Las Vegas outskirts. Midnight.
Inside a private high-stakes poker room, a handful of players sat around a square table, locked in a game of Texas Hold'em. A warm, amber glow spilled from the overhead pendant light, casting soft shadows across the room. The air was thick with the scent of alcohol, and the leather armchairs creaked faintly as players shifted in their seats.
Mounted on the wall, a razor-thin OLED TV played the latest CNN breaking news. The volume was low, but the anchor's excited tone cut through the quiet hum of the room.
"Breaking News—We've just confirmed that the one and only real-world artifact from Glory Lords X, the legendary Stone of Glory, has been successfully claimed by an unidentified man! This unique item is said to unlock the hidden 'Hero Awakening' feature and trigger the game's ultimate quest. Meanwhile, an anonymous billionaire has reportedly offered a $100 million bounty to acquire the artifact."
The table fell silent.
One man, glasses perched on his nose, pushed them up with a finger and let out a low whistle. "Stone of Glory? You mean that myth-tier item? I heard if you slot it into the special gem port on a VR rig, your in-game hero fully awakens—stats go off the charts." His voice carried a mix of skepticism and barely-contained excitement.
Next to him sat a younger man in a perfectly tailored Armani suit, radiating Wall Street energy. He leaned forward slightly, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"You guys realize the official reward for completing that quest is ten million dollars, right? That alone's enough to send every pro gamer on the planet into a frenzy. But if a billionaire's willing to throw down a hundred mil… that means the Stone of Glory might be worth way more than we think."
Over by the bar, a blonde woman lounged lazily against the table, idly swirling the ice in her cocktail. Her Victoria's Secret camisole clung to her curves, the bar edge lifting it just enough to make the whole thing look effortlessly sexy.
She let out a soft laugh, voice laced with teasing. "A hundred million? Jesus, that's not just rich—that's 'burning money for fun' rich. God, I hope that billionaire's a total smoke show…"
In a corner of the room, a burly man downed a shot of whiskey in one gulp, then slammed the glass onto the table with a thud. His voice boomed like a football coach mid-rant.
"You're all missing the real headline! I've got inside info that blows the prize money outta the water—whoever gets the Stone of Glory gets direct access to Ubisoft Fantasy's secret R&D division. They're testing next-gen VR tech."
"Next-gen VR?" the man with glasses frowned.
The big guy raised his brows, clearly enjoying the attention. "Damn right. Full neural-link tech. No headset, no controllers—just like The Matrix. Your consciousness plugs straight into the game."
The air around the table went still.
Everyone knew—if that kind of tech was real, it wouldn't just revolutionize gaming. It could rewrite the rules of reality itself.
The man's words dropped like a stone into a still lake, sending ripples through the room. Behind him, two men in black trench coats and sunglasses stood silently, watching the table with unreadable expressions.
But amid the rising tension, Ethan Parker remained calm.
He lounged back in his chair, idly spinning a custom black-and-gold poker chip between his fingers. Under the dim light, the chip caught a dull gleam, like a secret waiting to be played.
His black leather jacket looked sharp and understated, blending seamlessly with his cool, detached vibe. Those gray-green eyes reflected the scattered chips and cards on the table—deep, unreadable, like a still lake before a storm.
Across from him sat Griffin Musk—a lean man with sharp eyes and a predator's stillness. He was toying with his chips, fingers moving with mechanical precision as he stacked, shuffled, and split them again and again, the crisp clack of plastic echoing like a metronome.
Every so often, Griffin glanced up at the TV, catching the flash of the "Stone of Glory" headline. A faint, knowing smirk tugged at his lips.
Then, finally, someone broke the silence.
"Hey, Ethan. What's your take on all this?"
The dealer's fingers moved swiftly through the deck, the rhythmic shuffle sounding almost like background music—steady, calm, the quiet before a storm.
The cards hadn't been dealt yet. There was still a moment to talk. Or to test each other.
Ethan lifted his head slowly at the sound of his name, a faint, unreadable smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
"What do I think?" His tone was lazy, almost careless. "Out of three hundred million players worldwide, one lucky bastard gets picked to claim the only Stone of Glory? Gotta admit—that's some damn good luck."
He paused, tapping his fingers lightly on the stack of chips in front of him. His gaze swept across the table, voice dropping just enough to draw everyone in.
"But luck's just luck. Whether someone's actually worthy of the Stone of Glory… that's a whole different question. If I ever run into this so-called 'lucky guy,' I'd love to sit down and gamble with him. See what he's really made of."
Before the words had fully settled, Griffin let out a sharp snort.
It wasn't loud, but it cut through the room like a blade. He kept his head down, lips curled in a faint sneer—clearly unimpressed by Ethan's take.
He didn't respond right away. He was weighing something. Because out of everyone at that table, Griffin was the one who truly understood the Stone of Glory's real value.
But Ethan's calm, almost dismissive attitude rubbed him the wrong way.
"Ethan," Griffin finally said, lifting his head. His eyes were sharp as razors, voice low and laced with challenge. "Feeling lucky tonight, huh? Let's raise the stakes. Loser strips down, puts their underwear on their head, and crawls out of here like a dog."
Before anyone could react, he shoved a stack of blood-red chips into the center of the table. The clatter echoed through the room like a gunshot.
The tension snapped tight. It felt like the air itself had thickened under the weight of that bet.
Then, with a crisp snap, the dealer tapped the deck.
"Shuffle."
The word rang out clean and clear, pulling everyone's attention back to the cards and chips. The TV had switched to commercials, and the earlier buzz about the news faded into the background.
But the real spotlight was on the two quietest men at the table—Ethan and Griffin.
Because this wasn't just about money anymore. The stakes were higher than anyone dared to say out loud.
One hour later.
Only Ethan and Griffin remained at the table. The others had been wiped out in a flurry of brutal hands and aggressive raises.
The table was buried in a mountain of chips, a chaotic rainbow of plastic and promise. The air was thick with the scent of whiskey, sweat, and cigarette smoke—so heavy it felt like breathing through a wet towel.
Around them, a crowd had gathered, silent and tense, afraid to blink and miss a single move. This wasn't just a poker game anymore. This was a showdown that could change everything.
"Gentlemen, are you ready?"
The dealer's voice was low and gravelly, but that simple question made hearts across the room skip a beat.
He slowly revealed the flop:
King of Spades. Nine of Hearts. Three of Diamonds.
All eyes locked on the three cards.
Then Griffin broke the silence. He took a deep breath, eyes scanning the table like a hawk. His voice came out deep and smooth, with a Southern drawl that made it sound even more dangerous.
"Alright, folks. I'll start us off—one million dollars in the pot."
He shoved the chips forward. The sharp clack of plastic hitting felt like a starter pistol.
Ethan smiled, a glint of calculation flashing in his gray-green eyes. He reached out with long fingers, plucked a neat stack from his towering pile, and slid it forward without hesitation.
"One million? Cute. Raise—two million."
The crowd stirred. Whispers rippled through the room.
"Raising that hard right after the flop? That's insane."
"Now this is poker. This is what we came to see."
The energy in the room surged.
Griffin's eyes lit up with challenge. He doubled his stack with a snap, voice cold and sharp.
"Four million more."
The tension crackled like static.
Ethan didn't flinch. His smile deepened, slow and deliberate.
"Alright then. I'll raise you again—eight million."
...