“Ture, I got a few questions.”

“...that’s weird.”

Teresa was busy in the parlor at the moment. Some TV producer had come here, a proper ‘intruder’, looking to talk with Teresa… something about doing a show with her? Teresa agreed to consider it if he played a game with her first, which he found reasonable enough. He was screaming now, although it was more-or-less muted by the thick walls and door. More of an undertone, really, to “Six Shooter”, as sung by Coyote Kisses.

Ratna sipped on a frothy micro-brewed beer.

“Why’s it weird?”

“It’s not weird. For you I mean. Weird for me.” Ture scratched his chin. “I used to be the baby here. Asking the questions. I guess that was a long time ago, but I never thought I’d get to play the role of senior.”

“Oh. Right. So is this… awkward…? Painful…?”

“Nah. Go for it.”

There was a pounding on the parlor door. They both glanced at it for a moment, before locking eyes again. It stopped before long.

“Well let’s kick this off, then. Where are my genitals?”

“Pfft. Yeah. That was my first question too,” he recalled nostalgically. “But I dunno. Teresa just told me that if I ever got out of here they’d come back. I guess they didn’t want to install a bathroom or anything so they just… take 'em off.”

Ratna furrowed her brow. Her next drink was way longer.

“...you get kind of used to it.”

“Right… well… okay, question two. Where do all these drinks come from?”

“The Boss.”

“...and who’s the Boss?”

“Fuck if I know. Teresa just told me it’s not my business.”

“What, does he just… deliver drinks to the door?”

“Oh. No, the whole bar just refills after a bit. Always when you’re not looking. Look away for a second, turn back around…” he popped his lips, “...full.”

“Sounds nice.”

“It helps, yeah.”

“So you can drink as much as you want.”

“Yeah.”

“But you don’t pee it out.”

“...no.”

He was trying really hard to be nice here.

“So where does it go?”

“Look, if we’re going to get along, you’re gonna have to accept that I don’t know a lot of shit and I don’t care to either. And this is one of those things I really, really don’t care about. I’m perfectly happy not thinking about it.”

She took another sip.

“...wanna hear my theory?”

“We’re not going to get along, are we?”

“So, obviously we’re not exactly in human bodies anymore, it’s not exactly like you can just snap off a vagina. And since I assume you’ve never been eviscerated, it means our insides are one big mystery. Could be anything in there.”

Ture, looking her dead in the eye, stole her drink and started chugging it.

“So we’re just big alcohol tankers. Every time we drink something it goes into the appropriate tank, and when it’s time to refill the bottle, your boss just turns a valve and drains it right out of your asshole.”

Ture had finished her drink, and was in the process of refilling it. Their eyes were still locked.

“I notice we have saliva. That’s probably also alcohol. And our tears. I bet all the clear alcohol we drink can double as tears. I’m going to, uh… I’m gonna need you to cry again so I can test this theory.”

His eye twitched, then he leaned forward. So much for being nice.

“The only thing I’d let you sample is my cock, and I don’t have one anymore.”

“Lucky for you they took your dick before I got the chance to rip it off myself.”

He started drinking. Again. She smiled sweetly, until he finished it. Again.

“First of all, bitch, I doubt your sphincter has that kind of muscle. Second of all-”

He wouldn’t get the chance to finish. A door opened, but not the one to the parlor, where the screams of pain had transformed into a now-familiar whimpering. It was the door to the void, and standing in front of it, blank-faced and confused, was a later-leaning middle-aged man with a large gut and a huge, shiny tan where hair was supposed to be.

Ratna was at his side in a moment, both hands clutching his thick, sweaty fingers.

“Are you okay, sir?”

Her voice raised by about three octaves. Ture’s eyebrow was raised by roughly the same proportions.

“Where… where am ah…?”

“Come with me. Take a seat.” Her voice was cooing and gentle and, to Ture, completely false. “Are you feeling well? What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Ah was takin’ a wee kip out back, s’ all. Who’re yeh?”

“My name is Ratna. I’m your guide here.”

“My wot?”

“Yeah, his what?” Ture added, but Ratna snapped her head back and offered him her most legible ‘don’t fuck with me right now’ glare before she turned back to the guest, all sweetness, all smiles.

“Your guide. You’re at the Silver Wheel, a place of dreams and nightmares. You’re here to be tested.”

“Ah dinnae know what this cunt’s on about, do yeh?” The man leaned past Ratna to Ture, who could only offer an impartial shrug, apparently. “Aye, you gonna start making sense or ‘ave yeh gone full skyrocket?”

“I promise it will all make sense soon. Do you want a drink? We have everything you could possibly want. And it’s free. Just for you,” she winked.

“...Ah think ahm fucked enough now, thanks, dinnae need tae be pissed on top of it.”

“Trust me, pal, this will be a lot easier with at least a little booze in ya.” Ture interjected, “I can make you anything at all. It’s my whole thing. My purpose… I guess.”

“Fine, ah wee nip, but then yeh have to tell me what th’ fuck’s going on.”

“...a nip of what.”

“Whiskey.”

“Oh, whiskey, that’s a real...”

He stopped himself, and took a long chew of his lower lip.

“...that’s a real classy drink. Coming up.”

“Cheers. Now what the hell’s a Silver Wheel and why am ah getting tested in one.”

Ratna was behind him now, and she had placed both hands on his shoulders, digging her fingers into the malleable, rubbery fat that surrounded his multi-layered neck. There was no two ways about it, he was a huge fellow, who spilled off the stool from every side, whose face was even a bit too big for the skull it was supposed to be attached to. For lack of a better word, he looked soft. Soft enough that Ratna couldn’t so much massage his muscles as she could reshape them entirely, as if she were kneading the world’s sweatiest dough. If she was bothered by this, she didn’t show it.

“The Silver Wheel… how do I put this, it’s like a gambling house. It’s a place where chosen people, special people like you, are whisked away to compete with one another in games of skill and chance. Haven’t you always felt like your life was missing something? That you were born to do something, be someone more than what you are?”

“Suppose ah ‘ave. Who ‘asn’t?”

“Well. This is your moment. This is it. The reason you were born. To borrow my co-worker’s phrase: your purpose. Just beyond that door…” she gestured to the door to the parlor. Things were silent now. Well-timed, that. “...you’re going to face off against a stranger in a game, where you can wager almost anything you have against them: money, power, looks. If you win, you’ll get what they wagered, and you’ll take your next step towards your ultimate destiny. Lose… and you’ll wake up, lose whatever you bet, and your life will continue as it always had. You’ll be a nobody until you die, and are forgotten by history and even your own family.”

The whiskey shot was put in front of him. It didn’t last long.

“That so.” He muttered, his stool only now creaking under the weight. “And what makes yeh so sure?”

And Ratna’s smile, demure and sweet, seemed to grow a bit… wolfish.

“Let’s do some math.”

She sat down on the stool next to him, leaning against the bar. She crossed her legs, playfully, teasing seduction, while she started to count on her fingers.

“How many people are alive today? Something like… nine billion? Nine billion, four-hundred million, something around that? Lots of people. Well. Thomson-Gale's New Biography Resource Center, last I checked, had biographies of over 2,095,000 noteworthy people throughout history. ‘Noteworthy’ doesn’t exactly mean ‘accomplished’, though. So that list includes small-time politicians, YouTube celebrities, old kings whose names and little else were written down in some book somewhere… that kind of thing.”

“Now my math isn’t great, but… top of my head, that means that all those famous people make up about .02% of the entire population. Which is bad, but hey: it’s more likely you’ll be remembered than you’ll win the lottery.”

“But I know what you’re thinking: that’s not really fair, now is it? Because all two million of those famous people were spread across history. So comparing it with just today’s population isn’t quite right. Let’s do those numbers again: 2,095,000 noteworthy people, remembered by history. Compared to the over 113 billion people who, experts estimate, have lived on the planet since humanity came to be. Let’s do that math again. We’ll even round down to a flat 113 billion.”

She pretended to count on her fingers. As if she had the fingers and the patience to figure it out on one hand.

“That means the people worth remembering make up about .001% of all the humans that ever existed. Not impossible odds… right? Oh, but let’s not forget, Harvard scientists Michel and Lieberman Aiden published a study in 2011 that showed that your odds of being famous and remembered drop dramatically after you’ve passed your third decade… and since you’ve wasted at least two decades more than that, your chances are even worse. If we were incredibly generous and assumed that one-third of the famous people we listed above were your age or older when they made their mark on history… your odds of doing something worth remembering are .0006%. Rounding up.”

She stood back up, putting her hand on his shoulder again, but this time she leaned into his ear, and let her hungry breath wash over his quickly reddening face.

“I could list numbers and stats all day, of course. I could prove with all the data and statistics in the world that you’re an insignificant nothing whose every effort has been meaningless and pointless. But I don’t have to, because you know it all already don’t you? Deep in your soul. You see how big and beautiful the world is and you know you contribute nothing to it. You just take up space, eat some food, breathe some air, and eventually you’ll die. Not even worth the dirt your body will displace when you’re buried.”

“That’s why, instead of asking me ‘why’, you should be saying ‘thank you, with all my little cholesterol-bloated heart, for giving me the chance to be better’. Go on, piggy. Say it.”

The man took the glass of whiskey Ture had poured for him and took another drink.

“...yer a right damn evil cunt, ain’t yeh.”

“Maybe. But I’m also right.” She patted his cheek before taking a step back. “After all, I’m the supernatural spirit guide. It’s my job to be right, and I am good at my job. But enough about me. I think… your game is going to start soon.”

“You are correct.” Teresa was suddenly standing next to the man, who, as most guests did, gasped in shock. “We are ready for you in the parlor, sir. May I know your name?”

“Name a feck where’d… Ronald.”

“Ronald. A wonderful name for a Champion. My name is Teresa, and I will be your waitress this evening. I see you have already met Ture, our bartender, and Ratna, your guide.”

“Ah dinnae suppose ah could get a new-”

“-I will ask you to save your questions until after our explanation. Follow me, please.”

The stool moaned with relief as Ronald eased off it, and followed Teresa to the door. It seemed all traces of their earlier guest were gone -- there wasn’t even any blood in sight, although the smell of the stuff was impossible to get rid of these days. And instead of a mutilated corpse, there was another, presumably invited man sitting in the middle of the room, right next to a large, sleek, silver-plated slot machine.

“Min-Seok, this is your opponent today, Ronald.”

Min-Seok didn’t stand to greet his opponent, but he did nod. Min-Seok wasn’t quite as big as Ronald was, but he was definitely big enough to make an impression.

“Ah didn’t know they made yer kind in that size, lad. Ya got chebs like my aunt Ruth, down to her knees. ”

He looked away bashfully.

“Yeh some kinda sumo wrestler?”

“That’s Japanese. I’m Korean.” He replied in artificially good English.

“Tomayto tomahto.”

He lumbered forward and took the other stool. Ratna situated herself next to the machine itself, and leaned against it haughtily.

“Alright, well, before we can get this show on the road, first you guys have to agree on what you want to wager. Now, this here is a magical place, where you can wager anything at all as long as you own it, and it’s a fair deal. Skills? Bet ‘em. Your mom’s love? Bet it. Good looks? Like I said, you have to own it first, so in this case…”

Min-Seok tried to shrink away. Ratna noticed, and smirked.

“Once you agree, I’ll explain how the game works, and we’ll be on our merry way. Just so you know, though, all our games are played for keeps: so the only way to leave once you start is to win, or to give up everything.”

“So when yeh say we can wager anythin’,” Ronald readjusted his stool, “Do yeh mean ‘anythin’ anythin’?”

“Yep. Like I said, as long as you own it.”

“And what does this ‘ave tae do with this ‘Champion’ business?”

“You can worry about that once you win.”

“Gold Lime”, by Glass Animals, pumped from the radio.

“Alright, well… ahm told ah got a belter throwin’ arm ah ain’t using. Whad’ya think, lad, wanna throw ball like a champ?”

He didn’t answer.

“...means no, ah take it. Alright, well, ah got eyes like a hawk, spot a mayfly on a horse’s arse half a mile away. How’s that grab ya?”

Still no answer. Min-Seok looked like he was sucking lemons.

“...seems yeh need a wee more confidence, lad, ya feart like a rabbit in the hawkhouse. What’d you wager for some of mine?”

Min-Seok didn’t answer again, but this time it seemed as if the cause of his silence was consideration, not shyness.

“...I’m an ok cook…”

“Ah won’t be riskin’ confidence for ok cooking. It’s taken enough of a beating today that it deserves a mite better.”

“I’m good at repairing bikes…”

“Does it look like ah spend much time on a bike to yeh? Yeh makin’ fun of me?”

“No.”

“Well then stop fecking around.”

Min-Seok retreated back into the recesses of his mind, to plan, and to think. And when he returned from his withdrawal, he came back strong.

“...I… I’m thirteen-inches.”

Ronald looked at Min-Seok. Min-Seok looked at Ronald.

“...”

“...”

“...”

“...”

“...really?”

“...yes.”

“...”

“...”

“...fer real?”

He looked to Ratna, pleadingly, as if she could do something about it.

She sighed.

“If he was lying he couldn’t wager it.”

“...huh. Well ah dun need the whole thirteen inches, anyhow. Ah’d settle for an extra four.”

“Ok…”

Ratna clapped her hands together, beaming from ear to ear.

“What an absolutely delightful wager, befitting of Champions of your caliber: Ronald will wager some of his confidence for four inches of Min-Seok’s cockmeat. Truly, this kind of innovative wager is proof that without our intervention, you two would have neither the imagination nor ambition to become anything greater than forgotten corpses under an untended tomb.”

Both men shifted a little bit. Ronald considered saying something in his defense, but before he could, he was alarmed to notice a table and a whiteboard had appeared next to him: and on the table were thirty refreshingly bold red chips. A similar table and whiteboard had appeared next to Min-Seok, whose chips were... for lack of a better term, a pinky, flesh colored. And while he tried to wrap his mind around this, Ratna took the floor again.

“Tonight’s game, as you could probably guess, is slots -- puggy for Ronald here.”

The first “slot machine” was built in 1891 by Sittman and Pitt, which had five drums that had card values painted on them for playing poker. Typically, this machine cost a nickel, and while it wouldn’t offer any kind of direct payout, oftentimes the establishments that hosted them would offer things like beer or cigars depending on the hand you spun. However, the first slot machine as we know it was built by San Francisco mechanic Charlies Fey, who used five symbols on three rotating drums, which offered payouts ranging from two nickels to ten, depending on the value of the three matching symbols. The machine got its name from it’s highest-value symbol, “Liberty Bell”, and very quickly became a success.

Since then, while the technology and possible payout of each slot machine have changed, jumping from electric in 1963 to video in 1976, the mechanics have remained largely the same: you put in some money and hope (for really that is all there is to do in slots) that you get three or five matching symbols, depending on the number of drums. Some of the more unusual machines have windows large enough to show nine symbols, three across three drums, and will allow both horizontal and diagonal matches, while wheel-based slots just have one winning window (for example, the always-popular Wheel of Fortune, based off the show of the same name) with the payout written clearly on the front. The odds of getting matching symbols can be adjusted in the machine’s inner workings, and some machines, it’s said, are programed to automatically pay out after a certain number of plays. That may or may not be true, but one thing that’s known for certain is that, on average, slot players win about 90 cents for every dollar they spend in the game.

“But games of pure chance aren’t a great way to test if you’re Champion material. Which is why the Silver Wheel twists the rules a bit. For strategy.

“Here’s how it’s gonna work. At the start of your turn, you slide two chips into the machine and give the lever a pull. Most modern slot machines have twenty symbols, but here at the Silver Wheel we have a much more reasonable six, so your odds of getting a matching pair are a lot better.

Three cherries are worth six chips.

Three bars are a solid twelve.

Three sevens, those are worth twenty-four.

Three bells are a smooth forty-eight.

And the jackpot is ninety-six chips.

“...that said, your odds still aren’t good. So after you pull the lever, you can choose to spend chips to ‘buy’ a symbol you got on that pull. That symbol will be marked on your whiteboard. During or after a pull, you can choose to replace any symbol with a symbol you bought. You can do this up to two times per pull. You can buy as many symbols as you want, but their cost goes up exponentially the more you currently have on your board. If you have no symbols, your first one is just two chips. A second symbol will cost you four, third is eight, fourth is sixteen, and so on. Once a symbol is used, it’s removed from your board, and it won’t factor into the cost of your next symbol. Buy two, use one, the next symbol you buy will just be four chips.”

“So yeah. You win if you get 100 chips before your opponent. You lose if you run out or can’t play. Really simple stuff, right? Any questions?”

“I have two, actually.” Teresa interjected, appearing quite suddenly next to Ratna. “For one… you said there are six symbols, but you only explained five. Could you tell us about the sixth symbol?”

“Oh! Oh, crap, right, sorry.” Ratna sheepishly grinned. “I forgot. It’s my face. Unlike the other symbols, where you’ll have a minute to decide if you want to replace or buy anything once the barrels stop, the moment three of my face come up, you lose the game. Pretty important you remember that.”

“...and for my second question, would the gentlemen care for anything to drink?”

Ture was watching from the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest as the men tried to process both the mechanics of the game and what they wanted to drink. The odds of getting a match just by pulling the lever were about 1 in 216: it was obvious they’d have to save symbols immediately in order to win. The question was the cost: there were five desirable symbols, and even having just one of each on-hand would cost a grand total of sixty-two chips, more than double what they started with. And since they could only replace a symbol up to two times per spin, it meant that even if you bought two jackpots, you’d still only have a one in six chance of winning… in theory. But in practice...

...well, it didn’t matter. Neither of them seemed especially clever, that was probably going to be their plan. But even at a glance, Ture could tell that was not the most optimal way to play…

“Ture.”

Teresa’s voice snapped him back to reality.

“One bottle of Bailey’s and a Coke, please.”

“The whole bottle?”

“That’s what he said, yes.”

“...should we make it a diet Coke?” He chuckled.

“Ture.”

“Alright, alright, sorry.”

Ronald had first spin, as decided by a coin toss when Ture was preoccupied with his own thoughts. Incidentally, Ronald was also lost in thought even as he fingered two of his chips, thinking less about the game and more about his own circumstances. Here he was, having just gotten over a midlife crisis that had netted him a broken boat worth two thousand pounds and a failed diet that nearly doubled his size, and now he was being told that this was his last chance to make something of himself.

There was something about the choking scented air and the grittiness of the place that made it seem too grounded to just be a midday dream. But he didn’t want to believe it was real, either. He didn’t like being given this chance if it really was his last one. He would have been happier, at least in the short term, not knowing he was out of opportunities and believing he still had time. Pushing things off by weeks and months as he focused on fixing that damn boat or working in the yard or saving up for that trip to Disneyland Paris. Those little busy distractions that seemed more productive than they actually were. The placebos of purpose.

But if this really was his last chance to make something of himself… what was he supposed to do? Win? This game just seemed like regular puggy to him, with extra rules tacked on. Didn’t seem like much of a test, unless they were testing luck. In which case… well… he’d already lost. Can’t get much luckier than being born with a thirteen-inch pecker.

...he was old enough and fat enough that an extra four inches below the belt wouldn’t really do him much good. But even if he didn’t need it, and even if this ‘chosen one’ business left a bad taste in his mouth, and even if he didn’t seem to stand a chance in the luck department… he still had to try, didn’t he?

Just to say that he did, at least once in his life.

He pushed the chips in, and gave the onyx-tipped lever a pull.

The machine sang as it sprang to life, rattling mechanically as the barrels spun into a blur of indistinguishable colors and shapes. Ronald had been to a casino once or twice in his time: avoided the slots, though, as they seemed a bit… what’s the word… scammy. He had to admit he had made bets that he was more anxious about than this one, but he could still feel his stomach looping into a knot.

A knot that tightened when the first barrel stopped at a cartoon of Ratna’s face, winking cheekily. What a joke that would be, if he lost on the very first spin.

Fortunately, the second barrel was nicer: the seven symbol. He wouldn’t win this round, but he wouldn’t lose, either.

And finally, the last barrel settled on the bell symbol. No jackpots, but he needed at least one symbol to keep him safe if he ever got two Ratna’s, so…

“Ah’ll buy that bell off yeh, lass.”

He handed her two chips, and she, in turn, drew a bell on his whiteboard with a black felt-tipped marker.

“Anything else?”

“Nae.”

“Then Min-Seok, you’re up. And winning, by the way. Congratulations.”

Min-Seok wasn’t much of a strategist, and he’d never even stepped foot in a casino before this very moment, but all the same he’d been trying to figure out this game ever since the rules had been laid out. From what he could tell, the only way to be sure to win was to be able to buy lots and lots of symbols. But to buy the symbols, you needed capital. So he needed small wins now to finance his big wins later… at least, the way he figured.

He didn’t like this, though. The entire premise just stressed him out. Becoming a, what was it, Champion? Who said he ever wanted to be a Champion for anything? Teresa told him it was of the “utmost importance” that they find a Champion, but he had enough shit going on in his life right now. School was overwhelming, he barely had time to study because his job wouldn’t stop giving him shifts, his parents won’t stop giving him shit for his stress-eating (which only made the eating worse) and worst of all the boy he’d been crushing on for the last three years just got a new girlfriend and every time he saw him or her his heart just got so fluttery and painful that he sometimes felt like he couldn’t breathe and didn’t want to.

So yeah, sure. Test if he’s the chosen one, throw one more thing on the list of stuff he had to worry about. He’d have given up right away if confidence wasn’t on the line. Even just a little more would help him deal with his problems. Stand up to his parents, and his boss, and maybe even just tell Jae-Beom how he felt so he could get it off his chest and out of his life.

Still. He wouldn’t be heartbroken if he lost. At least he could go to the beach again.

Two coins into the slot, and the barrels spun.

The first barrel popped up with lucky sevens.

Second barrel was a big black pot exploding with coins -- the jackpot.

Third was Ratna’s cruel little face.

Well. This was an easy choice, then. He handed Ratna two coins and pointed to the jackpot, and Ratna smiled, drawing a little pot on his board.

“And it’s a draw.” She announced as she wiggled the marker in front of her. “Draw? Get it? Because I was drawing stuff?”

Two drinks were set down, one in front of each man. Ronald chugged, Min-Seok sipped. Neither of them laughed.

“Ya’ll suck. Ronald, your spin.”

Ture was back to watching, and he had to admit, he found this first round extremely illuminating to just how careless both men were being right now. Min-Seok’s logic was understandable enough, but what Ronald failed to realize was that if he bought a symbol, he’d need to spend it sooner or later: otherwise the price of future, more desirable symbols will just keep going up until he had no way to pay for it. But both men had made mistakes… he was curious just who would realize that sooner.

“What I’ve got”, by Sublime, bobbed out of the radio.

Ronald, lacking anything else to do, simply slid two coins into the machine, confident, at the least, he wouldn’t lose immediately if he saw too many faces.

Fortunately, he didn’t need it this pull: a seven, a jackpot, then another bell.

While the idea of grabbing the jackpot was tempting, Ronald forced himself to show restraint: if he just bought symbols carelessly, he’d be out of chips before long. Three bells wouldn’t win him the game… but they’d get him awfully close.

“The bell, lass.”

“Four chips this time.”

“Aright.”

He dropped the chips in her hand. There was a moment when there was nothing to really fill the air, except the squeal of the marker on his whiteboard. Min-Seok took another baby sip of his coke.

“...what’s yehr story, then?” Ronald asked, spur of the moment.

“Excuse me?”

“Yehr story. Everyone’s got one, aye? So what’s yehrs.”

Min-Seok looked completely and utterly defeated by the question the second he registered what it was. He looked to the left and right, as if either searching for an answer in his peripheral vision, or a window to jump out of. But Ronald, and the question, remained. And Min-Seok lashed at his mind to think of words faster as he slid the first chip into the slot.

“Well… I don’t have one? Or, no, that’s not right… it’s boring. It’s exactly what you’d imagine. A… trope. I got picked on, I live with my parents, I work part-time, I’m not doing well at university, so… it was only a matter of time before I became a chosen one, right? Like in the comics.”

Ronald’s eyes sparkled with the dullest of recognition.

“Ah see.”

“I mean, it’s not a bad life,” he put the second chip in, hand resting on the lever, “it’s got ups and downs it’s just… pedestrian.”

He pulled on the lever, and the machine sang once again.

A bell, Ratna’s face, and a bar. Min-Seok sighed.

“Buying anything?” Ratna asked.

“No… not this time.”

“Then that means you’re up to pull, Ronald.”

Ture grunted. This kid was making him angrier with every round.

Min-Seok didn’t say anything while Ronald took the spot, lost in thought or perhaps socially paralyzed from a traumatic ten seconds of conversation. Ronald slid his two chips in, pulled the lever, and…

Bell, bell, and lucky seven. Despite himself, the Scotsman beamed, showing off a less-than-perfect set of teeth as the thrill of the game gripped him.

“Ah real jammy pull! Ah’d like tae swap that seven for a bell.”

“Of course. And that gets you forty-eight chips! Ding ding ding!”

The machine mirrored her jubilation, chiming musically as it belted plastic chips from its stomach out into the metal bin, which Ronald was able to snatch out in big, disorganized handfuls. It didn’t take long for him to shovel his winnings onto the table, his face glowing the whole time -- while Min-Seok tried his best to be a good sport about his first major loss of the evening with a small and forced smile.

“Now if ah understand this right, ah can still buy a thing, right?”

“I take it you’d like another bell.”

“Please.”

“That’ll be four of your hard-earned chips, then.”

The chips exchanged hands, and Ronald was left with a clear and indisputable lead: one more bell would be all he needed to claim victory.

Unless, Ture thought bitterly, Min-Seok managed to come to his senses.

“Gotta admit, ah was a wee bit spotty on this whole proposition, but now that ahm winnin’ it’s growin’ on me!”

Min-Seok tried to fake a laugh but then decided just a little too late not to. It came out like a series of jumpy breaths and lip twitches. It lasted only for a second, maybe a second and a half, but the awkwardness it created dragged on considerably longer.

“...sorry.”

“Scuse yah, ah guess.”

“Congratulations. That’s what I meant.”

“Oh. Well ah ain’t won yet ‘ave aye?”

At this, Min-Seok actually snorted, but the sound and his ensuing smile were bitter.

“You basically have.”

Ronald leaned forward, a glint in his deep-set eyes.

“Ere’s a spot of ol’ family wisdom fer ya, lad, free as me’ gran’s teets. Confidence is 50% trickin’ folk into thinkin’ yeh know what yehr about, and 50% believin’ yer own damn fibs. Yeh could ‘ave every reason tae think yeh don’t know shite, but no one else will know unless ye go out and tell ‘em.”

“...okay.”

“So why not practice now, lad? Pretend yeh got a plan tae take meh down a peg or three, aye? ‘S better ‘n just givin’ up when your situation reeks more ‘n bull piss.”

Min-Seok sighed.

“It’s not that simple.”

“S’ the thin’, innit? It really is. Yeh just don’ like hearin’ it.”

“It doesn’t matter if it were the best advice in the world in any case,” Ratna interjected, “Neither of you will be remembering this when the game is over and you wake up.”

“Maybe so, but it ain’t ever pooched work to try ‘n improve yehrself, even for a tad. Proves yeh can do it at all. Good f’ the soul.”

“...but I mean,” Ratna pressed, “If you can’t remember that you proved you can be better it literally doesn’t matter.”

“Matters for th’ time yehr doin’ it.”

“Except no it doesn’t because you can’t learn anything or improve yourself from this. This experience will just vanish for both of you and neither of you will care.”

“Even ‘f ‘e becomes Champion?”

Ratna looked as if she’d just remembered something she had forgotten, and glowered. She opened her mouth to speak, but caught Teresa glaring from the other side of the room, and painfully swallowed her own indignation.

“Well… no, I guess he’d remember then.”

“There yeh go.”

Min-Seok had been shuffling two chips between his fingers during this entire exchange, eye cast down to avoid looking at either his dealer or his opponent. He didn’t understand why Ronald was trying to help. Getting more confidence was the point of the game, right? Why hand out advice as if they were anything other than strangers being coerced into playing this stupid game? And what good would confidence do him anyway in a game like this? A card game, sure, bluffing was important as far as he knew, but what good would positive thinking do him when all he had to do was put chips in a slot and pull a lever?

It was endearing and annoying at the same time. Although Min-Seok was leaning towards the former, nudged along by “Three Little Birds” by Bob Marley playing on the radio.

It wasn’t much, but it did give him the strength he needed to take one deep breath, and slip the chips into the slot with something resembling optimism. After all, if Ronald could get two bells, there’s no reason he couldn’t get two jackpots, right?

So he pulled the lever.

“Oh, we’re startin’?”

The barrels spun, and both Ronald and Min-Seok leaned in with baited breath.

But whatever lucky stars were looking over Ronald found no such favor with Min-Seok, because the very first barrel would stop on the not-so-lucky seven.

Still, there were two more barrels left: and two was all he needed. He leaned in even further and, perhaps signaling it was a bit too close, the second barrel stopped almost immediately afterwards: on the face, depressingly enough.

Min-Seok was, at this point, severely crestfallen. But if even that last barrel could land on the jackpot, then he could buy it and- wait, nope, it landed on a cherry.

“Fat lot of good confidence did me there…” he sighed, “that’s probably game…”

“Before you lie down like a bitch, would you like to buy any symbols?”

He was about to refuse and go back to his coke, but then he paused for a moment, staring at the barrels. If Ronald had gotten this spin, he would have been able to win, and Min-Seok couldn’t have done anything to stop it. It seemed so strange that Ratna would talk about “strategy” at the start of this when there wasn’t really anything to strategize about: the symbols were random. Even the symbols you could buy were random. What was he missing, exactly…?

“...well?”

He had an idea… he didn’t want to look stupid trying it, but… it was better than losing… right?

“...actually… yeah. I’ll… buy the cherry.”

“Four chips, pal. You sure?”

He answered by handing her four chips. She smirked, shrugged, and drew a cherry on his whiteboard.

“Your funeral. Ronald, you’re up.”

“Aye.”

Ronald gave his younger opponent a smile, wondering what exactly he was planning, before settling in front of the slot machine. With 62 chips, and the ability to win forty-eight with three bells, all he needed was to get one more bell -- and he had five more pulls to get it, before his winnings wouldn’t be enough to break 100 chips. Pretty good odds. Better than Min-Seok getting his two jackpots, in any case. He felt as if he had firm control over the game, such as it was, and with the calmness of control came a bit of clarity. With no strategy or plotting to occupy his mind, he could muse on other subjects… including his sweaty, anxious opponent who clearly wanted another coke but was too shy to say so.

He took a chug of Bailey’s, fed the machine his chips, then pulled the lever.

He stayed relaxed, slouched back, watching the barrels spin and the back of Min-Seok’s head as he leaned forward fearfully. The first barrel, funny enough, landed on the jackpot, and Ronald could barely stifle a laugh as he saw Min-Seok stiffen up.

The second barrel was Ratna’s face. Min-Seok relaxed, although he had an aura of bitterness that Ronald could taste even without seeing his face.

And finally, the third barrel landed on a bell.

“Welp, ah guess-”

“...wait. I… can I replace the bell with my cherry?”

Ratna nodded.

“Okay well I want to do that.”

Ronald blinked the shock from his face as Ratna erased the cherry from Min-Seok’s board, but then let out a little laugh. Not a boastful one, or an arrogant one either: it was almost paternal.

“That’s pure class, lad.”

“...uh…”

“Sorry. Good.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

But of course, now Ronald found himself needing to actually think again. Min-Seok could, in theory, pull this trick every time Ronald got the bell, which would disrupt his chance of winning within five rounds. But Min-Seok was also running out of chips. Assuming he did everything he could to avoid using his jackpot, he’d bleed six chips every round, two to spin, and four to get a bell-blocking symbol -- with the wild assumption, of course, that Ronald got a bell on every spin. Eyeballing his pile, he could probably only do that two or three times before he ran out of chips...

He shook his head.

“Les’ put down for that jackpot symbol.”

“Third buy. That’s eight chips.”

“Fine by me.”

The chips were exchanged, the symbol drawn, and Min-Seok took his place in front of the machine: heart pounding both out of fear for the next spin and because of a light social adrenaline rush from having pulled off his last-ditch strategy. He had managed to stave off defeat for now, but… with so few chips, his options were quickly dwindling.

He couldn’t help but worry and stress about it. And waiting wouldn’t make it any better. So he forced the chips into the slot, and gave the lever a pull.

“By th’ way, meant tae ask -- what’re yeh studyin’ at university?”

Min-Seok stole a sideways glance, but mostly kept his eyes on the barrel. First slot landed on a bar. His hiss bled into his answer.

“shhh- e-entomology. Bugs.”

“Why?”

The second barrel landed on a jackpot. Now, Min-Seok didn’t bother answering. He just leaned forward more, licking his lips. Ronald, for a moment, forgot his own question as well as the last barrel continued to spin, taunting both of them with its mystery.

...before landing on another bar.

Min-Seok’s joy at seeing that jackpot was undercut immediately when he reached for his chip pile to buy it: he only had sixteen chips left. He’d need four for the jackpot, and if he was going to buy another symbol to continue blocking Ronald, he’d need to dish out another eight. He’d only have four chips left. Which, ironically enough, would mean he wouldn’t win even if he got three jackpots in a row on his next spin.

And of course, there was the fact Ronald could block him, too. But then, to do that, he’d need to use his bells, which would be something like a win for Min-Seok… but without a third symbol, if Ronald were to get another bell…

...he had no choice, though. He’d just have to hope.

“...just the jackpot symbol.” He gave Ratna four chips, who shot a sly grin to Ronald.

“Looks like you’re in trouble, big guy.”

“Aye, aye.”

“...o-oh. Right. You… asked me a question, right. Right?”

“Ain’t important.”

“Sorry.”

Ronald shrugged it off, and positioned himself in front of the machine the fifth time that night. “Alright ya ol’ cunt, be good ta me now.” He addressed it before sliding his two chips into the slot and giving the lever a bold yank.

And the very first symbol was a bell.

“Aha, that’s m’ girl!”

Min-Seok, however, paled. It seemed all the fates were just against him this evening. That, or the machine was rigged, a possibility he churlishly considered more and more plausible. He had no choice but to use one of his jackpots, but if there was one bright side to this, it was that after this round, Ronald couldn’t win with just bells anymore: he’d be just shy of the one-hundred he needed.

Still. He couldn’t use it yet. He’d have to wait until the second and third symbol were revealed before he made his move: just in case one of them was another jackpot.

The second barrel stopped. A cherry. Min-Seok sighed deeply, and completely ignored the fact Ture put another coke in front of him.

“Let’s replace that cherry with ah bell, shall we?”

Oh, crap, that was his cue!

“And replace the first bell with a, a jackpot!”

He wasn’t used to speaking without warming himself up first. He felt a little… raw.

“S’ a real mess yeh put me in, Min.” Ronald noted. “But don’tcha think yeh shoulda waited till the third barrel stopped? Ah can replace two symbols, y’know, including the bell ah just used. So if that third barrel is a jackpot...”

Min-Seok froze.

What a stupid mistake. What a stupid, stupid mistake.

He wanted to kick himself in the face for his own rashness, but there was no point in that now: all he could do was stare at the last barrel and hope that Ronald’s lucky streak came to an end.

“Please…” he found himself whispering, “...please…!”

The barrel stopped with a metallic “chink”.

Ratna’s face.

Min-Seok exhaled loudly, resting his forehead on the machine, but Ronald -- Ronald didn’t look too concerned.

“Aye, Ratna -- ah can buy the jackpot Min ‘ere so kindly put on th’ first barrel, aye?”

“Aye indeed.” Her wolfish grin returned, although her starved smile was aimed directly at Min-Seok as she savored over his newfound misery. “Eight chips again.”

“No problem at all, lass!” Ronald laughed, and the exchange was made. Now, he was sitting at one bell and two jackpots on his whiteboard, as well as having forty-two chips at his disposal. Min-Seok, meanwhile, only had a single jackpot saved, and 12 chips to his name.

His odds of winning were practically zero.

When that realization hit, he tried to shrug it off. He didn’t really need that confidence. Those four lost inches would still mean he had an impressive size. And he certainly didn’t need the extra stress of being a ‘Champion’, he reminded himself. But all the same… a win would have been nice. A return for the investment of energy he put into the game. And… well, it would have been a shot to his self-esteem of sorts, right?

Besides… he was kind of curious about what was going on with this chosen one business.

But it didn’t matter. There was always a gap between what he wanted and what he was given. So he just pulled up his big boy pants, went up to the machine, and put two of his remaining chips into the slot. He might have no real chance at winning, but there was no real point in just giving up either.

He pulled the lever, and tried really hard not to lean forward.

...Ratna’s face… a lucky seven… and a bell. What was this machine and bells.

“Well, I guess that’s that…”

Min-Seok turned to Ronald, but the older Scottish gentleman had a gleam in his colorful eyes.

“Hold up. Ratna, be a dear ‘n replace yerh face and the seven with jackpots.”

Ratna’s wolfish smile vanished.

“...wait, why? Why?”

“Ain’t yerh job to ask. Just do it.”

She had no choice but to acquiesce, and while she erased the two symbols from Ronald’s board, Min-Seok’s sadness turned to surprise.

“...but really, why? You’re just… throwing your symbols away.”

“Rules said we could each only change two, lad. Yeh can still replace two y’self, if yeh want.”

“...but… why?”

“Seems yeh need the confidence more ‘n ah need four extra inches. ‘Sides, yeh can probably use ‘em better than this old sag.”

Ronald had wanted to win, that much was true. But, as he had examined the situation from his lofty, comfortable lead, he realized that all he really wanted was to make a difference. That was the whole premise of his playing this game, after all. And he figured -- what easier way to make a difference in the world than to give a talented young student the confidence he needed? It wouldn’t get him into any history books, and it wouldn’t help him be ‘remembered’. But at least it would mean his life had mattered. For one person, and all the other people that person would affect, with his newly-won confidence.

And that was enough to put a smile back on his weather-beaten face.

Ratna noticed the complacency on Ronald’s face, and with a roll of the eyes, added “Also, this place can pull some monkey-paw shit, so you probably won’t like how we’d chop those four inches off. The man’s giving you an out, take it.”

Min-Seok was overwhelmed, so much so he could barely think of something to say, let alone do. But when he had finally caught up with himself, he settled on a grateful, wordless nod towards Ronald and a rather sheepish request.

“Um… can I replace-”

“-Yeah yeah yeah Min-Seok wins woo.” Ratna couldn’t even pretend to add fake enthusiasm to her cheer. “Congratulations. Now finish your drinks and get out.”

Both men did a double take at this rather… abrupt request.

“Please forgive my associate’s rudeness.” Teresa bowed her head, stepping forward. “...but she’s not wrong. We’re very busy these days so I cordially request you do not dawdle. We’ll reach out to you again if we should discover you were the Champion we were hunting for.”

The two men exchanged a look, exchanged a smile, then exchanged a laugh.

“Guess there’s a lot of chosen ones out there, aye?”

“Guess so. And, uh, Ronald -- thank you. Thank you so much.”

“Ain’t nothin’ lad. Keep that chin up. Remember what ah told you.”

“I’m pretty sure I won’t, but I’ll try.”

“That’s the spirit.”

And they started to chug.

~*~

When Ronald woke up, he’d gotten a sunburn. He’d also gotten fired.

Turns out he had taken just one too many naps in the back of the distillery, and his new supervisor had about enough of it. His old boss, a friend of many years, had always tolerated it, and at this point Ronald considered his position to be secure, no matter who was calling the shots. But as it turned out, he was wrong, and discovering you’re not as indispensable as you may have first assumed never felt good.

Crestfallen, he wandered from pub to pub, drowning his sorrows, before staggering home. He spent several days following begging for his job back -- after all, he was old, and he was local, and there wasn’t much else for him to do around town. But he was refused, time and time again, and even his wife was losing respect for him. He sulked, for a time, and for an older man like himself, sulking was dangerous: with age, people have less energy to pull themselves up when they find themselves down.

Still, a lack of comfort and confidence can be good for a man. Paired with free time, he decided to pass his days working on his broken boat, which had been collecting dust and dirt in his backyard. Fearful of making a mistake, he spent a considerable amount of time making sure everything he did was by-the-books, and by the time he was done, he had managed to patch it into reasonable shape.

He considered hosting loch tours for tourists, but shied away from the idea, ultimately deciding to just rent the boat itself out to them.

It wasn’t as much as he used to make, but it was enough to get by.

And to, eventually, get him to Disneyland Paris.

~*~

Min-Seok woke up to a message from the boy he was crushing on.

A long message.

Once he’d gotten over his initial wave of panic and actually read it, he saw it was, indeed, a heartfelt confession: but not of love. Of concern. For his weight. It wrapped up with a genuine desire for him to take better care of himself, expressed by all his friends and even his ex-boyfriend. He was touched, but initially, dismissive: after all, he had way too much stuff to do, he couldn’t possibly devote time to dieting and going to the gym.

But apparently, his crush had roped everyone in his life in on this, because his boss started giving him fewer hours, and his parents started stocking the house with heathly foods. Everyone wanted him to be healthier, and told him as much, and he realized that if he had this kind of support, then maybe he could pull this off.

So he applied himself. He ate less. He walked more. He eventually got a gym membership, and did homework on the treadmill. He reached out to friends when he felt like giving up, and they helped motivate him to keep trying.

And slowly, surely, he started to lose weight, and feel better. Both physically, and mentally: because if he could do this, then what couldn’t he do?

Nothing, as long as he had his friends and family with him.

~*~

“What a lame way to end a game, fuck.”

Ture couldn’t help but smile at Ratna’s bluntness. They didn’t have any time to relax: they had no idea when the next guest was coming, so they had to clean while they spoke. The frantic pace was exhausting, but none of them showed it.

“But do you think either of them are fit to be our ‘Champion’?” Teresa asked, cutting to the point in her usual manner.

“Of course not,” Ture answered instinctively, “they both played that game terribly.”

“Go on.” Teresa yielded the floor -- and not just for him to sweep.

“Ronald may have won with dumb luck and a bit of smarts, but if either of them were actually clever, they would have realized that Ratna’s face was the actual key to victory. Six or twenty faces, slots are designed to show their lowest-ranking symbols more often. And since three of Ratna’s face means an instant loss the moment it shows up, it made more sense to use her face aggressively than to try and deny the other player’s match while hoping you get one yourself. If Min had played that way, he would have won by the third round.”

Ratna scoffed.

“Yeah, what he said.”

“Understandable. Then we shall not invite them back to the Silver Wheel.”

“Speaking of ‘invites’, T, who was the guy you killed earlier?”

Teresa paused. And that momentary lull in cleaning was perhaps the only indication she had any feelings at all on the subject, as neither her face nor eyes betrayed any emotion.

“Another unwelcome invader. A TV producer who wanted to film here. And a known associate of Mister Kondrashin. They will not be bothering us again.”

“Funny you keep saying that, but we keep being bothered. He won’t stop sending us people. That was… what, our tenth ‘invader’ since that Charlie guy you were telling me about?”

“Our ninth.”

“Okay… so?”

“I warned them what would happen. My intentions were clear. It seems Mister Kondrashin labors under the belief he can beat us. He is wrong.”

Mister Kondrashin was a name that kept coming up among the most recent wave of ‘invaders’. It seemed whatever method Marie Walker had used to bring people to the Silver Wheel had either been reproduced by or sold to him, and if possible, his callous disregard for human life was more blatant than Marie herself.

“Okay, that’s true, but… I’m just wondering if there’s anything else we can do while we wait for our, uh, ‘Champion’. Like, maybe I could-”

“-no.”

“You could at least hear my-”

“-I’m not losing anyone else Ratna.”

Everyone stopped working for that brief, sacred moment. Not even the radio dared defile it, and the echo of her words was all that filled that space. Ratna looked down.

“I will do this myself. I will take the risk and bloody my hands alone,” she continued somberly. “Do you understand?”

“...I get it.”

“And do you ‘get it’, Ture?”

He didn’t answer. At first. But his eyes glanced up towards the door, cracked open, where he could see the infinite darkness outside.

“...yeah...”

He got back to work.

“...I get it.”