Scottsburg. 09:20 pm.
Old fire station No. 12
The steel dice rattled in Marlow's hand — black cubes with crimson pips carved deep into them like wounds.
Marlow kissed the dice once, then slammed them onto the table.
CLACK—CLACK—CLACK—ROLL…
The dice spun violently across the metal surface, ricocheting off a stack of chips, bouncing once—
—and stopping.
The announcer leaned over the rail. A spotlight snapped on.
4.
A low number. Very low.
The crowd ERUPTED.
"FOUR! FOUR! POT DOUBLE! POT DOUBLE!"
"HE'S GONNA BLEED SOMEONE!"
"No mercy, Split Jaw!"
Kojo whispered to Antonio, his voice low and taut… "Under six means pain for everyone else. When the pot doubles… the penalties double too."
Antonio narrowed his gaze.
A dangerous start.
The announcer slammed his fist on the railing.
"Marlow "Split Jaw" Wesson rolls a FOUR! You know what that means? The pot doubles! And the table bleeds penalties!"
A siren wailed overhead — short and brutal.
Penalty Phase.
The dealer placed a rusted metal bowl on the table, sliding it next to Marlow.
Inside were strips of colored cloth — each color representing a punishment.
Kojo murmured, "This is where it gets ugly."
Marlow dipped his hand into the bowl, rummaging with a smirk, then pulled out a strip.
BLACK.
The spectators howled.
"BLACK CLOTH! BLACK CLOTH!"
"He's gonna' make someone pay—HARD!"
"Pick the rookie! Pick the rookie!"
Antonio felt three sets of eyes shift to him.
Kojo's men stared like vultures circling fresh meat.
The announcer raised his megaphone.
"BLACK penalty means Split 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 — savoring every second.
He tapped the strip of black cloth against his tongue like a wolf tasting blood.
Then he pointed.
Straight at Crank, the jittery man with the goggles. The crowd screamed in disappointment — they wanted Antonio.
Crank froze, swallowing hard, breath shaking.
Marlow spoke calmly, "Pay five stacks… or pick the blade."
Crank reached for his wallet with trembling fingers, shoving money across the table — bills spilling out everywhere. He didn't even bother counting.
"TAKE IT! TAKE IT! JUST TAKE IT!"
The dealer scooped the cash without emotion.
Marlow sat back, satisfied.
The announcer roared.
"CRANK chooses PAYMENT! Seven players remain—bleeding has begun!"
The pot was now twice its original size.
Chips clattered, fists pounded the rails.
The announcer pointed down the table with a dramatic sweep.
"Next roller… TANGO GOLD TOOTH!"
Tango cracked his knuckles, gold teeth glimmering under the flickering lights.
The dice passed into his hands.
Antonio inhaled once, slow and controlled.
The game was darker than he expected.
Bloodier.
Rigged in spirit if not in numbers.
And this was only round one.
Tango "Gold tooth" leaned forward, he cracked his neck left… then right… then rolled his shoulders like a fighter preparing for the bell.
The crowd chanted his name in a low, rhythmic drone…
"TAN-GO… TAN-GO… TAN-GO…"
He scooped the dice into his tattooed palm — rings clacking against the metal cubes.
Kojo muttered to Antonio,
"Watch him. Tango don't roll dice… he intimidates them."
Tango exhaled sharply through flared nostrils and slammed the dice onto the table.
CLACK–CLACK–SKIP–ROLL…ROLL…
The cubes bounced once…
twice… spun on their corners…
…and settled.
A spotlight snapped down.
10.
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd.
"That's a high roll!"
"He's safe—SAFE!"
"Pot rises but no penalties!"
The announcer raised a fist,
"Tango Gold tooth lands a TEN! Above the danger line! Pot increases by two stacks—no penalty round!"
The dealers immediately shoved a fresh mound of cash and chips into the center pot.
It was growing massive — thick enough to change a man's life or end it.
Tango leaned back, tapping his golden teeth with one finger.
Kojo whispered,
"That's why he's dangerous — he keeps the pressure on everyone else."
But as the chips settled, the announcer held up his other hand.
"However…"
The basement went silent.
"Any clean roll above eight allows the player to invoke a Raise."
The crowd lost it.
"TANGO'S GONNA RAISE—RAISE IT!"
"MAKE THEM SUFFER!"
"CRANK GONNA DIE TONIGHT!"
Tango slowly stood from his stool. He placed his palms flat on the table. Bent forward. Looked every player dead in the eyes… before 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's lips curled. He lifted one finger…aimed it directly at Antonio…then flicked it to the side.
Pointing at Marlow.
The entire basement EXPLODED. The shift was huge. Unexpected. An insult.
Marlow slammed the table, furious.
"You little piece of—"
The announcer cut in,
"RAISE ACCEPTED! POT + FIVE STACKS! Next penalty round will trigger automatically if any roller scores under eight!"
Kojo leaned toward Antonio, his tone low.
"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 rising fast.
The pot was now a mountain of cash, watches, gold chains, deeds, guns — everything desperate men tried to save or win.
Then the announcer slammed his fist over the mic,
"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 lifted the dice… but his hands shook. Tango laughed loudly as Marlow cracked his knuckles.
And Antonio watched quietly — realizing the game wasn't just luck. It was psychological warfare.
"Roll, Crank…" the announcer hissed.
Crank swallowed. Lifted his hand… dropped the dice.
CLACK–ROLL–TURN—
They spun wildly. The crowd held their breath, and the lights flickered— The dice skittered across the table like they were running for their lives.
They bounced. Spun. Wobbled.
One landed flat. The other teetered on an edge… wobbling… wobbling…
Then it fell.
The basement lights strobed once—
Then locked on the numbers.
4.
A scream ripped from the crowd.
"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 so hard the mic shrieked.
"Crank … HAS FALLEN INTO THE PENALTY PIT!"
Crank instantly tried to stand, horrified, shaking his head violently.
"No—no—NO! Please! ONE MORE ROLL—KOJO! KOJO—!" He pleaded.
Kojo didn't move. He didn't look away either.
"Sorry, boy." he murmured under his breath. "House rules."
Two masked enforcers emerged from the far side of the basement — tall, bulky, face plates scratched from past "jobs." 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…but forced himself to look back.
He needed to understand the world he was stepping into.
The enforcers dragged Crank to the rusted pipes lining the far wall — the old fire station boiler system, repurposed into something monstrous. Hooks. Chains. Dried stains of old violence.
Crank sobbed,
"NO—NO—PLEASE—NOT MY HAND—NOT—!"
The announcer lifted his revolver. Fired into the ceiling.
"PENALTY ONE—THE BLEEDING OATH!"
The crowd ROARED.
A third enforcer stepped forward holding a jagged fireman's axe — the kind used to break through burning doors, but this one… was stained dark.
Crank's scream sliced through the basement.
"PLEASE—I WON'T COME BACK—PLEASE—TELL THEM I—AHHHHHHHHHHH—"
CHUNK. Silence. A severed pinky hit the floor. The enforcer dropped it onto a steel tray.
Blood streamed from Crank's hand as the enforcers cauterized the wound with a heated pipe — sizzling, popping flesh filling the air with a sickening smell.
Crank collapsed.
The crowd CHEERED like it was a touchdown.
"FIRST BLOOD!"
"POT GOES UP—POT GOES UP!"
"WELCOME TO THE REAL GAME!"
Antonio's jaw tightened. This was not gambling. This was sacrifice.
Kojo leaned toward him, speaking calmly — too calmly.
"You still sure you wanna 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, showing gold-capped teeth.
"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 tension was volcanic.
The announcer pointed dramatically at the next player.
"FOURTH ROLLER… LACE MONROE!"
The lady named Lace Monroe slammed her boots on the table, laughing like a demon in a burning church. Tattoos running up her neck twitched with every grin.
She grabbed the dice. Spat on them. Whispered something twisted. Then rolled with a violent snap.
ROLL—ROLL—SPIN—STOP.
The crowd leaned in. Antonio watched, as Kojo's smile faded.
Lace Monroe began laughing harder.
The dice read.
2.
The lowest roll possible. The basement erupted into insanity.
"That's TWO! A DOUBLE-PENALTY ROLL!"
"SECOND BLOOD! SECOND BLOOD!"
"HE'S DONE—HE'S DONE—!"
But Lace 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. It was about to get much darker, much faster.
Lace Monroe slammed her fists down on the table, eyes wild and blood lust shining.
"I CALL… THE ROLLER'S CHOICE!" he shouted, voice echoing like a thunderclap through the basement.
The announcer's megaphone squealed.
"The ROLLER'S CHOICE allows the player to dictate the next action… either double the pot or force another player into the penalty pit!"
The crowd went insane. Chips, money, even watches flew into the air. Spectators screamed in a mix of excitement and terror.
Lace Monroe's eyes flicked toward Marlow and Tango, but then her grin sharpened as she locked onto Antonio.
The enforcers stepped back, sensing the tension spike.
"I DOUBLE THE POT… AND YOU, ROOKIE, STEP UP NEXT!"
The announcer fired a gunshot into the ceiling. The deafening BANG! made some spectators stumble backward.
"Antonio Gonzalez!" the megaphone growled. "YOUR TURN. MAKE IT COUNT OR LOSE IT ALL."
Antonio stepped forward slowly, each breath steady. His eyes scanned the table, taking in the monstrous pot now towering with cash, chips, and personal stakes. The flickering lights cast long, grotesque shadows across the other players' faces.
Kojo leaned closer, whispering,
"Watch them. Every roll is a trap. Every number can cost more than money."
Antonio nodded subtly, placing both hands on the steel edge of the table. He flexed his fingers, feeling the cool metal against his palms, grounding himself.
The announcer pointed dramatically
"ROLL, ANTONIO! YOUR DESTINY WAITS!"
The room went silent.
He picked up the black dice — each cube heavy with expectation. The crowd leaned in, some cheering, some whispering prayers, others already calculating who would bleed next.
Antonio closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, exhaled slowly… then slammed the dice down onto the table.
CLACK—CLACK—CLACK!
The dice spun, rolling erratically across the steel surface, bouncing off a stack of chips, hitting the edge, wobbling perilously… The room held its breath.
The dice settled.
Antonio's eyes snapped open, fixed on the numbers.
7.
A tense, dangerous number.
The announcer leaned forward, voice low but piercing.
"SEVEN… THE SNAKE! CHOOSE YOUR TARGET… OR STAKE SOMETHING PERSONAL!"
Gasps and murmurs surged through the crowd.
Kojo's grin widened. Antonio's pulse quickened — he knew the stakes had just escalated to life or loss. The table waited. The basement vibrated with anticipation.
Antonio's turn had begun… and the dice had already chosen chaos as the order of the night.
Antonio's gaze swept the table. Every player's eyes were locked on him — Marlow smirking like a predator, Tango leaning back, amused, and Lace Monroe practically bouncing with manic energy. The pot towered like a golden mountain, flashing under the flickering lights.
He inhaled slowly, letting the weight of the basement sink in. Every beat of his heart seemed to echo in the cavernous space.
Kojo's voice was a whisper, but it cut through his thoughts.
"Choose wisely. One wrong move… and it's not just money you'll lose."
Antonio's hand hovered above the dice, then decisively he pulled them closer. 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. Chips rattled, money flew, and the announcer's voice boomed…
"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, eyes wide with a mix of excitement and fury.
The announcer raised his revolver and fired once into the ceiling. BANG!
The basement shook.
"PENALTY ROUND TWO… THE BLEED ESCALATES!"
From a shadowed corner, a steel tray slid across the table, revealing a wheel of fate — a spinning circle with colored sections representing escalating consequences: green for money, red for blood, black for personal risk, and purple for life-altering stakes.
Lace Monroe's grin faltered slightly as Antonio spun the wheel. Time seemed to stretch. The entire basement held its collective breath.
The wheel stopped.
BLACK.
A wave of excitement and dread swept through the crowd.
The announcer roared,
"BLACK! LACE MONROE FACES THE FULL CONSEQUENCE — SHE MUST SACRIFICE SOMETHING PERSONAL, OR THE HOUSE TAKES EVERYTHING SHE OWNS!"
Lace Monroe faltered, then 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.
The announcer barked.
"CUT THE DICE DEBT… OR FEEL THE CONSEQUENCE!"
Marlow leaned in, whispering to Tango,
"This is why you never underestimate the rookie."
Antonio's eyes didn't leave the table. He knew the stakes had gone beyond money. Each roll, each choice, each spin of that wheel could cost flesh, pride, or worse.
Lace Monroe hesitated — the room silent except for the dripping tension. Then she carved a slice across one of the stack of personal chips, a symbolic act showing she accepted the penalty… but it triggered a chain reaction.
The announcer's megaphone crackled,
"SECOND PENALTY OF THE NIGHT! POT TRIPLED! NEXT ROLLER'S CHOICE RESTRICTED! ALL PLAYERS NOW FACE ESCALATED CONSEQUENCES FOR LOW ROLLS!"
The spectators went feral. Money flew. Shouts, cheers, and curses mixed into one overwhelming roar.
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, his mind steady. He was ready. The dice were coming back into his hands. And this time, every roll could tip the table into chaos… or cost him more than he ever imagined.
The announcer pointed…
"FIFTH ROLLER… ANTONIO GONZALEZ. LET'S SEE WHAT YOU'VE GOT."
The dice slid across the table to him. The crowd leaned in, the air electric.
Antonio exhaled, gripping the cubes. He knew what had to be done.
Antonio rolled the dice between his fingers. Every eye in the basement was on him. The lights flickered again, as if the entire place were holding its breath just for him.
Kojo stayed perfectly still behind him, arms folded, his expression unreadable.
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 tumbling across the table. They bounced, clattered, spun… then slowed… finally—
8.
A low murmur rippled through the basement. Not a disastrous roll. But not a safe one either.
The announcer's voice boomed,
"EIGHT! MID-RANGE! PENALTY OR BOUNTY — PLAYER'S CHOICE!"
Marlow sneered. Tango exhaled slowly, calculating. Lace Monroe chuckled, still wiping the blood from her earlier penalty.
The announcer leaned forward.
"Well, Antonio? What'll it be? You choosing your own fate… or someone else's?"
Antonio knew the game now — hesitation meant weakness.
"I choose bounty." he said.
The crowd erupted… they loved risk-takers.
The announcer slammed the megaphone on the table and snapped his fingers.
"Bounty wheel! NOW!"
Two enforcers rolled out a smaller wheel — silver, 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 into the dirt.
"Spin it, boy."
Antonio gripped the metal and spun. It screeched, groaned, and whipped around with violent speed. The crowd leaned in as the symbols blurred.
The wheel slowed…
and slowed…
Click. Click. Click…
Then stopped. A bullet, A hush fell.
The announcer froze. Then grinned — too wide.
"Well now… looks like we landed on Retribution Bounty."
Marlow let out a long whistle.
Tango muttered, "Oh, this is gonna get messy."
The announcer straightened his coat, lifted the revolver he always kept holstered at his hip — the same one he fired to start rounds — and spun the cylinder with a flick of his wrist.
Six chambers. One bullet. Russian roulette — but 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."
Gasps. Screams. A few cheers from the truly deranged ones.
Antonio didn't flinch, but his jaw tightened.
Kojo whispered behind him,
"Welcome to the real stakes."
The announcer stepped away from the table, revolver dangling loosely from his fingers, strolling casually toward the crowd like a man picking fruit from a garden.
Then— A drunk spectator near the railing shouted,
"THIS IS RIGGED! HE CHEATED THAT SPIN—"
He never finished.
The announcer turned, lifted the revolver, and shot him in the head mid-sentence.
BANG.
The man dropped instantly.
The crowd screamed — not in fear, but in thrill.
Blood splattered across the faces of the closest gamblers, who immediately started laughing and cheering.
The announcer blew the smoke from the barrel.
"—Never interrupt me."
He turned back to the table, expression calm, as two enforcers dragged the corpse away leaving a long red smear on the concrete.
He tapped the megaphone.
"ALRIGHT! ROUND FIVE FINAL ACTION COMPLETE! BACK TO THE TABLE!"
Antonio stared at the dead body being hauled into a dark corridor, then at the dice waiting for him again. The game wasn't slowing down — it was accelerating.
Kojo placed a hand on Antonio's 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, wiping the blood droplets off his cheek with a twisted smile.
He lifted the megaphone again.
"LISTEN UP! AFTER ROUND FIVE… THE POT NOW SITS AT—"
He slammed a thick fist on the table.
"$12,000,000!"
The basement ERUPTED.
Chairs crashed. People jumped. Two women started shaking each other. One dude fainted. Another ripped his shirt off and screamed:
"YO THAT'S A HOUSE DEPOSIT!"
Spectators slapped the rails, chanting louder and louder,
"STACK IT UP! STACK IT UP! STACK IT UP! STACK IT UP!"
Even the lights flickered harder, like the building itself was sweating from the heat of the money.
Antonio's heart thudded.
Not from excitement — from recognition.
Twelve million wasn't gambling money.
That was debt money. That was blood money. That was the amount Kojo said he "Could potentially walk out with."
His eyes narrowed.
Kojo wasn't helping him.
Kojo was auditioning him — testing him — seeing if Antonio could swim in the deep end or drown like the rest.
Kojo stood behind him with that calm, cold expression… like someone watching a man pick his own coffin.
Antonio clenched his jaw.
Kojo didn't bring him here to play.
He brought him here to prove something. To whom? That was still unclear.
But Antonio felt it tightening around him — the invisible rope.