"Twenty million credits," Vance rasped. His voice was thinner now, the neurotoxin beginning to numb his vocal cords. "I buy the right to order."
Greed raised an eyebrow, his fingers dancing over the transfer interface. "Authorized. You are spending my money with abandon, Mr. Vance. I hope you have a plan to pay it back."
"I'm investing in the future," Vance said, his hand trembling slightly as he reached for the menu tablet.
The numbness had moved from his fingertips to his wrists. His chest felt heavy, as if he were breathing through a wet towel. He had to consciously command his diaphragm to expand and contract.
Focus. The mixture needs a binder.
Vance stared at the menu. Gluttony was expecting another attempt at thermal overload—fuel rods, plasma cells, liquid hydrogen. The giant wanted a fight of fire against fire.
Vance scrolled to the bottom of the list, past the weapons-grade energy sources, back to the raw materials section.
"I order for you..." Vance turned the tablet around, his movements sluggish. "The Industrial Starch Paste."
The room went silent for a heartbeat.
Then, Gluttony roared with laughter. The sound was like grinding gears. Steam puffed from his vents, smelling of ozone and arrogance.
"Starch?" Gluttony mocked, slamming his fist onto the table. "You spent twenty million credits to feed me laundry paste? Are you trying to bore me to death?"
"It's dense," Vance whispered, forcing a weak smile. "I thought it might fill you up."
"Fill me up?" Gluttony stood up, the floorplates groaning under his weight. "I am a fusion reactor! I burn matter into energy! I will incinerate this sludge in seconds!"
A droid wheeled in a large, industrial drum filled with a thick, white, viscous substance. It was high-density carbohydrate paste, used for 3D printing cheap food rations or sealing dry-wall.
Gluttony didn't bother with a spoon. He grabbed the drum with both hands and upended it into his maw.
GULP. GULP.
The thick white paste vanished into the grinder.
Vance watched the glass chamber in Gluttony's stomach with intense focus.
Inside the reactor, the new ingredient met the pool of melted collagen jelly from the first round. The tungsten mixer blades spun violently, whipping the two substances together.
Protein and Carbohydrate.
Separately, they were harmless fluids. But mixed together under heat and pressure, they began to change. The white starch suspended itself in the clear collagen, turning the liquid into a cloudy, non-Newtonian slurry.
It wasn't fuel. It was the precursor to a high-grade bioplastic.
The matrix is set, Vance thought, his vision swimming. Now, the environment.
He tapped his tooth implant three times in a rhythmic code.
Nyar. Seal the room.
Somewhere in the facility's electronic nervous system, the code took hold.
High above them, the hum of the massive industrial ventilation fans changed pitch. They didn't stop—that would trigger a failure alert—but the blades pitched down, reducing airflow to a cosmetic whisper.
Simultaneously, the climate control units clicked. The dehumidifiers shut down. The misting system, usually reserved for cleaning, began to spray a fine, invisible vapor into the air intake.
The atmosphere in the banquet hall shifted.
It became heavy. Wet. Stifling.
Condensation began to bead on the cold metal walls and the silver platters. The air grew thick, losing its ability to carry heat away from surfaces.
Gluttony didn't notice. His internal sensors were monitoring his core temperature, not the ambient humidity. He wiped the white paste from his lips, his reactor humming contentedly as it burned the easy sugars in the starch.
"Is that it?" Gluttony belched. "I feel nothing. Just a little warmth."
He looked at Vance with pitying eyes.
"You are out of ideas, little man. And you are running out of time."
Gluttony tapped the menu.
"My turn. No bidding required. I own the house."
"Arsenic-Laced Truffles."
The dish was placed before Vance.
"Heavy metals to go with your neurotoxin," Gluttony grinned. "Let's see if your kidneys fail before your lungs do."
Vance looked at the black, dusted truffles. He smelled the metallic tang of the arsenic.
He couldn't refuse.
He picked up the fork. His hand was shaking so badly he almost dropped it. He forced the truffle into his mouth and swallowed.
The second poison hit his system. A wave of nausea rolled over him, violent and sharp. His vision tunneled. The edges of the room went black.
"He's dying," Greed observed, checking his watch. "Heart rate is forty and dropping. Organ failure imminent."
Vance gripped the edge of the table. He needed to stay conscious. He needed one more round.
The mixture in Gluttony's stomach was churning, waiting for a catalyst. The air in the room was saturated, ready to trap the heat.
"One..." Vance gasped, blood dripping freely from his nose now, staining his shirt. "One... last... bet."
"Double... Down."