[CONTAINS SENSITIVE CONTENT! DO NOT READ IF TRIGGERED BY DEATH, SUFFERING, BLOOD, MURDER!!!!]


I. (Written Jun 2, 2024, just back posting to make my profile less empty :3)
II. For better quality/backstory/info, please visit my site https://www.deviantart.com/lanalightspeed
III. Writing commissions and requests are open! Dm me on my main site or my insta; https://www.instagram.com/lanalightspeed/

“It’s a deal.”
A devilish smile flickered across his dark stubbled face; he was a walking, talking slot machine. Dangling a carrot in front of their faces in the form of an attractive sum of money - he lured them in to play his game. A game only he could win. A game only he knew how to play. He had agreed so quickly- his refined skills gave him no reason for pause.
The pulsing bass from the nightclub throbbed in his head, drowning out any noise of the cards being shuffled; masking out the noise of his opponent’s fate being sealed. Powerful, radiating flashes of light illuminated each crevice and scar along his mouth- bouncing off a gold tooth lodged in his jaw. White smoke, from a cigar between his teeth, curled up into the stuffy air, which was thick with anticipation. A black, pin-striped fedora, cast a well-placed shadow over the man’s cold eyes- his calculating stare never wavered for a second. Nothing went unnoticed, nothing slipped by him.
Women stuck, chirping and chattering, to his side- attracted to the addictive thrill of the game and the even better reward. Young men clapped each other on the back, exchanging notes and fat wads of cash in the shadows.

Purposeful, trained hands dealt the cards to the other 4 men sitting around the dark, mahogany table. All hats, shades and shadows- no faces, no mercy. The man flicked a silver lighter open and closed, the flame flickering to life before suddenly being smothered.
“You know the rules, boys- you’ve seen enough of these games.”
Wavers were tossed onto the table, each man reached in to grab one- hastily signing away anything they had for the most beautiful prize in the club; money.
A knowing grin cracked across his face- the beat resinating like adrenaline coursing through his veins. They were on his turf; they were going to play by his rules.
Not that he had made the rules this time; they were trying to dethrone him. They had upped the stakes- were willing to pay any price to see his reign end. It’s too bad they wouldn’t live long enough.

Hesitancy rippled through the four men as their hands danced over the cards that lay face down on the round table top. See the cards: no backing out. The man however took his hand without so much as a cautionary thought, flicking through his luck of the draw with no fear.
Electrifying waves of powerful bass worked their way through the thin walls to the high-stakes room as slowly, one by one, the men picked up their hand.
The game began; drawing and exchanging cards in an elaborate dance of mind and strategy. The anthem of the club beat was like a drug. Egging them on- whispering in their ears. Stay a little longer, dance a little harder… But tonight the club was singing a different song; one much more sinister and foreboding. One that served as a constant reminder of all that could be lost in a simple game…
With each card dropped and drawn, intensity grew- yet the man’s smile never left his face. He knew every move they were going to make before they made it; a rigged mental game.

Tossing his cards down with a casual flick of his wrist, he felt the eyes of the four men drop to the table where his ‘royal flush’ was neatly arrayed. They looked as if they had seen death- they might as well have; they knew what was coming. The man reached out, taking an arm around the pile of money and dragging it towards him. The men’s eyes were glued to the wads of cash and collapsing stacks of coins being slid slowly from their possession. In truth, the money was all a distraction. The real game was to come, and he was the end prize.
With a triumphant grin on his face, the man held out his hands; to which a young pup eagerly delivered a hefty shotgun.
“It’s nothing personal… But,” he grinned, lifting the shotgun to aim the muzzle at the chest of the boy to his left, swinging the barrel around to point at each man in turn, “Rules are rules.”

He set the brown double barrelled weapon on the round, dark table and spun it. A hushed silence fell upon the group yet the man only laughed as the gun spun, pivoting on the forend slider. As the winner; he was the only one safe from this twisted little gamble.
The men watched in dread as the gun spun round like the spinning rimmed basin of a roulette table. They suddenly yearned to be there; at the green curved bench that so many had pored over and their money into- shifting tokens around the chequered board. How they wished to be gambling with betting chips instead of their lives. But that wasn’t the version of roulette they had all vouched to play. They liked the idea of the 19^th century Russian twist on the game; but with just a little less luck involved. Winner of cards gained immunity; it seemed so simple. Their chances of ridding themselves of the victory-stealing, smugly grinning man seemed so high. Now they watched their luck going round, drowning in self-pity and remorse- their hope diminishing with each rotation of the slowing gun.

The shotgun came to a slow stop, tip facing the smallest man with rat-like yellowing teeth and a crooked nose. He turned as white as a sheet of paper. With shaking legs he began to casually stand, but instead made a lunge for the gun. The man was too fast; snatching the stock from the rat-like man’s reach and whipping the muzzle around to face him, finger stroking the trigger.
“C-come on… It- It’s just a game.” The small man reasoned, trying to keep his voice steady- hands in the air in a sign of pause. He slicked his sweat-coated hair back against his head, trying to give the impression that he wasn’t concerned. The room was quiet from the upbeat chatter that had been present just prior to the face-off. The thundering beat of the nightclub suddenly seemed so quiet.
“I suppose it is ‘just a game’…A game that you lost, Nathaniel.”
“H-how do you know my name?” The rat-like man stuttered- unable to hide the shock on his face. Even the other men at the table looked surprised.
“I know a lot of things…” The man grinned, drumming his ringed fingers on the firearm. “I also know that I could let this one slide,” he contemplated- letting the recognition and hope bloom on Nathaniel’s face.
“I’m so very grateful- I’ll-“
“-But I won’t.” The man laughed- yet there was no joy in his voice. He took a moment for the dread to register on the rat’s face. He looked desperately to the others for help- each avoided his gaze or met it with an icy glare of resent.
The man squeezed the trigger and a heavy slug spat from the muzzle. A crack like a whip with the force of a jet engine seemed to almost rock the room. The crowd cried and dove for cover unanimously.
On impact; Nathaniel’s head jerked backward violently. Whatever expression of horror had been frozen on his face was masked by the devastating mess of tissue, bone and blood. Like over-used wallpaper in a bedroom, the man’s facial remains rained over the crowd and the table. His head took the rest of the body with it- as if pulled; he tipped backwards and crumpled with a heavy thud on the monochrome, chequered floor; blood exploding out onto the polished finish.

“So!” The man announced, tucking the still-smoking shotgun under his arm and clasping his hands together in a dismissive way. The crowd slowly rose to their feet, hesitant and rattled; as if none of them had expected what they had all ignorantly had known was coming. He checked his watch as if concerned about the hands, which were sitting decidedly in the top right half of the face, “Anyone up for another game?”
The men glanced at the corpse, different emotions playing out over their faces. The man sighed and pushed his recently won money back into the middle of the table. The men exchanged glances before, one by one, they returned to their seats. Vibrant, powerful lights washed over the table.
Tapping his ringed knuckle onto the hard mahogany table, he shuffled a new set of cards and dealt them casually. The throbbing base of the club beats echoing in his ears. Every man slowly retrieved their wallet, tossing in whatever was left. The man chuckled, taking a long draw off his cigarette; Greedy bastards.