Scottsburg. 09:20 pm.
Old fire station No. 12
The steel dice rattled in Marlow's hand, white cubes with crimson pips carved deep into them like wounds. Marlow kissed the dice once, then rolled them onto the table. 'Clack—Clack—clack' The dice ricocheted off a stack of chips, then stopped. The announcer leaned over the rail. A spotlight snapped on; 4, a very low number. The crowd erupted. "FOUR! FOUR! POT DOUBLES! POT DOUBLES! HE'S GONNA BLEED SOMEONE! No mercy, Split Jaw!" Voices from the crowd had told. Kojo whispered in Antonio's ear "I forgot to mention, under six means pain for everyone else. When the pot doubles… the penalties double too. Meaning he can choose to use his penalty advantage now… or store it for later." Antonio narrowed his gaze. The announcer slammed his fist on the railing "RIP Jaw rolls a FOUR! You know what that means? The pot doubles! And the penalties as well!" he shouted, a siren wailed overhead, 'Penalty Phase: Round one'—the screen above lit up. The dealer placed a rusted metal bowl on the table and slid it next to Marlow. Inside were strips of colored cloth, each color represented a punishment. "This is where it gets ugly." Kojo murmured. Marlow dipped his hand into the bowl; he rummaged then pulled out a strip, 'BLACK.'
"BLACK CLOTH! BLACK CLOTH! He's gonna' make someone pay—HARD! Pick the rookie! Pick the rookie!" the spectators howled. Antonio felt three sets of eyes on him. Kojo's men stared like vultures, then the announcer raised his megaphone. "BLACK penalty means, RIP Jaw chooses ANY player to take the hit. A tax. A sacrifice. Money, flesh, or favor?" A heavy silence fell. Marlow looked around the table slowly—he savored every second, he tapped the strip of black cloth against his tongue. Then he pointed straight at Crank. The crowd screamed in disappointment. Crank froze; his breath shook. "Pay ten stacks… or pick the blade." Marlow said. Hastily, Crank reached for his wallet then he shoved money across the table—bills spilled out everywhere. "TAKE IT! take it! just take it. That's all I have." Crank exaggerated.The dealer scooped the cash. Marlow sat back, "Crank chooses PAYMENT! Seven players still remain; the bleeding has begun!" the announcer roared. The pot was now twice its original size, chips clattered, the announcer pointed down to the table. "Next roller… TANGooo GOLD TOOTH!" Tango cracked his knuckles; his gold teeth glimmered under the light. The dice passed into his hands. Antonio inhaled slowly, the game was darker than he expected. Bloodier, rigged in spirit if not in numbers, and this was only round one.
Tango leaned forward, he cracked his neck left… and right… then he rolled his shoulders. The crowd chanted his name in a rhythmic drone "TAN-GO… TAN-GO… TAN-GO…" He scooped the dice into his tattooed palm; his rings clacked against the cubes. "Watch him. Tango don't roll dice… he intimidates them." Kojo whispered behind Antonio. Tango flung the dice onto the table. 'CLACK–Clack–Roll…roll' The cubes spun on their corners and settled. A spotlight snapped down; 10, a collective gasp rippled through the crowd. "PENALTY! That's a high roll! He's safe—SAFE! Penalty!" The announcer raised a fist "Tango lands a TEN! Above the danger line! Pot increases by two stacks—and now!" The dealers immediately shoved a fresh mound of cash and chips into the center pot. It was growing massive. Tango leaned back, "That's why he's dangerous, he keeps the pressure on everyone else." Kojo whispered. But as the chips settled, the announcer held up his revolver. "However." The basement went silent. "Any clean roll above nine allows the player to invoke a Penalty." The crowd lost it. "TANGO'S GONNA RAISE—RAISE IT! MAKE THEM SUFFER! CRANK GONNA DIE TONIGHT!" Tango stood up from his stool, he placed his palms flat on the table and looked every player dead in the eyes… his gaze stopped on Antonio. The crowd sensed it. "A NEW RAISE TARGET! LOOK AT HIM! He's sizing up the rookie! DO IT, TANGO!" Tango smirked. He lifted one finger…aimed it directly at Antonio—but then flicked it to the side, he Pointed at Marlow. The entire basement exploded. Marlow slammed the table furiously. "You little piece of—" The announcer cut in, "Five hundred thousand bucks. RAISE ACCEPTED! pot plus five stacks! Next penalty round will trigger automatically if any roller scores above nine!" Kojo leaned in close toward Antonio "See that? Tango ain't trying to survive. He's trying to provoke. Push Marlow into reckless rolls. When this table gets angry… men get stupid. And stupid men lose everything." he said. Antonio kept his face neutral, but tension coiled inside him. Stakes were rose fast. Suddenly some bodyguards arrived with a Defibrillator, one guard Stripped of Marlow's shirt and tied him to his chair—and held him tightly. The guard turned on the AED, while the other Attach the pads to Marlow's bare chest. The guards stepped back a little and raised the Defibrillator to seven hundred joules. One guard charged the handles up, then forced it against Marlow's chest. "Ah!" he cried loudly. The guard stopped and left with the Defibrillator; the other guard untied him. Marlow coughed uncontrollably, the pot was now a mountain of desperate deeds. Then the announcer thumped his palm over the mic "Round two: Reverse switch—with a little twist, and our third roller… Crank! Quiet man… big trouble."
Crank grabbed the dice with trembling hands. Kojo muttered to Antonio, "He fears Marlow more than death itself. If he rolls low… he's done for." Crank picked the dice… but his hands shook. Tango laughed loudly as Marlow cracked his knuckles. "Roll, Crank." the announcer hissed. Crank swallowed, lifted his hand… then he rolled the dice. 'CLACK–roll–clack' They spun wildly. The crowd held their breath; the dice skittered across the table. The basement lights strobed once; 4, a scream ripped from the crowd. "WHAT A BAD TIME TO ROLL A FOUR?! HE'S DEAD—HE'S DEAD! FIRST BLOOD! FIRST BLOOD! He rolled BELOW the danger line!" The announcer slammed his palm on the metal table "Crank … has fallen into the penalty pit!" Crank instantly tried to stand, horrified. "No… no… NO! Please! ONE MORE ROLL—KOJO! KOJO!" He pleaded. Kojo didn't move, he didn't look away either. "Sorry, boy." he replied. "House rules." Two masked enforcers emerged from the far side of the basement, tall and bulky. They grabbed Crank by both arms as he fought and kicked. "WAIT… WAIT…PLEASE! I CAN PAY, LET ME PAY! KOJO—PLEASE, PLEASE!" But the crowd screamed louder than he ever could. "BLOOD—BLOOD—BLOOD—BLOOD!" Antonio turned away for half a second. The enforcers dragged Crank to the rusted pipes that lined the far wall, the old fire station boiler system, repurposed into something monstrous, hooks, chains and dried stains of old violence. Crank sobbed "NO… NO—PLEASE, NOT MY HAND…NO!" The announcer lifted his revolver then fired into the ceiling. "PENALTY ONE—THE BLEEDING OATH!" The crowd roared. A third enforcer stepped forward with a jagged fireman's axe. Crank's scream sliced through the basement. "PLEASE… I WON'T COME BACK—PLEASE—TELL THEM I—AHHHHHHHHHHH!" CHUNK!
Silence. Both of his hands—severed, hit the floor. The enforcer dropped it onto a steel tray. Blood streamed from Crank's hands as the enforcers cauterized the wound with a heated pipe, it sizzled, popped flesh filled the air with a sickening smell. Crank fainted. The crowd cheered. "FIRST BLOOD! POT GOES UP—POT GOES UP! WELCOME TO THE REAL GAME!" Antonio's jaw tightened. Kojo leaned in "You still sure you want to sit at this table?" he asked. Antonio didn't flinch; he looked Kojo dead in the eyes. "This is nothing compared to what the world already took from me." he replied. Kojo grinned "That's the spirit."
The announcer raised his arms. "THE GAME CONTINUES! POT IS NOW AT THIRTY-SEVEN STACKS PLUS ASSETS!" people slammed more money onto the side tables, guns, watches, car keys, even a deed to a nightclub. The announcer pointed dramatically at the next player. "FOURTH ROLLER… LACE MONROE!" Monroe slammed her boots on the table; she laughed like a demon in a burning church. She grabbed the dice—spat on them, then whispered something twisted. She rolled with a violent snap. 'ROLL—Roll—clack.' The crowd leaned in. Kojo's smile disappeared. Monroe laughed harder; 2, The lowest roll possible. The basement erupted instantly. "That's TWO! A DOUBLE-PENALTY ROLL! SECOND BLOOD! SECOND BLOOD! SHE'S DONE—SHE'S DONE!" But Monroe slammed both palms on the table and screamed "I INVOKE MY RIGHT—THE CHALLENGER'S LOOP!" Kojo muttered "Oh hell… here we go." The crowd went feral. Monroe slammed her fists down on the table again. "I call… the rollers choice!" she shouted. The announcer's megaphone squealed. "The roller's choice allows the player to dictate the next action… in exchange for everything they have on house, either double the pot and move on to choice of player where they could suffer the consequence if they roll below the danger line or force another player into the penalty pit!" The crowd went insane. Chips, money and watches flew into the air. Monroe's gazed at Marlow and Tango, but then her grin sharpened as she locked onto Antonio. The enforcers stepped back "I DOUBLE THE POT… AND YOU, ROOKIE, STEP UP NEXT!" BANG!
The announcer fired a gunshot into the ceiling. "Antonio Gonzalez!" the megaphone growled. "You turn; make it count or lose it all." Antonio's eyes scanned the table. The lights casted grotesque shadows amongst the other players' faces. Kojo leaned closer "Watch them. Every roll is a trap. Every number can cost more than money." he whispered. Antonio placed both hands on the steel edge of the table. The announcer pointed dramatically "Roll Antonio, your destiny awaits!" The room went silent. He picked up the white dice. The crowd cheered, some whispered prayers while others already calculated who would bleed next. Antonio closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, then flung the dice down onto the table. 'CLACK—Clack—clack!' The dice spun erratically, then the dice settled. Antonio's eyes snapped open; 7, a dangerous number. The announcer peeked over the rail. "Seven, the snake, choose your target or stake something personal!" Gasps and murmurs surged through the crowd. Kojo's grin widened. The table waited, the basement vibrated with anticipation. Antonio's gaze swept the table. All player's eyes were locked on him, Marlow smirked like a predator, Tango leaned back and Lace Monroe practically bounced with manic energy. The pot towered like a golden mountain. He inhaled slowly, "Choose wisely. One wrong move… and it's not just money you'll lose." Kojo whispered. Antonio's hand hovered above the dice, he placed the seven in the center of the table and made his choice clear. "I'm taking the personal stake." he said, his voice calm but firm. "And the player I choose to face the penalty… is Lace Monroe." The crowd erupted in a mixture of cheers and gasps. "Antonio chooses the personal penalty on Lace Monroe!" The enforcers didn't hesitate. They grabbed Lace Monroe by the arms, but she wasn't intimidated. She laughed maniacally, her eyes wide with excitement and fury. The announcer raised his revolver, BANG! he fired once into the ceiling. The basement shook. "Penalty Round three—The bleed escalates!"
From a shadowed corner, a steel tray slid across the table, it revealed a wheel of fate, a circle spun with colored sections that represented consequences; green for money, red for blood, black for personal risk, and purple for life-altering stakes. Monroe's grin faltered slightly as Antonio spun the wheel then the wheel stopped. RED. "RED! LACE MONROE FACES THE FULL CONSEQUENCE — SHE MUST SACRIFICE SOMETHING PERSONAL, OR THE HOUSE TAKES EVERYTHING SHE OWNS!" the announcer roared. Monroe faltered and laughed bitterly "Fine. Let's see who's really the king tonight." The enforcers produced a small black box, its contents hidden under a blood-red cloth. Lace Monroe opened it reluctantly. Inside, a knife with a serrated edge, sharpened to perfection. "Cut the dice debt… or feel THE CONSEQUENCE!"
"This is why you never underestimate the rookie." Marlow said to himself. Monroe hesitated—the room was silent. Then she carved a slice across her face, and she dropped her blood on her chips. The announcer's megaphone crackled "Second penalty of the night! Pot tripled! Next roller's choice is now forbidden! All players now face escalated consequences for low rolls!" Kojo leaned in close to Antonio again "You're up next. Watch, learn, survive. One misstep… and the game devours men." Antonio clenched his fists. The dice came back into his hands. The announcer pointed "Fifth roller… Antonio Gonzalez. Let's see what you got?" Antonio exhaled, he gripped the cubes. Antonio rolled the dice in hands. Every eye in the basement was on him. The lights flickered again. Kojo stayed perfectly still behind him. The announcer tapped his megaphone against his palm impatiently. "Player number four… Antonio Gonzalez. Roll." Antonio inhaled once, then snapped his wrist and sent the dice—they tumbled across the table, 'CLACK—Clack—clack' then it stopped; 8, A low murmur rippled through the basement. The announcer's voice boomed "EIGHT! Mid-range! Once reverse switch had begun, the number eight get a new function, receive a Penalty advantage or place a bounty?"
The announcer leaned forward. "Well, Antonio? What'll it be? You are choosing someone to bleed or hold a maximum point bounty on one of the players?" Antonio knew the game now hesitation meant weakness. "I choose bounty." he said. The crowd erupted, the announcer slammed the megaphone on the table "Bounty wheel! NOW!" Two enforcers rolled out a smaller wheel, silver and jagged, dented from years of use. Instead of colors, this wheel had symbols of money stacks, knives, bullets, handcuffs, blindfolds, and one ominous blank space in the center. The announcer spat onto the table. "Spin it, boy." Antonio spun the metal. It screeched and whipped around with violent speed. Then the wheel slowed… and slowed…Click. Click. Click;a bullet, A hush fell. The announcer froze with a devious grin. "Well now… looks like we landed on Retribution Bounty." Marlow let out a long whistle. "Oh, this is gonna get messy." Tango muttered. The announcer straightened his coat, lifted the revolver and spun the cylinder with a flick of his wrist. Six chambers. One bullet. House Russian roulette—but with a twist, the shot was not for the players. It was for the crowd. The announcer raised the megaphone "As per Retribution Bounty—The house collects a life from the spectators, and twenty stacks is given to the roller." Gasps and screams. A few cheers from the truly deranged ones. Antonio didn't flinch "Welcome to the real stakes." Kojo whispered behind him. The announcer jumped down from the grate, the revolver dangled loosely from his fingers, he casually strolled to the crowd. Then, a drunk spectator near the railing shouted "THIS IS RIGGED! HE CHEATED THAT SPIN—" BANG!
He never finished. The man dropped instantly and the crowd screamed. Blood splattered across the faces of the closest gamblers. The announcer blew away the smoke from the barrel. "Never interrupt me." he said. He went back to the grate, as two enforcers dragged the corpse away—a long red smear left on the concrete. He tapped the megaphone. "Alright, round five final action—is now complete! Back to the table!"
Antonio stared at the dead body being hauled into a dark corridor, Kojo placed a hand on his shoulder. "This is only the beginning. Keep your head cold… or it'll be on the floor next." The announcer raised his voice, "ROUND SIX—Mbali, you're up next!" The announcer stomped back toward the main table; he wiped the blood droplets off his cheek. He lifted the megaphone again. "Listen up! After round five… the pot now sits at—" He slammed a fist on the table. "Twelve million bucks!" The basement lost it. Chairs crashed, people jumped. Two women started shook each other and one guy fainted. Spectators slapped the rails "STACK IT UP! STACK IT UP! STACK IT UP! STACK IT UP!" they demanded. Antonio's heart thudded, his eyes narrowed, he clenched his jaw. Kojo did not bring him here to play. He brought him here to prove something. To whom? That was still unclear. But Antonio felt it tighten around him, like the invisible rope.