfectly described the situation Charlie was in right now.

He took a sip. The makgeolli has a mild acidity and sweetness to it, and thanks to its low alcohol content, around 8% alcohol by volume on average, it was considered a good social drink. But… that 8%... and Ture urging him to drink it…

...it was either eight or nine.

If it was a nine, Charlie had only a 50% chance to win. Point-blank. It meant that Juan had every intention of winning and there was no way to do anything but hope the ball landed on the seven. He could be outbid for any space right now, so even if he put down his three chips on the nine, Juan would just put four and that would be the end of that. Spin the wheel. Cross your fingers.

If it was eight, then Juan really was playing with Charlie, because it remained unclaimed even though he could put four chips on it and steal it for good.

No matter which number it was, it disgusted him. He was either leaving everything to chance or Juan was toying with him. He hated this game with everything he had. And he hated that Juan was making him play it. And looking very self-satisfied about it as well.

He had to choose. But there was really no choice to make.

If he put three chips on the eight, toying or not, Juan would have to out-bid him to prevent instantly losing. Which meant Charlie only had one way to stay in the game and ensure he didn’t lose even if the wheel did not land on the seven.

Splitting.

If he split between an eight and a nine, that would be a 17:1 payout. That was worth 51 chips: enough to keep him in the game, but not enough to win instantly. Juan would let that happen if he was toying with him. So it was less a gamble on which number to pick, and more on if Juan was really here to win.

As much as he hated to think so, he really only had one choice. So he placed three chips on the split between eight and nine. And he was out of chips to play.

All Juan had to do was out-bid him. If he put four chips onto that spot, or even one chip on the eight, then it would be back to a 50% win chance for either of them. And the game would be over after the next spin.

But he didn’t. He just raised an eyebrow at this seemingly random wager, then shot him a smile.

“So. You ready?”

Charlie felt a knot in his stomach he could only call loathing. But he nodded.

“Spin the wheel, Teresa.”

One flick, and the wheel started to turn. Another, and the ball circled the other way. Clicking in an even, slowing tempo as fate deliberated on where the ball should land. Charlie tried to feel too mad to be apprehensive about how the wheel turned, but he couldn’t help himself. His throat grew dry and his eyes itched every time he tried to tear them away from the wheel. More than just his victory hinged on this spin, but his dignity itself. He wanted to win hard so he could shove his win into Juan’s smug little face.

The wheel slowed. The ball bounced and jostled.

It stopped, and clicked into place.

At the red eight.

“Eight. The chips will be distributed now.”

His heart fell to the floor.

Charlie lost all thirty-one chips he had placed on seven, and the five he had placed on the 24-36 space. But the three he had placed on the split paid out: fifty-one chips exactly. Making his grand total 54.

As before, Juan made out far better. He lost the ten chips he had placed across the one, three, five, seven, and nine spaces, but the ten chips he put on the 1-12 betting space got him another twenty chips, making up for that loss. And the corner-seven bet touched the eight space as well, which won him sixteen more chips. In total, he had 76 chips: still enough to keep playing, and more than enough to keep his advantage alive into the next round.

The chips were distributed. And as Juan’s chips were counted out, Charlie couldn’t hold himself back any longer.

“You’re toying with me.”

“I wouldn’t call it that.”

“I don’t care what you would call it. Why didn’t you win?”

Juan alternated between considering a laugh and a sigh. In the end, he didn’t settle on either, and could only offer a thoughtful nod.

“Charlie. No matter how this game turns out, you’re going to be back here. My goal isn’t to win. Or, I should say, ‘winning’ for me is more than just winning this game. Just winning this game would be way too easy for me and it wouldn’t ultimately accomplish much. I’d like to get those people’s stuff back, sure, but I guess I wouldn’t consider that much of a victory if you’d just do it all over again.”

“What I’m doing,” he finally smiled, and it was so thoughtful and honest and genuine that Charlie felt sick, “is trying to teach you a lesson. If you’re going to come back here, it would be fantastic if you understood what it feels like on the other end of an unwinnable game. If you learned a bit of empathy, stopped making such needlessly cruel bets, and was willing to lose every once in a while, I think we could actually be good friends!”

Charlie did not feel better.

“Heck, I’ve always wanted a regular.”

Charlie felt disgusted.

“...if you thought you could teach me anything by trying to humiliate me, then you’ve got another thing coming.”

“Well I’m not really trying to-”

“-shut up. Let’s play.”

Juan hummed, and uncapped his pen, scratching down on his second card.

“Alright. Then just to show there are no hard feelings…”

He slid the card onto the table. Face-up. There was a big, fat zero written on it.

“...here you go.”

And Juan smiled. And Charlie was struck with the horrible realization that every single word that had come out of Juan’s ugly mouth had been designed to either nauseate or enrage him. It occurred to Charlie, as he glared at the face-up card on the table, that just maybe Juan’s real goal wasn’t to “teach him a lesson”... it was to make him hate his would-be dealer so much he never wanted to come back. After all, if he won, they would be “friends”, and Juan seemed like the talkative kind of “friend”.

Charlie decided he genuinely didn’t want to win. And yet he couldn’t stand to lose.

This was the worst he’d ever felt in his entire life.

He tried to shake it off. The feelings clung to him. No matter what mental gymnastics he pulled, distracting himself, reasoning with himself, sorting out his emotions with pure logic… nothing was able to shake them loose. He was paralyzed. He couldn’t even decide if he was going to put down a card or not, because he didn’t know if he wanted to endure this humiliation for a victory he didn’t want, or end this farce with a quick and shameful forfeit. How could he plan his next steps when every direction he looked was awful?!

“It would appear Charlie has no intention of using a card,” Teresa stated. “The betting phase may begin.”

He snapped out of it.

“I was thinking.” He growled, more angry about being denied something than the actual use of the card. “Let me think.”

She was entirely unphased by his sharp tone, as any good, professional woman is wont to. It improved his mood slightly. Enough to put his mind towards the problem at hand. As much as he didn’t want to win, the idea of giving up had firmly dislodged itself from his head. The indignation he was suffering now would only make his inevitable victory all the sweeter.

But first, he had to decide what to do.

The zero space in roulette was a unique entity. Unlike other spaces, which could be “covered” by every different kind of bet in the game, the only way to bet on a zero space was topline, or to put your chips directly on it: no corner, splitting, street, or other bets reached it. By picking zero, and making it public knowledge, Juan had effectively forced Charlie to either use one of his own cards, or willingly participate in a bidding war for the zero space. A bidding war he couldn’t possibly win.

Charlie considered his options. Then, he opened his pen, glided it over the face of his card, then slid it forward face-down.

“...now, the betting phase can begin.”

“Tensions rising, huh?” Juan placed a chip on the zero space.

Charlie paused for just a moment, then put two chips on the zero space.

“Juan. May I ask you a question?”

The dealer-turned-player quite nearly did a double-take.

“Well, blow me down. Sure, man. I’m an open book too, you know.”

“What makes you happy?”

“Oh! Well! A lot of things, really. Getting a chance to talk to people is a sure way to put a grin on my face. Not something I get to do often, though, when I’m dealing. I like happy endings, so, I shamelessly root for some people to win more than others. And I guess… I’m always in a pretty good mood unless Teresa tells me I shouldn’t be!”

The dealer actually shuffled her feet.

“Hm. I see.”

“You finally gonna tell me what makes you happy?” Juan pressed, putting three chips on the zero space.

“No. I don’t think I will.” Four chips down, and Charlie held the zero space.

They continued the back and forth of their chips in silence, save the radio, which Charlie only now noticed was playing “The Devil Went Down to Georgia”, as sung by Charlie Daniels. They always put down only one more chip than the other, even if they could both reasonably guess this would go on until one of them ran out. Indeed, Charlie could just slide all 53 chips onto the space, save them both time. But each chip raised seemed like a test between the two of them. And Charlie would be loathe to miss any opportunity to see with his own eyes how far Juan would actually be willing to push the stakes.

They were thirty-one chips in.

“I have another question, Juan. A less personal one.”

“I’m all ears.”

“I won’t remember my time here this time, will I?”

“I’m not sure. Probably not.”

“I see.”

They were thirty-six chips in now.

“So… my turn now, right? To ask a question?”

“If you must.”

“Once you’re done with Marie and the Silver Wheel, what will you do? What are your plans?”

“I don’t have any.”

“Not a one?”

“No.”

Forty-two chips in.

“Well, how about we fix that right now?”

Charlie didn’t reply. He just stared, pushing forty-four chips into the spot.

“I’m not kidding!” Juan grinned like a child, “It’s something you need to think about. A lot of people were, uh, put out to get you where you are. You should at least make sure their losses weren’t for nothing. Make the most of what you get!”

“I don’t want to think about it.”

“...because you’re scared?”

“Because I…”

But he couldn’t think of a way to finish the sentence. So he just slid forty-eight chips into the zero spot.

“You can say you’re scared. This is a judgement-free zone.”

“I’m not scared.”

“Well, okay, maybe not… ‘scared’.” Juan mused as he put fifty-one chips on the zero space. The bidding war would be ending soon. “Maybe you’re just anxious.”

“Maybe.” Charlie sighed as he slid fifty two-chips onto the space. It was all he could put forward. He only had one chip left to his name.

“Anyone would be, considering.”

“I think it would be great if you stopped playing armchair psychologist,” Charlie grunted. Juan still hadn’t placed the fifty-three chips he’d need to claim the zero spot. “And started playing this game.”

“What’s your hurry?” Juan leaned back, a finger stirring the seventy-six chips at his disposal. “Either I’m going to be your pal or you’re going to be back here for a long time getting your lost stuff back. No matter what we’re going to spend a lot more time together, as I said. I figure if we got to know each other, even when I win, we could relax some of this tension-”

“-I don’t want to get to know you. Be more like Teresa. She stands quietly and does her job. No one knows you. No one likes you. And no one who’s ever been here remembers who you are. Smile and laugh and use all the stupid colloquialisms that you want. You’re decoration. You’re a tool. And you’d be better off just acting like it.”

Charlie hadn’t said any of those things with the specific intention to hurt Juan. He had said them because they were true and he wanted to shut the man up. The fact that it looked as if he had been genuinely wounded, though, was not lost or unappreciated by Charlie.

“...I… don’t think-”

“-listen to what I said. I don’t care what you think. Place your chips then let’s wrap this up.”

Juan was at a loss for words or any purpose in saying them. He slid ten chips onto the 1-12 betting spot, then ten more onto the 25-36 spot. He was on the board. And he had decided against contesting Charlie for the zero spot, despite the fact he could easily do so.

“Any more bets?”

“No.”

“None for me, thanks.” Juan listlessly replied.

“Then I shall spin the wheel. One moment.”

With the same expert hand, she gripped the side of the wheel and gave it a perfectly measured pull, causing the wheel to spin at a comfortable clip. With the other, she lowered the ball into the track, and spun it the other way. The two men stared at the ball that would decide the outcome of their game, but eventually their faces turned slightly and their eyes met. Charlie was as emotional as a cinder block. Juan’s leaked sadness and confidence. He was shockingly readable for a man like Charlie, who could almost be called socially illiterate.

“I suppose this is game, then.” Juan half-smiled.

“It is.” Charlie nodded.

“I mean, you’ll have one more chip, but, you won’t be able to win with that… I can just put one chip on every space and you’ll be disqualified.”

“That’s bold to say,” Charlie noted with a raised eyebrow. “I have all the chips on zero. If my math is right that means I’ll be getting one-thousand, eight-hundred and twenty chips when the wheel lands there.”

“That’s true.”

The ball was starting to slow. Each click of the wheel, its speed dropped just that little bit more.

“...but…” Juan continued, “I mean, it’s more like an ‘if’. Teresa said the cards only count if you put them face-down. Mine’s face-up. So you’ve only got a one in thirty six chance of winning. Statistically, I mean.”

Charlie was not a good bluffer. Nor was he prone to theatrics. So while he realized he could toy with Juan if he had feigned surprise, he didn’t bother. Instead, he let his completely stoic face, combined with the slowing wheel, drag the smile straight off Juan’s face.

“I understand your strategy.” Charlie filled the silence that naturally accompanied foreboding. “Get me riled up and emotional and try to get me to finish myself off by getting into a bidding war over a useless spot. Leave me with one chip so I’ll feel that ‘hopelessness’ you talked about earlier. But if there’s one thing you should never have underestimated, Juan, it’s my tenacious memory.”

The wheel slowed enough for the ball to lose the momentum it needed to ride the track. It bounced once, twice, then landed firmly in the zero space. Charlie, to illustrate his point, reached forward and flipped his card over: another zero. Juan looked equally impressed and chilled.

“You should have finished me off when you could. The game is mine.”

“Indeed. Charlie is the winner,” Teresa announced passively, “You’ll forgive me if I skip passing out the winnings.”

“Well. This has been a fantastic waste of time.” Charlie sighed as he got to his feet. Despite how… riled he had gotten earlier, he was disappointed to find that his victory had not brought him any kind of satisfaction. He had won, sure, but he won all the time, and this was a victory he still didn’t really want. He couldn’t shake the profound irritation that he had only won because Juan had effectively let him.

“Oh, don’t say that!” Juan’s mood, on the other hand, seemed to have improved dramatically, and he stood up right after Charlie. “This is the start of something great. Heh, you might be right that I’m just a… tool, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be a good friend too. Useful and all. Maybe not to help you cheat but I can see about making sure you play the right kind of games against the right kind of people.”

Charlie didn’t say anything. He was already heading for the door. Juan was following him while Teresa started clearing the chips. “House of the Rising Sun” was playing, but the cover version by The House on the Cliff, which matched the original’s soul but sounded a fair bit more modern, and was infused with considerably more rock sensibilities.

“In any case, we’d better start to plan,” Juan continued as they went to the door.

“Mhm.”

“Did you want to go back to cards? I was thinking the next game would be Texas Hold Em’-”

“-Shut up.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry. I’ll just… follow my gut.”

Ture was back behind the bar. He was grinning cruelly.

“Man, Juan. You said you’d be his pal, not his fucking dog.”

Juan shrugged guiltily. But he was smiling. Bright as the sun.

“Guilty as charged, I guess. But I’m kind of happy I lost. Disliking someone is a lot of work and really sucks. It feels better to like the people around you, y’know?”

“Hm. Yes. About that.” Charlie stood by the door out, which he had already swung open. The black void invited him back to his world, to the helicopter he had fallen asleep in, and his upcoming journey to New Zealand to continue his work. “I know I’ve come off as rather off-putting. I’m sorry about that. I’m not very good with people, and I’m even worse at this whole ‘friendship’ thing.”

Juan was listening with rapt attention, but Ture raised an eyebrow, and stopped smiling. Charlie was a bad bluffer, and his delivery was as wooden and stiff as the bar Ture was leaning on. It was more than enough to set off some warning lights in his head, but Juan had wagered his trust and Charlie had won it decisively.

“I’m not going to get better at it quickly, so I’m going to ask for your patience. And I want to say I look forward to working with you in the future...” He reached out his hand to shake, “As partners.”

Juan reached forward with an impossibly large smile and clasped his hand.

“Hey, it’s okay. I get it. I’m just happy to hear you’re trying to im-”

Charlie twisted his body and pushed Juan out the door of the Silver Wheel.

He leaned his head out and watched him fall. Juan’s red-cheeked stupid face still had a goofy smile for a few moments as he remained suspended in the void, but that smile would quickly vanish, as would the sparkle his eyes, as he realized what had just happened. Gravity, or whatever it was in the void, was already pulling him down, down, into the eternal blackness. He gasped, reaching out for the door, for Charlie, but Charlie only watched as he grew smaller, and smaller, and eventually vanished into the darkness entirely.

“Juan?!” Ture shouted, and was at the door a moment later. “Charlie what the hell did you do?! Juan?! Juan!!”

Of course, the void did not offer a reply. Neither did Charlie.

He was, finally, happy.

He stepped out into the void after Juan, falling into the darkness back into his own world as a heavy, wailing voice called after him from the open door of the Silver Wheel.

And it's been the ruins of many a poor boy

And God, I know, I’m one

And God, I know... I’m one