The purpose of this log was supposed to be documenting the fate of one Claudia Sharapov for Miss Walker, but I’m putting that little report on hold, for now, while I think of a more convincing story and edit the recordings. So this will be just for me.

Anyway. Quite the busy day at the lab today.

We’d acquired a duplicate Claudia Sharapov from dimension S-NOM 12278, which is effectively identical to our own. As instructed, we kept her in total isolation in an empty, featureless room, reinforced inside and out to be functionally indestructible. You’d be hard-pressed to find a way to stub your toe in a room like that, let alone die. Then, as instructed, we waited. And waited. And waited.

Now, our understanding of the Silver Wheel has greatly improved since we discovered it those few weeks ago, so our hypothesis was that it would proceed as it had the other nine times: reality itself would bend over backwards to ensure she died, somehow, exactly when her ‘Real Self’ was killed. And I just have to say, since this is off-the-record, it’s been objectively terrifying but awesome -- literally, full of awe -- to witness these executions. It’s like the universe itself has some twisted consciousness, and every malicious particle is directed at these poor people.

And at first, it didn’t disappoint. Her limbs just… fell off. One after the other. We still don’t know how it happened, but the prevailing theory right now is that there were some… cluster of extremely irregular stellar-mass black holes that, for a fraction of a moment, acted as a sort of atomic scissors as they passed through her. I don’t need to say the odds of something like that happening even once, let alone four times in such a small area, is… well, it doesn't matter. Not compared to what happened next.

I am on record -- if there is such a thing in this nightmare -- as thinking it’s stupid and short-sighted to have dropped all our other research to cater to Marie’s little obsession with the Silver Wheel. But I have salvaged Project 20:7. At first it was sentimental. Something to poke at in my free time. But in just the latest of impossible odds to be beaten, I think I will actually be able to advance our work far beyond what was assumed possible.

This woman didn’t die. She started to change.

It’s impossible to describe. I don’t need to, either. I’ll remember it until the day I die. But what matters is, I was able to activate the emergency lockdown fast enough to keep her… more like ‘it’... trapped in the facility, and our dimension. And now I have my very own… let’s say ‘cryptid’ to study. If I can convince anyone else in my staff to approach it.

Needless to say, I’ll be omitting this in my daily reports.

Although, thinking on it, I’ll also need to be ready to explain why so many of our people are… retiring.

No rest for the wicked.

…

…

...I realize now- I meant they’re literally retiring. I’m not killing anyone. I made it kind of sound like I was earlier but they’re actually- christ I’m not a madman, okay?

...I’m not mad. I promise. I swear.

~*~

“Welcome to the Silver Wheel gambling house. May I take your order?”

“I’ll have a Naked Lady, thanks.”

Teresa waited patiently by the new arrival, arms folded delicately in front of her. “Devil in Disguise”, sung by the King himself, was leaking in from some adjacent room.

“...wait, the wherenow?”

Jack Kelly (no relation to Ned, he was frequently disappointed to report) took his first real look around the room since his arrival a mere few seconds earlier. He was an extremely well-versed drinker, what some might call an ‘alcoholic’, so waking up in strange places with women who weren’t exactly happy to be there wasn’t terribly unusual for him. But this was the first time he ever woke up so well-dressed, seated normally in a moderately comfortable chair, at a poker table in an establishment he didn’t recognize with an upside-down plastic cup in front of him.

...wait, no, second time.

“The Silver Wheel, sir,” she repeated, “I am Teresa, your waitress, and I-”

“-and you’re the girl of my dreams, right?”

He smiled like that uncle who tells bad puns just to watch people die inside. Teresa didn’t even blink.

“...and I am your waitress this evening. Did you say you wanted a Naked Lady?”

“Sure did, but you can keep your socks on if you want.”

Now Teresa twitched.

“...I do not understand, I thought the Naked Lady was a cocktail.”

“It is!” A male voice called in from the other room.

“I see. I shall get you that, then.”

“Wait, hold up,” he held up a hand stopping her, “I decided I don’t want a drink, but I am a little hungry.”

“Unfortunately, the Silver Wheel does not currently-”

“-I was hoping I could get a slice of cake?”

“...as I was trying to explain, sir, we do not currently-”

“-slice of that… you know, cake.” he said, twirling his finger around.

“...”

“Get me some of that cake?”

Teresa looked to the door with increasing desperation.

“Ture, is there a cocktail called ‘Slice of Cake’?”

“He’s saying he wants to lick your asshole!” He called back.

Teresa didn’t so much ‘blink’ as slowly and deliberately closed and opened her eyelids, then turned her attention back to the customer. She looked calmer now.

“I see. Sir, this is not that kind of establishment-”

“-also why are you flirting with Teresa?” Ture followed up.

The bottom of Teresa’s right eye twitched again, then she spun right back to the door.

“There is nothing wrong with some light flirtation, Ture.”

“Literally no one’s ever flirted with you before.”

“I was never in a position to be flirted with. I was very self-effacing.”

“I thought it was because you had the curves of a brick wall.”

“Perhaps that was the reason. But by that same token, Ture, I do not recall any of our customers ever flirting with you.”

There was a long pause.

“...okay, that’s fair. I deserved that.”

She glanced to Jack Kelly.

“I’ll be back shortly with your drink.”

Jack Kelly coughed, and watched the waitress disappear through the door. Without a word, he turned to the head of the table, where a bored Indian woman was seated, resting her hand on her cheek. She met his glance and shrugged.

“Yeah, that was weird for me too.”

“This whole thing is weird for me. I was really sure this was a sex dream.”

“This ain’t a dream, big boy, but it might be a dream come true for you: It’s the Silver Wheel, and you’re looking to be its Champion,” she devilishly grinned, “And that might come with some benefits, if you play your cards right.”

“You had my curiosity, but now you have my attention,” his smile crudely mirrored hers.

“Good. I’ll need it. Silver Wheel is a kind of magic place, y’see. Where you and someone else -- who hasn’t arrived yet -- can play games of chance, wagering anything for anything. Facial hair, childhood football practicing, shampoo allergies… whatever it is you want to gain, you can try to take from your opponent… so long as you’re willing to risk something of equal value. You play, someone wins... or gives up… and the winner takes all. But I’ll go into all the little details when it’s time to play.”

“You don’t say...” he strummed his fingers against the table, “sounds dangerous.”

“Only if you lose,” she giggled, “but that shouldn’t be a problem for you, should it baby? If you’re as smart as you are handsome you’ll have no trouble winning… both what your opponent wagers, and the true title of Champion.”

“That goes without saying, but what about these ‘benefits’ you were talking about? Magic casino or not, I don’t work for free.”

Ratna bit her lower lip, and leaned forward: while her elbows cemented her place at the table, and her outfit was too modest to be seductive in itself, there was a wildness and intensity in her eyes that more than made up for her professional attire. It was as dry, hot, and blinding as the desert sun, and like any man, he became thirsty in its light.

“Is being my Champion not good enough…?”

“I’m in-demand. You can’t just give me a fancy title and some easy pussy and expect me to stick around.”

“Oh, honey. You misunderstand the situation a little bit, I think.” She raised one hand up to play with the hair that dangled off the side of her face, “we’re not giving you anything.”

“Is that so?”

“You take what you want, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“You don’t take ‘no’ for an answer, do you?”

“The word doesn’t apply to me.”

“So don’t say ‘no’ to yourself, Jack. Being a Champion will give you everything you’ve ever wanted. Thrills. Power. Control. You already know that you want it. But the Silver Wheel won’t give you anything for free. To get what you want here, you’ll have to wrestle it to the ground, while it’s kicking and thrashing and biting… and you have to make it yours.”

“That is not true,” Teresa interjected as she placed the Naked Lady in front of Jack. “The drinks are always complimentary, Ratna. No one has to wrestle for them”

Ratna signed, and leaned back.

“...right. Except the drinks.”

Jack Kelly had to give himself a little time to relax the tension out of his… muscles. He took a few sips of his drink to ease the process along, more carefully examining his surroundings. The place had a rather homey feel to it, between the dim lights and the retro ephemera that hung on the wooden walls, but there was something in the air that put him on edge. It was relaxing, but artificially so: like a drug that tried to brute-force the brain into calmness. Combined with the unignorable smell of blood, he was sure this place had more than a few skeletons in its closet.

And of course, there was his would-be seductress. She went through a lot of effort to try to entice him into being a Champion without explaining in any concrete way what exactly that would entail. Vague information married to cardinal temptations coming from beautiful women was about the biggest roll of red they had at the flag shop. It went without saying that a magic casino would be a strange place. But only people with something to hide would offer free booze.

He took another sip. He needed to know more. But he couldn’t ask directly because he’d never get a direct answer. If he was going to unravel this, he’d need to look at the periphery until he could put together a more complete picture.

“This is good,” he put the drink down, “almost tastes real.”

“Oh, that’s because it is. You came here in a dream, but the Silver Wheel is still real,” Ratna eased off the gas somewhat, keeping that spark in her eye while her posture was significantly more relaxed. “Everything you take here, you keep. Everything you lose, gone forever.”

That same ugly drug that suppressed his nerves seemed to flare up again, to make him more receptive to the earnestness of her words. That was less suspicious for him: if he was running a magic casino, making sure people believed it was real would be a top priority for him, too.

“Does that include calories?”

She chuckled knowingly, on instinct, but when his question actually registered her mood dropped.

“...I, uh… I don’t know. Teresa?”

“No, sir. You cannot gain weight here.”

“And you don’t serve food? Talk about a wasted business model.”

“Hey yeah he makes a good point. We should serve actual cake here.”

Teresa’s calm and icy face remained unmoved.

“We have enough issues with unwelcome guests, guilt-free binge eating would only exacerbate that problem.”

“...Oh. Okay, that’s fair.”

Jack Kelly made a note of that. He was prepared to probe a bit deeper, but his attention was stolen by the sudden appearance of another man at the other end of the table, by another upside-down plastic cup. He was tall and lanky, with too-white eyes blinking the shock of his arrival off his face, his shaved fuzz thin enough to seem actually glossy as the light barely illuminated him. The unlit edge of the room made it hard to see this man, considering how dark his skin and shirt were.

“Hey there son. Nice to meet you.” He leaned forward, offering a hand and intercepting whatever Ratna was preparing to say. She looked offended at first, but it turned into a sly little grin, and she eased backwards: perhaps to see exactly what Jack Kelly was planning.

“W-where am I?”

“We’ll get to that. You thirsty, son? You want a drink? Anything you want.”

“No offense sir but please tell me where the fuck I am.” ”

“Heh, alright, alright. No need for that kind of language, son. Mind if I ask your name?”

“...Hakeem Elemoro.”

“Hakeem. Very ethnic. I like it. Well Hakeem, this here is called the Silver Wheel. You ever hear of the Silver Wheel, Hakeem?”

Hakeem looked to both sides, where Teresa was waiting subserviently, and Ratna was looking like the only wolf in the room who knew what was going on.

“No.”

“I’d be surprised if you had. It’s a magical place. Sort of like a dream. But not exactly a dream. But definitely safe. It’s safe right now, isn’t it ladies?”

“Sure thing.”

“Yes, extremely.”

“But it’s not always safe, is it?” Jack Kelly hoped he wasn’t bluffing.

Teresa shot him a strangely piercing stare, and her voice became soft and disquieting.

“...no. I suppose it is not.”

“You like being safe, don’t you Hakeem?”

“Where are you going with this?” Hakeem leaned forward, unable or unwilling to hide the concern on his face “I don’t know what’s going on, or even what your name is.”

“Ah, I forgot again! Always slipping my mind. But my name isn’t important here, really. As a matter of fact I’m not that important at all. No, no… we’re all here for you, Hakeem.”

“...what?”

“Are you sure you don’t want that drink?”

“Rum and Coke would be fine, I suppose.”

“Get this man a rum and Coke, would you doll? Heck, make it two.” He snapped to Teresa, who was already walking to the door well before he instructed her to. Thank God: he was fairly confident Ratna would be willing to play along with his plan -- her cheshire grin and complacent silence seemed to suggest as much in any case. But Teresa… well, she would probably be far quicker to make a liar out of him… she didn’t even hesitate to correct Ratna when her manipulative flirting suggested a falsehood.

So he had to do this part when she wasn’t around. Which was just as well, since he liked watching her go.

“This casino you see here? It’s where we’re going to judge your soul.”

The man on the other end actually looked a bit… frightened. Ratna, on the other hand, cackled with delight. Perfect.

“It’s real simple. We’re gonna play a little game, you and me. But before we can, you need to put something at stake, something about yourself -- it can be anything you’d be willing to give up to show you’re a good person. Money, skills, memories, whatever. Once you make your bet, you’ll have the chance to either try and keep it -- and take whatever I’ll wager as compensation -- or, you can show your trust and piety and allow me to judge you as-is by walking out that door back there. No matter if you try to take from me by playing, or you demonstrate your charity through surrender, I’ll render my judgement of the quality of your soul. But… fair warning… it’s when the game starts that this place becomes less safe.”

He had to talk fast. He had no idea how long Teresa would be gone. Lucky for him, it was long enough. And Hakeem seemed to believe him completely: maybe it was that same beguiling smell from before working its magic, or maybe he was just a far more superstitious man than Jack Kelly, but the man seemed absolutely paralyzed.

“What…” he started, just as the rum and Coke was placed in front of him. Teresa was none the wiser. “...what would we be playing?”

“Sorry, can’t say. Gotta agree to play first,” Ratna interjected, offering the waitress a wink as the other rum and Coke was delivered. Teresa caught it with a confused twist of the head.

“Remember what I said,” Jack Kelly nodded soberly. “It’s all up to you.”

Hakeem folded his arms in front of him, brow furrowed: concentrating on his thoughts, and perhaps his past deeds. Jack Kelly gave himself a congratulatory and entirely emotional pat on the back; he acted fast, thought faster, and put himself in a pretty good position. Hakeem was on edge -- he was probably thinking about how unfair it would be to play with a ‘being’ who can see the quality of his soul. And if he wasn’t a total moron, he would have caught how Jack Kelly not-so-subtly suggested that walking away would be the best way to ensure a favorable ‘judgement’ and avoid the danger inherent in this place. Any sane man would do as much. Or at least, any sane man in Hakeem’s unenviable position.

“...you said it could be anything, right?” Hakeem asked.

“Anything except your lifespan,” Ratna answered for him, “...you know, cuz no one’s promised time.”

“Ah. In that case, I shall wager my sins.”

Jack Kelly snorted, and raised his glass to Teresa.

“Hon, can I get like, 40% less rum in here? And a shot of Jameson's. Thanks.”

Teresa took the glass without a word and walked right back to the door. He watched her go with a smile, until she closed the door behind her.

“Are you sure?” he turned back to Hakeem, “That’s how I’ll judge your soul, you know.”

“You said it’s what I would lose, yes? It seems a fitting enough wager.”

“Yes, but I also said you get the chance to keep it. It should be really something you want to keep -- It’s not a sacrifice otherwise.”

“Of course, I understand,” Hakeem nodded, “And I do want to keep them. I am not a good person, you see, my sins make me who I am. They could be called my Everything, how I survive in this terrible world. If I should lose them, I should no doubt die, given how poor and desperate I am. Keep them, however, and I can live, if only barely. Dying an innocent man might be good for my soul, sir, but as I said: I am an evil man. And I would rather live evil than die good.”

Jack Kelly bit his lip as Teresa returned with what was probably a very bad drink. She placed it in front of him wordlessly. He didn’t want to bet for this guy’s sins but given the premise he made up… he was having a hard time thinking of a reason why he shouldn’t let it happen.

Well. A good reason.

“It has to be something I would want.”

“Oh?” Hakeem leaned forward, curiously, “And what, if I may ask, would a man like you want from me?”

“What other humans find valuable. Money. Possessions. Useful skills.”

“I see,” Hakeem tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Yes, I see. Then sir, let me make this offering instead: as I have little else to give, I shall let you judge me by my empathy. Is that an acceptable wager?”

Jack Kelly considered the offering: empathy would be fairly useful. He was already pretty damn empathetic, it’s sort of a requirement when you’re a professional poker player and actor, but he could always use more. So it was functional, and it fit within the lie he had crafted as well: win-win from where he was seated. So he pretended to think for a little bit more, then said.

“Yes, that is acceptable. And my wager, would you like some money?”

“No, I do not think I do. I would like to win something else, if you do not mind.”

“What is it?”

“Please remember I am an evil man, sir. If I won money, I would waste it on vice and sinful things. So to show you at my best, I must make a more practical wager: I would be willing to risk my empathy for a car.”

A car, huh? His car. Would he be willing to risk a car…?

...it’s not like he had any choice. He had to commit to the bit. And he could always buy another one. Heck, depending on how he lost it, the insurance might make sure he got one back for nothing. So really, what was he risking? It only took him a few seconds to finish that mental lap, and when he had reached the finish line he nodded once.

“Very well. You stand to win a car if you should defend your empathy.”

As if by magic,thirty chips instantly appeared in front of each man: sporty red chips were laid out in front of Jack Kelly, while Hakeem’s chips were a more Valentine’s pink. Jack Kelly had to try very hard not to be surprised by their sudden appearance, but Hakeem didn’t need to hide his shock, and grabbed a handful of them like they were manna in the desert. He looked afraid again, and a little bit… empty. The light in his eyes was flickering. As if it was missing some invisible yet key ingredient. It was close, but not quite, the same thing as panic.

“...what did I just…” he muttered under his breath, eyes locked on his chips.

And that’s when Ratna spoke up again.

“Our game tonight, appropriately enough… is Liar's Dice.”

Liar's Dice -- otherwise known as “Pirate’s Dice”, “Call my bluff”, “Dudo”, and a number of other names -- was created by award-winning wargaming designer Richard Borg in 1993, and won the Spiel des Jahres award (a German prize for outstanding game design) that same year. The game is widely considered an inspired example of simple yet complex design, which has both earned the game a stellar reputation and the attention of Academics, who have written on the game with great detail.

Each player starts with a cup filled with five dice, which are then rolled on the table, hidden from the other players. The first player must then make a claim about the number and facing of all the dice on the table: for example, that there’s at least one face-up two between both players. The other player can then choose to either make a higher bid -- which would be increasing the quantity and/or the face value of the previous bid (so saying there are up to two twos, one three, or two threes) -- or challenge it. If they challenge the bid, both players show their hands, and if the bid is shown to be valid, the bidding player wins. If the bidder was caught in a fib, the challenger wins. Bidding can continue as long as both players want -- the round only ends when someone issues a challenge.

“Course, the game wasn’t designed for gambling, which is kind of what we’re all about here at the Silver Wheel. So we’ve tweaked the rules a bit. For one, instead of winning or losing dice, at the start of the round, both parties ante four chips, and with every bid following the first, you have to put another chip into the pot. If you happen to run out of chips before your opponent, however, you don’t have to put any more in to continue playing… but your opponent still does. Something to bear in mind. Anyway, winner takes the pot, everyone keeps their dice, go on to round two.”

“Second thing to remember: typically in this game, ones are wild, which means no matter what face value is being bid, you add all your ones to the total number of that face in play. For example If there are three ones and five fours: there are actually eight fours. But in this game, that’s only true for the first round. In every round after that, the winning player gets to decide, after you roll but before you make your first bid, if ones are wild or not.”

“Third… if you happen to roll three of a kind, you can make your opponent throw three chips into the pot, if they have that many to give up. But only at the start of the round. Oh, and by the way, as a dealer in a magic casino I always know what you’ve rolled, so this is the one thing you can’t bluff on. Try it, and I’ll call you out and you’ll need to throw three of your own pretty chips into the pot. Any other kind of cheating, though, will mean immediate disqualification, so play honestly fellas.”

Jack Kelly glanced at the still fairly confused man on the opposite end of the table--something about the chips appearing seemed to throw Hakeem off, which meant he probably wasn’t all there when she was describing the rules. But Jack Kelly was. And he could admire the interesting way these new rules twisted the game.

Obviously, the main two strategic elements of Liar's Dice are statistics and lying, in that order of importance. To succeed, you had to determine the approximate number of times you can expect the most common number to be repeated -- that’s the ‘expected quantity’ -- and use your dice to determine which number is likely making that quota. Fortunately, math was one of his specialties as a professional gambler (he lived a very active life), so he could easily figure out that with ten six-sided dice (and wilds), there’s about a 60% chance any given number would show up three times. Depending on what his own dice showed, he could fairly easily work out the odds and make his bets from there.

But then came the lying part, which was trickier, but he was still fairly versed at it. Knowing when your opponent was telling the truth was arguably more important than catching them in a lie, as you can use truth to infer what’s under their cup and adjust your statistics. And if they make a claim that’s statistically unlikely? Just call them out. You won’t win every hand, but you’ll win more than the average, which was all he needed to do.

That said: the new rules did shake things up noticeably. The game automatically became more high-risk the longer they played, which actually incentivised the winning party to make riskier lies and more aggressive accusations, lest they risk losing more chips than the person who’s behind. Obviously, someone deciding if ones were wild or not not only gave them control over the flow of the game, but it could also communicate to another player what the state of their hand was. If there was one element he didn’t understand it was that last rule: why would you communicate that you have at least three of a kind just for the chance to earn three more chips -- or worse, why pay three chips to tell your opponent that you don’t have three of a kind? There was no point to it, other than possibly tricking stupid people into losing faster.

“No questions? Great. Then let the… pft… ‘judgement’ begin. Our ‘judge’ will be going first this round.”

“Open your eyes” by Guano Apes started playing, their second cue to scoop up their cups and the die within them for the first throw of the game.

“This is your last chance to walk away. If you really are an evil man, it may be your only hope.” Jack Kelly urged, swirling his cup of die like a fine wine needing to breathe. They clattered and chattered, almost balefully.

“Perhaps I would have, but my empathy is too high a price to pay,” Hakeem replied, shaking his cup like he was very poorly mixing a drink. “So I’ll have to risk eternal damnation for a car.”

Teresa shot him a look. He ignored it.

“So be it.”

They both slammed their cups upside-down on the table. The die suddenly grew silent as they settled, and both men looked hard at each other: almost as if daring each other to be the first to check their results. Jack Kelly, at least, didn’t care who checked first: he was more interested in reading his opponent. He was skinny, but soft. Looking at his hands and his clothes he was an indoor creature. And by his own admission he was a bad person who relied on empathy. Throwing all the facts together, mixing in a bit of deductive reasoning and cold reading, he figured…

“For a man who so cherishes empathy, why do you feel no guilt for being a con-artist?”

The lack of surprise on Hakeem's face either meant Jack Kelly was wrong, or his act was so convincing Hakeem would expect him to know that much. He figured out which when Hakeem smiled, and leaned forward.

“Guilty? Now that’s a funny thought… is there a reason I should? Stupid people owe me more than I can take. They’re the ones who destroyed the environment, they elect the fascists and the nationalists, they’re the ones who don’t vaccinate their kids and revive dead diseases. What I’m doing can barely be called getting my due.”

Jack Kelly smiled right back.

“Maybe you’re right. But perhaps it’s not your job to, uh… even the scales”

“Well. If it is your job, sir, with due respect: you are terrible at it.”

Jack Kelly nodded once, ambiguously, and broke the stalemate, peeking at the die under his cup.

One, two, three, five, and six. If he didn’t need to keep a straight face he would have laughed: what an obnoxiously unhelpful hand. He eased his eyes up to spy on his opponent, who was also looking at his own die with a certain ugly intensity. When he noticed he was being watched, he quickly slammed his cup down.

Jack Kelly eased his cup down.

A wild and an even spread meant that statistically, the odds favored a four. A four of what, however, he still had to determine. Fortunately, he was in just the right position to figure that out: in a game like this, where you can only bet higher, the first player effectively set the tempo for the round… and with this being the start of the game, when everyone had their chips, Jack Kelly was feeling… leisurely.

Jack Kelly threw four chips into the pot. With considerably more hesitation -- he even seemed to wince when he laid hands on his chips -- Hakeem did the same.

“There’s at least one two.”

Hakeem put his chip into the pot, and paused -- knowing he had to call even before he knew what his call should be.

“...there’s two twos.”

Now that was a telling play. Upping the number of the dice meant the rounds would be shorter, since the odds of there being one two or one three was functionally the same. If you added to the face value, all you’re doing is dragging things out. Adding to the number of dice, on the other hand, moved things along: even jumping from one to two meant any future bids would be less and less likely to be true.

So the question was… why did Hakeem want this round to end so quickly? Maybe he was still… unnerved about what was going on with his chips…?

Unfortunately for him, Jack Kelly wasn’t playing along. He tossed another chip into the pot, making the total ten. Five each.

“There are two threes”

Hakeem swallowed air, then took a drink so his next swallow wouldn’t be quite so revealing. He tossed another chip into the pot, then quietly and quickly checked under his cup.

“...there are… um… three threes.”

Statistically likely. But…

“Bullshit. Prove it.”

“Damn. You got me.”

The cups were lifted: Hakeem had a two, two fours, and two fives. Which meant there were only two threes in play.

Jack Kelly wasn’t a judge of souls, but this Hakeem was easy to read nonetheless. The pause was telling. The cup was telling. But what really got Jack Kelly’s attention was that ‘um’. This Hakeem fellow was able to perform a small monologue about why he was guiltless in his cons without a single ‘uh’, ‘um’, or pause to think. He had that speech, or something like it, prepared. So when he was forced to improvise…

Jack Kelly raked the chips towards his side of the table. It was a small lead, but a good start.

“Alright. Good job guys. Good hustle. Roll those bones, and Hakeem, you go first next.”

Both men cupped their dice, and started shaking them. The rattle of the dice drowned out whatever conversation might have followed the first round, but there was an opportunistic lull when both cups were slammed onto the table.

One that Hakeem capitalized on.

“Tell me something, sir. Am I being judged for trying to win?”

“I judge everything,” Jack replied, “So of course.”

“I should think trying to preserve my empathy would be admirable.”

“I’m not going to tell you how I pass judgement, son.”

“...of course,” Hakeem nodded.

“Enough flirting,” Ratna cut in, “If you’ll recall, after the first round the person in the lead gets to decide if ones are wild or not at the start of every other round. So why don’t you tell us if ones are wild or not.”

“They are.” Jack Kelly replied without even looking at his dice. Whatever strategic advantage he might have gotten by checking his dice first wasn’t worth the price of giving away that tiny bit of information.

Both men checked their hands.

Jack Kelly had gotten a two, a four, and three sixes… he had to stifle a laugh, he would have killed for a roll like this last time he made a character in Dungeons and Dragons. Just drop the two or four… but for the purposes of this game, knowing there were at least three sixes in play gave him a pretty big edge. Not only because he knew there would inevitably be a lot of sixes in play -- the odds favored five -- but also there would naturally be less of any other number. From a purely statistical standpoint, anyway.

Hakeem was looking at his dice longer. Intently trying to memorize the five numbers in front of him. Maybe he thought that was his tell…? He gave himself something close to twenty seconds before he let the cup drop, and threw his four chips into the pot.

“I have one five.”

Jack Kelly was already smiling. It was his default face for games like these. Even with his back to the wall -- which he certainly wasn’t now -- he liked acting as if he had control over every situation he was in. It was a mindset thing. But reading someone so accurately certainly would have put a smile on his face regardless.

Jack Kelly put another chip into the pot.

“Two fives.”

He didn’t have a five or a one. But that was still probably true.

“Two sixes.”

Jack Kelly cursed a little under his breath: he would have called him out on three fives, the irony of which wasn’t lost on him since he was holding three sixes himself . But maybe Jack Kelly could rely on Hakeem to do the same.

“...four sixes.”

Hakeem didn’t call him out for bluffing immediately. A curious choice. He probably had a one or a six in his own hand. Maybe, Jack Kelly thought, he got a little too excited when he skipped three and went straight to four…

But then Hakeem put another chip into the pot.

“Uh, five sixes.”

“Prove it.”

Hakeem suddenly looked far more nervous. He tipped his cup open to show a three, four, two fives, and a six -- enough to have made Jack Kelly’s last wager true. But with no one between them, it meant his guess was just one too high: something he saw for himself when Jack Kelly revealed his three sixes.

He paled as the grinning blonde dragged his twelve-pot bounty to his side of the table. The difference in their chips was becoming noticeable… and the misery on Hakeem’s face was palpable. Jack Kelly’s own smile waned somewhat as he saw the fear reflected in Hakeem’s eyes, and glanced down at his own chips. Now that he thought about it… this was kind of messed up, wasn’t it? Not only was Jack Kelly lying to a man who was clearly impoverished, trying to scare him into giving up one of the key aspects of human nature… he was doing it by teasing him with a car. One of the most essential luxuries known to men. Jack Kelly was pretty well-off: he could always buy a new car. Hell, he could probably buy three without needing to check his bank balance. So this wager… it suddenly didn’t seem very fair to him.

...he would have been tempted to quit, actually, if it weren’t for the promise of becoming this Champion. That had an allure he simply couldn’t ignore.

“Round three. Maybe Hakeem’s chance at a big turnaround,” Ratna moved the game forward, “Roll your bones -- and will there be wilds?”

“...no… not this time.”

Wilds made games shorter, since you can’t bet on a one. And suddenly he was very invested in making this game as short as possible by making his next win a critical blow. Both men loaded their cups with their die, gave them a hearty shake, and slammed both face-down on the table. Hakeem’s look of distress hadn’t eased with the start of a new round. He smacked his lips. Somehow, they were dry.

“A… root beer please, Teresa,” he asked. She nodded, and started for the door.

“Root beer, huh?” Jack Kelly asked while his eyes remained locked on Teresa, “now that’s a strange choice, isn’t it?”

“It’s a special drink for me, sir.” Hakeem answered flatly, “On bad days my mother would give me root beer, when I was a boy. I still have a can saved in my home for when I have a bad day. It reminds me of her, and the better days of my youth.”

“...oh.”

“I do not expect you to understand, sir. I wonder if you even have a mother.”

“...that isn’t important,” Jack Kelly tried to shake the guilt by throwing four chips into the pot. Hakeem followed suit. Shockingly, it didn’t help much.

Jack Kelly tipped his cup up to gaze at the contents. Two ones, two fours, and a six. If ones had been wild, this would have been a hell of a roll. Hakeem stared at his dice for another half-minute, only looking away to nod appreciation when his drink was placed next to him, before quietly dropping the cup in place once again.

“Ready?” Jack Kelly asked.

“Of course,” Hakeem answered.

“Alright… I have one one.”

“I have two ones.”

“I have two twos.”

“Two threes.”

“Two fours.”

“Three fours.”

There were thirteen chips in the pot now, and since Jack had two fours he had no plans on calling Hakeem out now… so the pot would probably hit 14 or 15 by the time the round ended. Of course, everything Jack Kelly said from here on out would either have to be a bluff or an extremely educated guess, since the only number he had left higher than his fours was his one six. But Jack Kelly mastered his poker face in the arena of professional gambling. He always smiled. His eyes were always semi-distant and mildly dead, even when making eye contact with others. And he didn’t so much as let a twitch or a drop of sweat escape his face: every muscle was relaxed, in his face, in his shoulders, in his core. Nothing would betray him.

“Three fives.”

Hakeem, on the other hand, was tense. His vocal stutter was still the best indication of when he lied, but he had a tangible anxiety that made his motions plastic and his face a map of tension knots. He even had a hard time untying his jaw to answer or drink his root beer. Granted, a lot of that was probably an issue of stakes: it would be easier for Jack to lose a car than Hakeem to lose his sense of empathy. But Jack Kelly got the feeling that when Hakeem conned his targets, he wasn’t looking at them face-to-face.

He was taking a long time to answer. Staring at Jack Kelly. Trying to glean if this was a bluff or not. It was, but Jack Kelly didn’t give him a single suggestion it was. Hakeem would need to rely on Lady Luck.

...but then he put a chip in the pot.

“Three sixes.”

Jack Kelly had to think for a second: he had one six. With no wilds, the odds of there being three sixes in play was not fantastic, but better than the odds of there having been three fives, since he didn’t have any fives in his hand. If Hakeem thought three fives was reasonable, he must have at least one in his hand, which hurt his odds even further.

But if Hakeem didn’t have at least two sixes, then him calling Jack Kelly out for saying four sixes was practically a guarantee.

There was no ‘um’, but…

“...prove it.”

Hakeem lifted his cup: three threes, a four, a five… and only one six. Jack Kelly lifted his own.

“Only two sixes. Sorry,” he said almost sincerely. But as Jack Kelly started dragging his well-earned chips to his side of the table, Hakeem’s anxiety flashed only momentarily before it cooled to something resembling… anger.

He turned towards Ratna, and spoke.

“Ma’am, please humor me: you work here, correct?”

“’S why I got the suit on.”

“And with the third rule: you said you can see what our dice are, even when covered by the cup?”

“That’s right.”

“I believe my judge here can do the very same.”

Teresa raised a solitary eyebrow, the only motion on an otherwise static face that turned his way. It was actually a bit unnerving. Jack Kelly could feel the chill from her stare even when he looked away.

“That would be cheating, wouldn’t it?” Ratna purred, “Can you prove it, Hakeem?”

“I do not see how I could,” Hakeem glared, “Considering this place seems to operate on some kind of magic. I would say the onus falls on my opponent to prove he isn’t.”

Jack Kelly shrugged. His original gambit with his initial lie hadn’t worked, so there was no reason for him to continue lying if it proved disadvantageous. But just as he opened his mouth, Ratna interjected.

“That seems fair: after all -- coercing you into playing under false pretenses would be quite the offense. Right, Teresa?”

“Yes,” the waitress nodded, “certainly grounds for disqualification.”

Jack Kelly knew that Ratna was not technically his ally. But he still felt that sting of betrayal, even if he wouldn’t reveal it. Instead, he kept his poker face sturdy, and let out a small, inoffensive laugh.

“Could I get a daiquiri, doll? With some frozen fruit in it, if you don’t mind.”

“...yes, of course,” she curled her lips into a scowl, “...once the game has resumed.”

“Haha. That’s fine.”

That was not fine.

“Well, that puts us both in quite the spot, Hakeem,” Jack Kelly leaned forward, “I’m not sure how you want me to prove I’m not cheating, and your lack of trust in me certainly doesn’t reflect well on you.”

“I understand that, sir. But I am a man of logic, even in a magical place like this: I simply have to believe that there’s a method to knowing how each dice lands. For example -- I would find it very believable if there were sensors on the table that read the face of the dice from the bottom, so it knew what was facing up. Is that how this works?”

Jack Kelly cast a sideways glance to Ratna. She didn’t exchange the favor.

“...could be,” he shrugged, “that would make sense, wouldn’t it?”

“Would you object, sir, if I assumed that’s how it worked?”

“I don’t mind, but if you can’t prove that’s how it works, you can’t accuse me of cheating.”

“Do not worry. I intend to prove it in the very next round,” Hakeem smiled faintly, and started collecting his die, “Are you ready?”

Jack Kelly nodded once. Frowning. Was he confident in how Jack Kelly was cheating… or just desperate? It really felt more like the latter than the former, in which case, Jack Kelly could only feel pity. Not enough to stop the game, but enough to make him feel bad as he started swirling his die in his cup.

But Hakeem was doing no such thing. Whereas before, he rattled his die like he was preparing a drink, this time, he was swirling his cup face-down, scooping up his die off the table one by one. The common technique of very basic dice-stacking. It took him longer to scoop up all his die, but when he was done, he still rather definitively slammed his cup down, as he had the three rounds before.

Jack Kelly almost laughed at that little show. It would have been funny if it wasn’t so sad.

“Are one’s wild?” Ratna asked.

“This time? Yeah.”

“Then it’s time for you both to make your ante.”

Eight chips total were thrown into the pot, and both parties checked beneath their cups. Jack Kelly had a two, two fours, a five, and a six. Hakeem, on the other hand, had to look at the numbers on the side of his little stack to figure out what was on top, and cover the whole thing with his free hand so Jack Kelly couldn’t spy: but it hardly mattered. Jack Kelly already knew exactly what his hand was: three threes, a five, and a six.

When you stack dice using the method Hakeem used, they don’t shuffle. They slide, carried by their momentum, against the inside of the cup, moving around quite a bit but never changing face. Ironically, in trying to prove Jack Kelly could see what dice he had, Hakeem had allowed Jack Kelly to know what dice he had. And there was no way either of the real judges at the table could accuse him of cheating for doing that.

“Before we begin, may I ask you to throw three chips into the pot? I have three of a kind.”

“...yeah. That checks out,” Ratna nodded to Jack Kelly, “chuck em’ in.”

Jack Kelly shrugged amicably and did as he was told. It didn’t matter. This was all for show, now. Still, he was petty enough to take advantage of that leap of logic.

“She could tell what dice you had even when they were stacked. Your theory doesn’t hold up, it seems.”

“She is the dealer. It is not cheating if she can see my dice. Only if you can, sir.”

“Alright. If you say so. You go first, by the way.”

“I know. I have one one.”

Jack Kelly knew that wasn’t true, but he wasn’t going to call him out on it just yet, as he was interested in making this their last round. He would milk Hakeem dry, if he had the chance, and with only six chips left in his hand, Hakeem only needed to make three more bets to be unable to ante, thus securing Jack Kelly the game.

“I have one two.” Jack Kelly replied, throwing a chip into the pot.

“Two twos for me.” Hakeem said -- it was true thanks to Jack Kelly’s hand, but Hakeem didn’t know that. Hakeem only had five chips left.

“Two threes,” Jack Kelly said, throwing another chip into the pot.

“I have three threes,” Hakeem said… and for just a flash of a moment, quick enough for Jack Kelly to only barely notice… he smiled. At first, he merely dismissed it as he picked up his next chip…

...but then paused.

Three threes. Jack Kelly knew that was true, because despite having no threes or ones himself, he knew for a fact that Hakeem did have three threes -- which were all the threes in the game. He also knew that adding up the remainder of the die under his and Hakeem’s cups, there were only two fours, two fives, and two sixes: there was no possible way he could make his next claim true.

And since Hakeem had only four chips left -- the bare minimum he needed to ante to play the next round -- there was absolutely no way he wouldn’t call Jack Kelly out. He had no other choice. Letting the game go on and making his own wager would effectively be throwing the game, and while Hakeem was a bad gambler he didn’t seem like a stupid man.

“Dazed and Confused”, by Led Zeppelin, started howling in the other room.

“Are you all right?” Hakeem asked: it had only been a few seconds, but it was the longest Jack Kelly had needed to think this entire game. Jack Kelly shrugged it off: fine. He lost this round. He still had an overwhelming chip advantage, and this would go a good way to proving he wasn’t cheating, anyway.

“I’m fine. Three fours.”

Hakeem paused. Rolled some words in his mouth for a little bit, before leaning forward.

“I’m almost certain that is a lie, but I admit I am struggling to tell. With each chip I lose, it gets harder and harder to read the signs.”

Jack Kelly frowned on the inside: he feared as much. It seemed odd from the beginning that Hakeem would be so much more impacted by the appearance of the chips than he was, and from the moment they started playing -- and Hakeem started losing -- it grew more and more obvious just what was going on. Hakeem’s lack of empathy would certainly make things easier than they already were, but Jack Kelly worried all the same that maybe he was accidentally turning the poor man into some kind of psychopath.

“Well, I’m sorry it had to turn out this way.”

“I was wondering if there was anything I could do, sir, to get you to cancel this game,” he begged, leaning forward, “...anything at all.”

It was only then that Jack Kelly felt something rubbing up against his foot: Hakeem’s. His foot was gliding up and down his leg in an undeniably flirtatious manner. Jack Kelly’s poker face, for the first time that night, flickered.

“I’m sorry. But there’s nothing you can do. You are going to lose.”

Just as he finished saying that, the foot got extremely… aggressive, sliding all the way up to his crotch.

Jack Kelly’s face shot down, and he nearly jumped out of his seat, jostling the table in the process.

And Hakeem smiled.

“And there we have it: you, Jack Kelly, just cheated.”

“...excuse me?”

“At the start of this game, our dealer confirmed that I had three dice of the same face,” He started, nodding to Ratna, “is that still true?”

“...no. As a matter of fact, it’s not.” Ratna reported.

“That’s right. And Ratna, correct me if I’m wrong, but I would have won this round if I still had three dice of the same face, is that so?”

“It sure seems that way,” Ratna continued, mindless of the growing confusion growing on Jack Kelly’s once-static expression.

“So it would be in his best interest to try to change that by manipulating my dice to something more favorable.”

“That would be cheating.”

“So, behold,” Hakeem lifted his cup, revealing his die: a one, two twos, a four, and a six, all splayed on the table in a heap. “My proof.”

Jack Kelly was slack-jawed at the revelation: for a moment, it was out of sheer shock, but once his brain caught up with the rest of himself, he realized that as accusations went, this was extremely weak. When this dawned on him, he tidied up his expression with a cough and a smirk.

“Hakeem my friend, you had your dice stacked in a precarious tower, and you rammed your foot in my crotch. I jumped, which is normal and natural when something like that happens, which made me bump into the table and knock down your dice. That can hardly be called ‘cheating’. If anything, since you were the one who got me to move, you cheated by indirectly knocking down your own dice.”

“But why would I have done that if I was going to win?” Hakeem pressed.

“Because clearly, and I’m sorry about this, you’re distressed and desperate. You know you can’t beat me fairly so you’ve tried to concoct some story about how I’m cheating.”

“But I was going to win, sir.”

“The round, not the game, obviously.”

“How do you know?”

“You had three threes, so yeah obviously you were going to win.”

“I meant the game.”

“Because I’m better than you.”

“Because you’re cheating, sir.”

“I told you, you kicking me in the crotch and making me jump isn’t ‘cheating’.”

“But knowing how my die land is.”

“But I-”

Jack Kelly furrowed his brow, and suddenly realized what exactly was going on. He didn’t bother arguing with Hakeem any further, instead turning to Ratna, who was resting her chin on her netted hand.

“-You know I’m not cheating, right doll? I only knew what his dice were this round because of how he rolled them.”

“You sure? Seems like pretty damning evidence to me. He accused you originally of knowing how his dice land, and by admitting you knew he had three threes, you’ve proven him right.”

“But -- he stacked his dice! You could see him swirling his cup like…” he tried to reproduce the motion, but it came out as awkward and rushed. He could feel Teresa’s glare on the back of his neck, and he did not like it.

“Did you ever see the stack?”

“...no… he hid it with his hand.”

“Ratna, did he indeed stack his dice?” Teresa asked.

And to that, Ratna bore her teeth.

“...nope, he didn’t. And if he wasn’t stacking the dice, there’s no reason he would know what his dice had landed on unless he was using the same method I am. Sorry, ‘boss’, but you’ve been caught in the act, and you’re disqualified. Hakeem wins by default.”

“Wait, what?!”

Jack Kelly stood up, knocking over all his unfinished drinks. As the alcohol mixed into a hideous brown puddle, he leaned into the dealer, spit flying into her face as his knuckles whitened against the edge of the table.

“You know damn well I wasn’t cheating you fucking cow! What are you doing?!”

“Ooooh.” She puckered her lips and wiped a single drop of spittle from her cheek, examining it boredly on the tip of her finger, “Looks like you’re in real trouble, Hakeem, you’ve pissed off the judge.”

“I do not know what’s going on, but I am going to ask you to calm down, sir.”

“I was robbed! This was some fucking bullshit! I wasn’t cheating! He was cheating! You’re all cheating!”

“Sir, I am going to ask you to leave.”

“Fuck you, fuck her, and a big fat fuck you for him, too!” He jabbed a finger at Hakeem, grabbed one of his knocked-over glasses, and was immediately grabbed from behind and dragged to one of the unlit corners of the bar, where his enraged shout was only momentarily replaced with a terrified yelp, before transitioning fully to silence.

Well, silence, sans Grand Funk Railroad’s “Inside Looking Out”.

“...congrats on the car.” Ratna eventually chimed in, shaking Hakeem's heart into working again. “But I’m guessing you don’t want to stick around, do ya?”

“No I would very much like to leave thank you.”

“Mhm. Exit’s that way.” She gestured to the door, and he was quick to his feet. People generally didn’t stick around once they saw Mr. Eight, much to Ratna’s endless delight.

The door slammed behind him as he threw himself into the void.

~*~

Jack Kelly woke up from his usual 3 PM power-nap unusually frustrated. Not quite ‘punch your pillow’ angry, but definitely a ‘yell at the Help’ kind of mood. He found their cowering and mewling attempts to placate him went a long way to improving his mood, and he was finally feeling himself again when he slapped the phone out of his assistant’s hands when he had the audacity to text while receiving instructions on where he wanted to eat dinner. When the phone shattered, it was like a dark cloud lifted off Jack Kelly’s chest, and he was able to be his usual charming self while entertaining the friends of his producer over a late meal.

What he did not know, however, was that his assistant -- who even on his best days was never treated chivalrously -- had been considering getting some kind of revenge on Jack Kelly for a while now. And while recently he had cooled off on that plan, this most recent show of assholery was enough to push him over the edge.

And as it so happened, the timing couldn’t be better: in just a few short days, a moving company would be taking Jack Kelly’s car (which he loved dearly) to Hong Kong for a new movie being shot there.

Jack Kelly’s assistant made a few more calls, using the full authority granted to him by Jack Kelly himself, and then rather abruptly quit. Not more than a few days later, thanks to some expensive ‘last minute changes’, Jack Kelly’s car wound up somewhere in central Africa, where the assistant was waiting with keys in hand to drive off into the sunset. That would have made him furious enough, but due to a series of checks his now-ex assistant failed to send, Jack Kelly also had no insurance, leaving him with little choice but to vent his frustration on his newest assistant.

Unfortunately for the mastermind behind this blatant car theft, he wouldn’t be able to enjoy Jack Kelly’s car for long: when Jack Kelly told the public what happened, fear and guilt congealed within the ex-assistant, who worried that he’d be hunted down and arrested if he was found driving around this stolen ride. When he drunkenly confessed this fear to a friendly stranger he met at a run-down bar, that stranger had the most obvious solution -- change the license plate, and remove any tracking devices that might be in the car. The stranger even said they were a mechanic who could do it for him: all they needed were the keys and a small fee.

The ex-assistant never saw the car again.

~*~

“Please tell me everything that happened.”

Ratna and Teresa were at the bar, untouched drinks in front of both of them. They had needed an intermission to put the chips away and clean up the spill, but as soon as they were able, they sat down to strategize. Ture, who hadn’t seen a moment of the game, watched on dispassionately.

“Long story short, Jack pretended that the Silver Wheel was some kind of judgement racket, and he was the judge, to persuade Hakeem into giving up on round one. Dunno if Hakeem fell for it or not, but they played the game anyway so I guess it didn’t matter.”

“And the last turn? How could he have three threes at the start and lose it at the end if he did not stack the dice?”

“Oh, that part was simple,” Ratna grabbed a free glass and flipped it upside-down, “He did do the swirling technique you have to do when you stack dice, but he didn’t actually stack them: he just let them slide horizontally against each other. It wasn’t a tower, it was a line. When he had Jack jostle the table, it wasn’t to knock down the tower… it was to distract Jack long enough to flip up his cup and change them by hand. But since Jack thought it was a tower, and assumed the numbers changed because of the jostling, he never thought to accuse him of that.”

“So Hakeem was indeed the cheater.”

“Yeah. But he cheated smart. He probably knew he could never win fairly, and he couldn’t really cheat, so he had to disqualify Jack. And the only way to do that would be to catch him cheating -- which he wasn’t doing. So he used the premise of Jack’s lie with our third house rule to engineer a way for Jack Kelly to know what dice he had, but not know how he knew, so he could reasonably accuse him of cheating.”

“I see.”

“Sounds contrived. Sorry I missed it,” Ture turned fully towards the two women in his company, “but have we found ourselves a Champion?”

“Yes,” Teresa nodded, “despite his outburst, Jack Kelly was intelligent, quick-witted, and experienced in gambling. He may have lost due to extraneous elements, but he is undoubtedly the candidate of choice.”

“I may have missed it, but I agree. Seems like the dude to pick.”

“Oh, sure, sure. From the perspective of pure skill, yeah,” Ratna nodded after a long drink, “Jack Kelly thinks on his feet, is an accomplished gambler and actor, and is damn easy to flatter. On paper, he’s the best candidate we’ve seen by far...”

Teresa frowned.

“....but I still vote for Hakeem,” she finished with a cinematic wink, “A good gambler could win us our battles. But we need someone with the brain to win us a war. Hakeem seems like our best bet to match Marie’s wits.”

The two others stared at her dumbly.

“...are you certain about this, Ratna?” Teresa tilted her head slightly, “As dealer it is your choice, but I would appreciate it if you did not make it rashly.”

“I’ve waited a long time for this, don’t accuse me of thinking fast. Look: it’s all good to count cards and be a good liar. Hakeem, though, can turn around a losing situation with a keen understanding of the rules. Worked for Charlie, right? It’s about time we had our own Charlie. Besides: wouldn’t be a good fit for the Silver Wheel if it wasn’t a bit of a gamble, would it?”

She bore her teeth. Thin, yet coated in a glistening sheen.

“...I see,” Teresa nodded slowly. “Then Ratna has put the fate of the Silver Wheel… in Hakeems hand’s. We have a Champion.”

“So that means we’re starting our efforts in earnest, huh?” Ture hummed, “Seems like a good time for a toast. What’ll it be: for Juan? For the Silver Wheel?”

“Nah, we’re not that noble,” Ratha raised her glass as bloodlust flashed in her eyes, “for fucking Marie.”

Teresa lifted her glass: “For ruining Marie.”

Ture lifted his own empty mug, and the three glasses clinked together

“Yeah. For those, and then some.”

~*~

Earlier that evening, when Teresa and Ratna were engaged with their dueling guests, Ture found himself in a rather precarious situation of his own. Teresa had informed him -- in her usual “appear and disappear” way -- that he needed to prepare a daiquiri with frozen fruit. And while he was chopping up a nearly rock-hard strawberry, his ears twitched to the sound of an opening door: but when he glanced at the door to the parlor, he found it remained tightly shut.

“Wrong door.”

A pink-haired woman in an obnoxious neon pink nighty sat down in front of him. He stared dumbly.

“You know how hard it is to come here these days and not get fuckin’ murdered?” she sighed, grabbing half of the frozen strawberry and popping it into her mouth, “and everyone thinks I’m the one with problems.”

“You’re…” Ture took a step back, and she flashed him a quick and dirty smile, which was replaced by a scowl almost immediately.

“...in a hurry. Look, if your psycho boss finds me here she’s gonna wanna play some death game or whatever and I’m really not interested, okay sweet stuff?”

“Then why are you here?”

“To see you, of course.”

“...what?”

“Look, my dude, I am a lot of things,” she lolled her head to the side, grabbing the other half of the frozen strawberry, “but Marie Walker ain’t a liar. Wait, no, that’s not right, I literally lie all the time, but when I make a deal, I follow through. And my old employee, whats-his-name, made a deal with you on my behalf, right?”

Ture froze.

“I need a yes or no buddy.”

“Y-yeah.”

“Thought so. So here’s what’s up. I’m willing to honor that deal. I’ll find some way to yank you outta here into my world, the real world. Sounds like a good time, and I could use something to keep me busy when I forget my phone on the shitter. But here’s the hard part: I need you to trust me.”

Ture, normally so quick with his words, was completely silenced.

“That’s all. I don’t need you to cheat for me or spy for me or anything like that. You can even keep those gold chips you earned. But when I come back with my solution, you’re going to have to trust me with it, alright? Because lemmie tell ya, more likely than not whatever I come up with is gonna involve walking out that door,” she thumbed towards the void, “and last I heard you people don’t do so good with that. Deal?”

She extended her meticulously manicured hand. Each fingernail was somehow a different shade of nauseous pink.

He stared at it.

“...I’m seriously in a hurry here, shake it or not, this is your last chance. Don’t make me do one of those cliche countdowns.”

“...I…”

He was suddenly very short of breath. From fear or excitement, he did not know.

“Ugh... fine, guess we’re doin’ this. 3-2-1-”

Without thinking, acting on impulse, he lunged out and grabbed her hand. He grabbed it like a drowning man latching onto floating debris. As if it was the only thing that could keep his head afloat… or his world from spinning out of control.

“Oof, okay, calm down. So you trust me?”

“...I guess I don’t have a choice,” he replied, his voice calmly contrasted with his sudden rush to her hand.

“Geez, no reason to sound so grim,” she rolled her eyes, yanking her hand free, “It’s not like I’m the devil.”

With that, she wiped her hand on her shirt, and bolted for the door.

He watched her fall with wide, terrified eyes.