Sensing the shift in the room, Leslie began activating her contingencies. She finally retrieved her comms unit—a device she'd kept hidden for hours, fearing a search might reveal the tech. Now, the risk was worth it. As she switched it on and tucked it into her ear, she began whispering in coded undertones to the strike team waiting in a van outside the casino. The last words to crackle through the earpiece were, "We're on our way."
But as she turned, her heart sank. The new player they were suspecting had his pistol pressed against the head of the unknown figure. Backup was minutes away, but the situation was unraveling in seconds. With a heavy sigh and the weight of a hero's mantle she never asked for, Leslie lunged, delivering a sharp, unexpected karate chop to the man's neck.
***
The new player felt a sudden, searing jolt of pain. He'd expected the goth girl to shiver or cry at the sight of a gun—not use martial arts to trade blows.
Despite the stinging shock, he kept his face a mask of cold aggression, hiding his mounting uncertainty over who to aim at first.
"I'm taking all your money," he growled, trying to regain his footing. "And then I'm killing all of you."
He leveled the gun between the unknown figure and Leslie, trying to keep them both suppressed. "Fill these bags with cash!" he barked. He watched as the two players began to comply, but he didn't feel in control. He shot frantic glances toward the door, expecting the Game Master to appear at any moment.
He was caught in a desperate contradiction: he wanted the Game Master to stay away so he could steal the entire pot for himself, yet he also wished for the backup. He didn't know how much longer he could keep the two players scared with just a gun and a bluff. As he watched them shove cash into the bags, he wondered what was taking the Game Master so long to arrive.
***
The unknown figure wore an expression of shock when the gun was pointed at him, but not out of fear. He wore it to entertain the notion that the newcomer was in charge, allowing Leslie the space to execute her plan.
Things derailed when he thought Leslie was going to snipe the player; instead, she delivered a mild chop to the neck, merely alerting the gunman to another threat. Leslie had blown her cover, and while their original plan was now flawed, it was still a plan. As the unknown figure stashed money into his bag, he scouted the room for improvised weapons.
His gaze shifted from the chairs and coupons to Leslie, and he whispered, "I must say, it isn't every day you see a karate chop like that."
"Was it that bad?" she whispered back. "I suck at karate. It's been a long time since the dojo; I mostly just punch my problems out at the gym."
"I hear you, sister," he replied. "However, I wouldn't call a self-defense skill that saved my life 'bad.' It was great... kind of."
"Kind of?"
They shared a brief, silent look before breaking into laughter. Sensing their bizarre lack of fear, the gunman grew desperate. "This is no time for jokes! This gun is loaded!"
He fired a round into the ceiling to seize control. But instead of reduced pleas or tearful silence, the room turned cold. The two players stared back at him with mysterious smiles, reaching a silent, temporary agreement to end the threat standing between them.
By the time the gunman fired his warning shot, Leslie's backup had already neutralized the remaining ringleaders of the fraudulent game. When the gunman—provoked by the mocking smiles of Leslie and the unknown figure—flipped his safety catch, he found himself staring down the barrels of several tactical rifles.
The choice was simple but agonizing: kill the two people who ruined him and die instantly, or drop the weapon and accept responsibility. As cold sweat drenched his body and a pulsing headache set in, he realized the cash-filled bags were never going home with him. With a heavy clatter, the pistol hit the floor. He chose to "live to see another day."
Throughout the standoff, Leslie and the unknown figure whispered to grate on the gunman's nerves while their minds raced through the facts. The unknown figure realized his escort hadn't been part of the fraud; she was a gullible pawn who had helped the new player out of the "goodness" of her heart. Noting that everyone makes mistakes, he chose to forgive her.
However, her latest act was what helped him realize the Game Master had been the one pulling the strings all along. The Game Master had hired both the Hispanic woman who upped the stakes and the new player that was currently holding them at gunpoint. He had revealed his hand the moment he removed the "trickster" from the game; shortly after the Game Master returned to the lobby, the escort had emerged yelling, "It's a trap!" Although she wasn't one to consider the consequences of her actions, the unknown figure was delighted to know she had cared enough to try to warn him.
Leslie, meanwhile, noted the gunman's hesitation. Even after her karate chop made her a target, the gunman remained too disheveled and indecisive to act. Her greatest clue, however, was the silence. If the "New Player" were truly the ringleader, the Game Master would never have watched idly as the table's money was transferred; he would have already plotted a double-cross. The most revealing part of the charade was the gunshot—when the blast failed to bring a single person from within the lobby to the scene of where the shot was fired, Leslie knew her backup had arrived.
Both looked bored as an eager soldier explained the situation; their detective minds had already deduced everything. Once the report ended, the unknown figure turned to Leslie.
"How do you propose we pair this money?"
Leslie, assuming her role as Major, didn't even look back as she walked toward the exit. "Equally," she said, directing a squad member to collect the funds.
The unknown figure watched with a heavy sigh as his hard-won earnings were hauled away. His greedy heart couldn't let it go, and he wiped away a stray tear as he received his "equal" share: a mere two million dollars.