Scottsburg. 09:03 pm.
Old fire station No. 12
The sky was washed-out gray, the sun struggling through clouds as Antonio's car rolled slowly down the cracked side street. The fire station rose ahead — a huge, abandoned brick structure, its red paint long faded, windows boarded or broken. The rusted firehouse doors were tagged in graffiti, the kind that warned outsiders to keep moving.
Antonio parked a few meters away, engine ticking as it cooled. He stepped out, the cool night air brushed him awake. The place smelled like rain, metal, and old smoke — the ghost of what the building used to be.
A single security camera whirred, tracking him as he approached.
Kojo's people were already watching.
Antonio shoved his hands into his pockets and walked toward the side entrance — a black metal door slightly cracked open, humming with quiet tension.
He paused in front of it.
Exhaled.
Then Pushed it open.
Inside, the fire station was dim, lit only by industrial lamps hanging from chains. Two men in dark clothing stood by the wall, eyes locked on Antonio—clearly expecting him.
Overhead, footsteps echoed from the metal catwalk.
Then a voice drifted down.
"Gonzalez… you early." Kojo said.
Antonio stepped fully inside, letting the door shut behind him.
"Let's get this over with." he replied.
Kojo's footsteps were slow, his silhouette appearing on the iron catwalk above before his face came into the light. He wore a loose black vest, chains tapping against his chest, and sunglasses—even that permanent half-smirk like he already knew the ending to every story he walked into.
He descended the metal stairs, each clang echoing through the hollow station.
Halfway down, his smirk widened.
"Aye… my boy Antonio." Kojo said, his arms open.
Antonio didn't flinch — didn't smile — but he stepped forward. Kojo pulled him into a brief, firm hug, slapping his back once before stepping away.
"Still have those dangerous eyes I see." Kojo said. "Means you ain't lost your touch."
Antonio gave a quiet exhale…"Let's skip the poetry." he said.
Kojo chuckled. "Same old Gonzalez."
He motioned with two fingers. "Come. Let's walk."
They journeyed deeper into the fire station, through a long concrete hallway. The further they went, the louder the atmosphere became — muffled shouts, laughter, the thump of aggressive bass. Something metallic crashed, followed by wild cheering.
Antonio frowned slightly. "You running a circus down here?" he asked.
Kojo smiled without looking at him. "Basement's busy today. New recruits think they're lions."
A loud bang shook the wall, "Most of 'em are house cats." Kojo added.
They reached a rusted elevator shaft — the elevator slid open, replaced with a steel staircase dropping down into flickering red light. The noises were clearer now… gloves hitting flesh, music vibrating the walls, and multiple voices shouting over each other.
Kojo stopped at the top of the stairs.
"Alright, listen close." he said, his voice shifted — losing the humor, and gaining Authority. "You call me for ten million… that ain't small-boy business. So here's how this works."
Antonio folded his arms. "Go on."
Kojo held up a finger.
"One— I get you the money. All of it. Clean, fast, and nothing that ties back to you."
Another loud thud shook dust from the ceiling.
"Two— My people run security on your end. You don't choose 'em. You don't question 'em. You just use 'em."
Kojo stepped down one stair.
"Three—From the moment you take that bag… you're tied to me. Not like a rope. Like concrete."
Antonio's jaw tightened. "I'm not joining your little empire." he replied.
Kojo laughed. "Relax, my boy. I don't need you as an employee. I need you as an investment. And you need me, because of the storm you're about to walk into?"
He pointed downward as another roar erupted from below.
"You're gonna need monsters." he added.
Antonio didn't respond — didn't have to. His silence was an answer.
Kojo continued.
"And four… the most important rule."
He leaned closer.
"Don't lie to me. About anything. Not what the money is for, not who's involved, not what you expect to happen. You lie?"
He tapped Antonio's chest lightly.
"I will know." Kojo threaten calmly.
The basement crowd roared again — then a sound of a body hitting the floor.
Kojo smiled.
"You ready? 'Cause once we go down there… the deal starts."
Kojo motioned him forward, and the two began their descent.
The staircase rattled beneath their feet.
As they reached the lower hallway, Antonio instantly picked up the shift in atmosphere — colder, damper and darker. The air had a scent of smoke, bleach, and something metallic that clung to the tongue.
Kojo spoke casually, like they were walking through a mall.
"Don't mind what you hear. Basement's got… different departments."
They walked past the first side room.
Inside, a group of people lounged around with predatory smiles, their behavior intimate in a way that was unsettling rather than erotic. The lighting was red, silhouettes tangled in ways that felt wrong. A woman holding a cigarette blew smoke through a wide grin as a man nervously crawled at her feet.
Kojo didn't even slow down.
"Some folks come down here to lose themselves. Others come to find out what kinda person they really are." he said.
The next room was far worse.
A man screamed — not a cry for help, but the kind that shook the lungs raw. Antonio tensed on instinct. Someone inside laughed — mixed with the sound of something heavy being dropped.
The floor vibrated.
Kojo gave Antonio a look.
"Relax. They're debtors working off what they owe. Costs money to keep the lights on."
Blood — dried and smeared — painted the lower edge of the doorway. Not splattered, and not fresh.
Antonio exhaled slowly, forcing calm into his voice.
"You run all this?" he asked.
Kojo smirked.
"I supervise it. People do what they do." he replied.
They continued until the corridor widened, swallowing them into the main basement.
And the place was colossal.
A fire-station layout, but twisted — pipes exposed, brick sweating moisture, fans spinning overhead. The lighting flickered in sickly yellow intervals, giving everything a jittery, haunted heartbeat.
At the center of it all sat a massive steel table, scarred from years of abuse.
On it was a dice, chips, stacks of cash, liquor bottles, knives (for "penalties"), and more dice.
Crowds packed all sides — silhouettes leaning forward, cheering, shouting, banging on railings. The adrenaline in the air was thick enough to choke on.
This wasn't a simple dice game.
This was a tournament, a ritual, a battlefield?
Spectators filled every corner — men in suits, women in fur coats, young boys with face tattoos, old heads with blank expressions. The vibe was electric but unnervingly predatory.
Kojo stepped forward proudly, spreading his arms.
"Welcome to Kayland my boy."
As they moved through the crowd, people parted for Kojo like water for a ship. Whispers followed.
Kojo's pupils sharpened as he spotted a group ahead — three men standing confidently, arms crossed, expressions carved from stone.
"These." Kojo said, stopping in front of them, "are my people."
The first was tall and thin with a scar running from his ear to his jaw.
The second had gold teeth and eyes that never blinked.
The third was built like a retired linebacker, silent and watching Antonio with the patience of a butcher picking his cut.
Kojo tapped Antonio's shoulder lightly.
"Boys, this is the man I told you about. The one with the ten-million problem."
All three men nodded slowly, sizing Antonio up.
Scar-Jaw spoke first.
"So this the one who needs the impossible?"
Kojo grinned.
"He's the one who's gonna pay for it."
The dice table erupted with screams as someone won — or lost — something big.
Kojo tilted his head toward Antonio.
"Ready to step into the real part?"
The crowd surged forward as Kojo guided Antonio toward the main steel table. The air changed — thicker, hotter, humming with greed and blood lust. The flickering lights above them buzzed like a swarm of angry insects.
A bell clanged twice. Then the announcer emerged.
A tall man in a silver blazer stood on a raised grate above the table, holding a rusted megaphone in one hand and a revolver in the other. His face was painted white like a carnival mask, only his cracked smile visible.
He raised both arms.
"WELCOME… to ROUND ONE of tonight's Golden Dice Royale!"
The crowd thundered in response — whistles, stomps, screams. Someone threw a bottle that shattered against a column.
The announcer continued,
"Tonight's game is King's Snake — you roll, you rise, you fall, or you crawl out missing something!"
The spectators roared again.
Kojo leaned in toward Antonio.
"Simple rules. You roll two dice. Land under six, the pot doubles. Over nine, you choose who bleeds penalties. Seven or eight? That's the Snake — you pick a player to knock out, or stake something personal." he said.
Antonio clenched his jaw.
This wasn't gambling.
This was violence disguised as chance.
The announcer now pointed to the players.
"ON THE TABLE TONIGHT… we welcome our veterans!"
He gestured theatrically toward Kojo's three men.
First…
"Marlow 'Split Jaw' Wesson!"
Scar-Jaw raised his chin, tapping the scar that made his nickname.
The crowd cheered like they were worshiping a gladiator.
Next…
"Tango Gold tooth!"
Gold teeth flashed as Tango gave a single slow blink.
Then…
"Barkus the Bull!"
The huge man rolled his shoulders. The floor vibrated.
"And joining us… a newcomer. A wildcard."
The announcer smirked down at Antonio.
"Antonio. Gonzalez. Hmm… that name sounds familiar, the name of a veteran we once lost."
The crowd lost it.
Screams echoed like sirens.
People pounded the walls, stamping their feet.
Antonio stayed still, eyes cold. He'd been underestimated before.
The announcer wasn't done.
"And tonight — because the Pit is feeling generous — we have THREE MORE players!"
Three strangers stepped forward from opposite corners, as the Crowd shouted wildly.
A petite woman with tattoos from chin to wrist, holding a butterfly knife,
"Lace Monroe!"
And a jittery, hunched man wearing goggles,
"Crank!"
And lastly, a black woman—tall, stunning and dressed in a sublime lingerie.
"Mbali 'the executioner' Legato!"
The announcer opened his arms wide.
"SEVEN PLAYERS. ONE TABLE. NO EXITS UNTIL THE GAME SAYS SO."
A tense silence followed.
Then—
BANG!
The announcer fired the revolver into the ceiling.
Concrete dust fell like snow.
"THE GAME… HAS BEGUN!"
Instantly, chaos erupted.
Spectators surged toward the rails, waving stacks of bills, screaming numbers, betting on players' lives like it was sport.
Dealers rushed forward, slamming down crates of chips.
Bundles of cash hit the pot.
Gold watches, keys, rings, and even a prosthetic arm were tossed in.
The pot became a mountain — a glittering, dangerous monument.
The dealer at Antonio's side slid a stack of clay chips toward him.
"Ante up." he muttered.
Antonio placed his buy-in — a thick band of money he couldn't afford to lose.
Across the table, Marlow cracked his knuckles.
Tango tapped the steel surface rhythmically.
Barkus drummed his fingers like he was waiting for a victim.
The crowd leaned in as the announcer growled.
"FIRST ROLLER… Split Jaw!"
The dice hit the table.
The crowd froze.
And Antonio felt the pit begin to swallow him.