Chapter 114
Avengers
Arc 8 - Ch 6: The Devil's Due
Tuesday, February 14, 2012.
Location: Bellagio Resort & Casino, Las Vegas, Nevada
Darth Vader strode across the casino floor of the Bellagio. The iconic black armor and helmet concealed his identity, the costume blending seamlessly with the eclectic mix of high rollers and revelers that populated the bustling casino. Slot machines chimed and whirred, punctuated by the occasional whoop of victory or groan of defeat. Cocktail waitresses weaved through the crowd, their trays laden with colorful drinks. The air was thick with the scent of cigarette smoke and perfume.
The costumed Sith Lord made several circuits of the casino floor, passing craps tables where dice clattered, roulette wheels that spun hypnotically, and poker tables where stone-faced players guarded their emotions as fiercely as their chips.
As he completed his third lap, Vader locked onto a figure seated at a blackjack table. The man wore a purple suit that stood out garishly against the muted tones of the casino decor. His posture exuded confidence, bordering on arrogance, as he casually tossed chips onto the felt. Two cocktail waitresses flanked him, attending to his needs instead of their duties.
As he approached, the purple man, Kilgrave, glanced up from his cards. As he took in the sight of Darth Vader, he spoke, his voice carrying a crisp British accent. "What are you coming to arrest me? I'm not a rebel."
Kilgrave's amusement was evident as he held out his empty glass to Darth Vader, not bothering to look at him directly.
"Get me another drink," he commanded.
Vader took the glass, turned, and walked towards the bar, his cape billowing behind him. At the bar, he waited patiently as the bartender prepared Kilgrave's drink, watching the liquid swirl in the glass.
Liquor and Coke. But unseen by the bartender or any patrons, silver streamed from his gloves and sank into the drink. Glass in hand, he made his way back to the blackjack table. As he approached, Kilgrave looked up expectantly.
"Ah, excellent," Kilgrave said, raising the glass in a mock toast before taking a sip. "You know, for a mindless drone, you're not half bad at following orders."
He turned his attention back to the game, seemingly dismissing Vader's presence. The dealer began a new hand, sliding cards across the green felt. Chips clattered as bets were placed, the other players at the table studying their cards with varying degrees of hope and resignation.
Vader stood behind Kilgrave, his imposing figure casting a shadow over the table. The two women flanking the purple-suited man remained relaxed. To anyone watching, they appeared to be nothing more than eye candy, there to bring luck to the flamboyant gambler.
Kilgrave sipped his drink, his attention focused on the cards in front of him. His fingers drummed lightly on the edge of the table as he considered his next move.
"Hit me."
The dealer obliged, sliding another card across the table. Kilgrave's lips curled into a smile as he looked at his new card. He placed more chips in his betting circle, clearly feeling confident about his hand.
The hand played out, with Kilgrave emerging victorious. He laughed, the laugh of a man who believed himself untouchable.
"Another round," he declared, gesturing for the dealer to continue. He glanced at the waitresses on either side of him. "You ladies bring me luck. I think I'll keep you around for a while."
But then Kilgrave's triumphant grin faltered. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, one hand moving to his stomach. His face scrunched in confusion as he felt an odd churning sensation deep in his abdomen.
"Bloody hell," he muttered, pressing his palm against his midsection. The discomfort was building rapidly, like someone was stirring his insides with a spoon.
He glanced at the two cocktail waitresses flanking him. "Wait here, girls. Don't move a muscle until I get back." Kilgrave pushed back from the table, his movements slightly stiff as he fought against the increasing abdominal distress. "Dealer, hold my seat. I'll be right back."
He made his way across the casino floor, trying to maintain his swagger despite the mounting discomfort. The bathroom was mercifully close, and he pushed through the door. The men's room was upscale; marble countertops, polished fixtures, and spacious stalls. Kilgrave hurried to the handicapped stall at the end, grateful for the extra room. He fumbled with the lock, his hands trembling slightly as another wave of pain rolled through his stomach.
Finally, in the stall, he quickly pulled down his pants and sat heavily on the toilet seat. "What the bloody hell did I eat?" he groaned, doubling over as the churning sensation intensified.
The bathroom door opened with a soft creak, and measured footsteps echoed off the tile floor. Kilgrave barely registered the sound, too focused on the increasingly violent sensations in his gut.
A metallic click resonated through the bathroom as the stall door's lock mechanism disengaged. Kilgrave looked up, confused, just as the handicapped safety rail beside him began to groan and bend.
"What the—" he started to say, but his words were cut off as the rail suddenly tore free from the wall with a shriek of metal and a shower of tile fragments.
The stall door swung open.
The rail moved, wrapping around his neck like a silver serpent. Kilgrave's eyes widened in terror as his air supply was abruptly cut off. He clawed at the metal coiled around his throat, his legs kicking frantically. Through his oxygen-starved vision, Kilgrave saw the figure in black armor and cape standing in the doorway.
Darth Vader with one gloved hand extended.
"Your power pales in comparison to the Force," Vader intoned in that unmistakable mechanical voice, his hand slowly closing into a fist.
Kilgrave's struggles grew weaker, his vision darkening at the edges. The last thing he saw was the iconic black mask staring down at him.
When Kilgrave's body finally went limp, Vader held out his other hand. The silver mercury that had been inside Kilgrave's system reformed into a small ball and rolled across the floor, reached the toilet, and disappeared down a drain. A sword materialized in his grasp, not a lightsaber, but something far less exotic, a ninjato. With a precise slash through the air, reality seemed to tear open, creating a shimmering portal within the confines of the stall.
Without ceremony, he grabbed Kilgrave's lifeless form and dragged it through the dimensional gateway. The portal snapped shut, then immediately reopened, and the Sith Lord reappeared, without the body, leaving no trace of Kilgrave.
Vader stepped out of the stall, straightened his cape, and walked calmly toward the bathroom exit. As he emerged from the bathroom, two scantily clad Stormtroopers flanked him immediately. But instead of heading directly for the exit, Vader made his way back to the blackjack table where Kilgrave had been playing.
The two cocktail waitresses remained exactly where they'd been left, like beautiful statues beside his empty chair. Their eyes stared straight ahead, unblinking, still waiting for their master's return. The dealer had moved on to other players, but the women hadn't budged an inch.
Vader reached up and pushed back the black lenses of his helmet, revealing piercing gray eyes underneath. He made direct eye contact with the first waitress, then the second. "You may return to your work and lives," he said.
Both women blinked, their faces showing the first signs of confusion in over an hour. They seemed like they wanted to move, to step away, but their feet remained rooted to the spot. Kilgrave's influence had taken hold too deeply. His pheromone-based control was still coursing through their systems.
Tyson pushed his power deeper, letting his illusions seep into their minds. Where Kilgrave's control worked through chemical manipulation, pheromones that hijacked the brain's reward centers, Tyson's abilities operated on a completely different level. His illusions could override all the senses simultaneously. He projected the sensation of wakefulness into their consciousness; the feeling of fog lifting, of being able to breathe deeply for the first time in hours. His power washed over the artificial chemical commands, dissolving them like water washing away chalk.
The first waitress blinked rapidly, her hand flying to her throat as if she'd been choking. The second stumbled backward, shaking her head as awareness flooded back into her eyes.
"I... what was I...?" the first woman whispered, looking around in confusion.
"You're free now," Vader said simply, pulling the lenses back down over his eyes. "Go home. Forget this night."
Both women nodded shakily and hurried away without looking back.
Vader turned from the table and rejoined his Stormtrooper companions. Together, the trio moved with purpose toward the casino exit, leaving no trace of their true mission behind.
The costumed Sith pushed through the revolving doors and out into the cool night air of Las Vegas. The trio made their way down the crowded sidewalk, their costumes blending in among the throngs of tourists and street performers.
They entered the nearby Waldorf Astoria. It was even more upscale than the casino had been, with crystal chandeliers casting a warm glow over marble floors and gilded furnishings. A few curious glances were cast their way as they crossed the lobby, but in a city like Las Vegas, even Darth Vader and a pair of sexy Stormtroopers barely raised an eyebrow. The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing a mirrored interior that multiplied their costumed reflections.
The elevator opened directly into their Presidential Suite. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of the Las Vegas Strip. Plush sofas and furnishings filled the spacious living area, while a fully stocked bar sat in one corner.
Once inside, they removed their helmets, revealing their true identities. Tyson, Darth Vader, was the first to remove his mask, then the mask he wore under the costume mask, which supplied clean oxygen. It was a precaution they'd all taken, hence the costumes. Felicia shook out her white hair, running her fingers through it to smooth out the helmet-induced tangles.
Maki, the other stormtrooper, turned to him. "Congrats on completing your first assassination mission. Though I'm still not sure why you brought me along. That went flawlessly."
"I brought you in case I failed. You could have taken him out from afar before he even realized you were there. It was the safest option." He paused, studying her face. "We had to have a backup plan in case something went wrong and he got control of me."
Felicia perched on the arm of a nearby sofa. "I didn't even see how you killed him. One second he's winning at blackjack, the next he's excusing himself to the bathroom. Then you vanish for like two minutes and come back and undo his control."
"I slipped mercury in his drink," Tyson explained. "It wouldn't have killed him that way, but I moved it around enough that he thought it was a stomach ache. After he went to the bathroom, I choked him, so he couldn't say any commands, then I brought his body to Limbo."
Felicia's eyebrows rose. "Kind of brutal."
"He earned it," he replied without hesitation. "And because his stay wasn't on the books, his disappearance will go unexplained, and likely no one will look for him."
"So why'd you really bring me, then?" Felicia asked. "I doubt it was for my sharpshooting skills."
Tyson's expression grew softer as he watched her move. "Because I didn't take you to Tony Stark's birthday party, or the Stark Tower opening. I didn't want to leave you out of Vegas." He hesitated, then added quietly, "Plus, it's Valentine's Day. It's the anniversary of our date when we robbed Oscorp."
Felicia's teasing smile widened into something more genuine. "It's so sweet that you remember the anniversary of the first time we made love."
"That wasn't how I framed it, but, yeah," he agreed. Moving to the bar, Tyson poured himself a glass of scotch. "Let's get out of these costumes. What do you want to do now that the work is done?"
"Well, we are in Vegas. How about we hit the casino? I've got a feeling Lady Luck might be on our side tonight."
Maki shook her head, settling deeper into her chair. "You two go ahead. I think I'll order room service and enjoy this view for a while. Maybe hit the spa later."
"Of course you do," Tyson said, raising an eyebrow. "Blackjack or poker?"
"Blackjack," she replied without hesitation. "I've got a system."
Tyson took a sip of his scotch, savoring the smoky flavor as it rolled across his tongue. He glanced at Maki, who had turned her attention to the Las Vegas Strip beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows.
"Are you sure you don't want to join us?" he asked. "It's not often we get to let loose like this."
Maki turned from the window. "Let loose? In a casino? That doesn't sound like your style."
Felicia chimed in, recognizing an opportunity to draw out Maki's rarely seen playful side. "Oh, come on. Live a little. We just pulled off a flawless mission. We deserve to celebrate."
"Felicia's right," Tyson agreed, setting down his glass. "Plus, it's not every day we're in Vegas with the mission already completed. We've got time to enjoy ourselves."
Maki raised an eyebrow, curiosity beginning to override her reluctance. "And what exactly do you have in mind for this celebration?"
"Well," Tyson began, noting the subtle shift in her posture, "we could start with some blackjack. Felicia has a system."
"It's foolproof. Well, mostly."
"And after that?" Maki pressed, despite her initial resistance.
Tyson shrugged. "Who knows? We could catch a show, hit up a club. This hotel has three pools. The night is young, and Vegas is our oyster."
Maki leaned back in her chair, considering. The way she worried her lower lip told him she was genuinely tempted. "I don't know. Casinos aren't really my scene..."
"Think of it as a training exercise," he suggested, knowing she would appreciate the practical angle.
Felicia laughed, shaking her head. "Only you could turn a night out in Vegas into a training opportunity. Super romantic there."
Maki's lips quirked into a smile, and Tyson recognized the exact moment her resistance crumbled. "He's not wrong, though."
He moved closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Plus, we could really clean up at the tables. Not that we need the money, but it could be fun to outsmart the house."
Maki's eyes widened with mock horror. "Tyson Smith, are you suggesting we cheat?"
"Not cheat," he clarified. "Just... use our natural advantages. Think of it as a challenge. How well can we do without getting caught?"
Felicia clapped her hands together, practically vibrating with excitement. "Oh, I like this idea. It's like a heist, but legal. Well, mostly legal."
"I can't believe I'm even considering this."
Tyson grinned, sensing victory. "When was the last time you did something just for the thrill of it?"
She sighed, "I ambushed a teenager in Chinatown, and he escaped on a motorcycle."
Tyson latched on to the day they met, replying, "And see how well that turned out."
Maki still looked hesitant, but there was unmistakable excitement in her dark eyes. "Fine. But if any of us gets caught, I'm blaming you."
Felicia let out a whoop of joy. "That's the spirit! Now, let's get changed. I don't want to hit a casino looking like we just stepped off a Star Wars set, again."
As they moved towards their respective rooms to change, Tyson caught Maki's arm gently. "Thanks for coming along. It means a lot to have you here. I appreciate you always watching my back."
Her expression grew warm. "Someone has to keep you two out of trouble."
He chuckled. "I think we might just be the ones causing the trouble tonight."
A few minutes later, Tyson emerged from his room, dressed in a sharp black suit that accentuated his muscular frame. He paused as Felicia stepped out of her bedroom, wearing a slinky black dress that hugged her curves. The way she moved in it was pure feline grace, all confidence.
"Looking good," he murmured appreciatively.
"I always do," she replied with a wink.
Maki stepped out of her room, and both of them turned to look. She wore a stunning red dress that clung to her athletic figure, similar to Felicia's; it exuded elegance and confidence. She'd even let her hair down.
Felicia let out a low whistle. "Well, well, well. Look who let her hair down for once. You're going to turn some heads tonight."
Maki rolled her eyes, but color rose in her cheeks. "It's just a dress, Felicia. Nothing special."
Tyson studied both women, and smiled slyly. "How about we make this evening a bit more interesting?" he challenged.
Felicia's ears practically perked up at the suggestion. "I'm listening," she purred, leaning against the back of a nearby chair.
"A little bet," he explained, his grin widening. "We each start with $1000. Whoever comes back with the least amount of money loses."
Maki raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite herself. "And what does the loser have to do?"
Felicia tapped a finger against her chin, considering. "It has to be something good. Something... daring."
To both Tyson and Felicia's surprise, it was Maki who suggested, "The loser has to skinny dip in the hotel pool."
Tyson's eyebrows shot up, and Felicia let out a delighted laugh. "Maki!" she exclaimed, eyes wide with surprise. "I didn't know you had it in you!"
"What? It's Vegas. Isn't that what people do here? Live a little dangerously?"
Tyson chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "You've been hanging around Felicia too long. She's clearly a bad influence."
"Speak for yourself," Felicia retorted. "I think I'm an excellent influence on our ninja assassin. Look how much fun she's having already."
Maki rolled her eyes again, but asked, "So which casino are we hitting? Please tell me it's not one of those tacky, over-the-top places on the Strip."
Felicia perked up immediately. "Actually, I saw one earlier that caught my eye. It's called the Devil's Den. It's a bit off the beaten path, but it looked intriguing."
"Devil's Den?" Tyson repeated. "Sounds ominous. What made it stand out?"
"It just had this... allure. Dark exterior. Not as flashy as the other casinos. Plus, I overheard some high rollers talking about it. Apparently, it's where the real action happens."
Maki nodded thoughtfully. "Sounds perfect for our little wager. Fewer eyes if we get caught bending the rules a bit and need to make an escape."
Tyson clapped his hands together. "Alright, ladies. Shall we head out? The night awaits, and we've got some money to win... or lose, as the case may be."
As they waited for the elevator, Felicia nudged Maki gently with her elbow. "So, skinny dipping, huh? That was unexpected coming from you," she teased.
"Well, if I'm going to let loose, might as well go all out, right?"
Tyson chuckled as he pressed the elevator button. "Just remember, it was your idea when one of you ends up taking that midnight swim."
The elevator arrived with a soft ding, and they stepped inside. As the doors closed, Felicia couldn't resist adding, "You know, regardless of who wins or loses, I think we should all go for that swim. It could be fun."
Tyson and Maki exchanged amused glances. The elevator began its descent, carrying them towards an evening of excitement, risk, and perhaps a bit of rule-bending.
As they exited the hotel, the neon lights of Las Vegas engulfed them. The air was electric with the sounds of music, laughter, and the constant chiming of slot machines spilling out from nearby casinos. Tyson hailed a cab, and they piled in. Felicia gave the driver directions to the Devil's Den, and the cab left the glitz and glamour of the main Strip behind. As they traveled, the scenery gradually changed. The towering, light-adorned hotels gave way to smaller, more discreet buildings. The crowds thinned, and the atmosphere shifted from boisterous excitement to a more subdued vibe.
"Are you sure about this place?" Maki asked, peering out the window.
"Trust me, this is where the real action is. Those tourist traps on the Strip are for amateurs," Felicia assured.
Unlike the gaudy neon signs that dominated the Strip, the Devil's Den was marked by a subtle, red-lit sign. The exterior was all black glass and polished stone, exuding an air of exclusivity and mystery. As they stepped out of the cab, Tyson handed the driver a generous tip. The three of them stood on the sidewalk, taking in the sight of the casino. The entrance was guarded by two imposing bouncers, scrutinizing the approaching patrons.
"Well," Tyson said, straightening his tie, "shall we?"
Felicia prowled toward the door. "Let's show this place what we're made of."
They approached the entrance, the bouncers giving them an appraising look. After a moment, one of the bouncers nodded and stepped aside, allowing them to pass. As they entered, the sounds of the outside world faded away, replaced by the soft murmur of conversation, the clink of chips, and subtle background music. The interior was a stark contrast to the flashy casinos they left earlier. Dark wood paneling and plush, deep red carpets created an atmosphere of refined luxury. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the gaming tables, where serious-faced players focused intently on their cards and chips.
Felicia grinned, clearly pleased with herself. "Told you it would be worth it. Now, let's get started."
— Rogue Redemption —
"The Devil's Den casino. You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. We must be cautious," Tyson intoned as they entered.
Felicia rolled her eyes and held out her hand expectantly. He gave ten crisp $100 bills to the two stunning women at his side.
Rows of slot machines blinked and chimed. Deeper into the casino, high-stakes poker tables were shrouded in a haze of cigar smoke. Men in expensive suits and women dripping with jewelry eyed each other warily over their cards. But the tables didn't discriminate; there were also college students and dolled-up soccer moms. In shadowy corners, there seemed to be less savory deals being struck, whispered conversations punctuated by furtive glances. The bar along the far wall was crowded with both winners and losers, the latter distinguishable as they stared at the bottom of their glasses.
"Ladies, let's review the stakes, shall we?" His tone was light, but there was an edge of competitiveness beneath the surface.
Felicia smirked, understanding the game all too well. "Oh, honey, we remember. Whoever ends up with the least amount of money by the end of the night loses," she explained as her fingers trailed along Tyson's arm.
"And the loser must... skinny dip in the hotel pool," Maki added. "It is an appropriate consequence. Public embarrassment serves as effective motivation. Though I suspect... neither of you would find such exposure particularly distressing."
"You're right," he admitted. "I walk around House of M naked all the time." Both women stopped and stared at him. "What? Illusions, you know." He said, waving off their shock. The two women continued to stare until he burst out laughing. "Kidding. I'm kidding. Exhibitionism is Mystique's thing, not mine."
"Uh-huh," Felicia said, unconvinced. "I'm going to check with Wednesday and look over the recordings just to be sure."
"I'm Wednesday's favorite. She wouldn't snitch on me. Anyway, remember, this is all in good fun. We're not here to..."
His words were cut short as a commotion erupted near them. Two burly men in ill-fitting suits were dragging a third man between them. The unfortunate soul's feet barely touched the ground as he was hauled toward a door marked 'Private'.
"Please!" the man begged, his voice cracking with desperation. "I just need more time! I can get the money, I swear!"
The other patrons studiously ignored the scene, their focus fixed on their games or drinks.
Tyson's jovial mood evaporated. He turned to Felicia and Maki, lowering his voice. "Let's not forget why we're here. Don't go into debt or end up like that guy, understood? We don't need the money. This is just for fun. Accept your loss with dignity and a dip in the pool."
Felicia watched the man disappear behind the door, her playful demeanor sobering. "Agreed. I've seen what happens to people who can't pay their debts. It's never pretty. Should we do something to help him?"
Tyson shook his head. "We're not here to draw attention to ourselves. I'm sure they won't hurt him too badly. If they kill him, they can't collect. Rough him up a little, and let him go. He'll be back around and might bring enough to cover his debts. Besides, I'm on vacation. We're far enough from New York that I haven't been noticed. I'd like to keep it that way."
Maki nodded solemnly. "Understood. We shall exercise appropriate caution."
As the trio prepared to split up and try their luck, the muffled sounds of pleading could be heard from behind the closed door.
Inside the owner's office, a massive desk dominated the room and behind it sat Mr. Degli, a man whose very presence seemed to suck the warmth from the air.
Degli regarded the trembling man before him with the dispassionate air of a predator eyeing wounded prey.
"Mr. Thompson," Degli said, his voice smooth as oil and twice as slick. "I understand you've run into some... difficulties with your account."
Thompson, his shirt stained with sweat and panic radiating from every pore, nodded frantically. "Y-yes, Mr. Degli. But I swear, if you just give me a little more time, I can..."
Degli raised a hand, silencing Thompson mid-plea. "Time, Mr. Thompson, is a luxury you can no longer afford." He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the surface of his desk. "However, I'm feeling... generous tonight. I'm prepared to offer you a deal that will absolve all your debts to this establishment."
Hope flickered across Thompson's features, quickly followed by suspicion. "What... what kind of deal? It's nothing sexual, right? I don't swing that way, but to remove all my debt…"
A cold, predatory smile spread across Degli's face. "Nothing too onerous, I assure you. In exchange for clearing your considerable debt, I require only one thing."
"My virginity?"
"Your soul."
Thompson blinked, confusion replacing trepidation for a moment. "My... my soul? But that's not... I mean, souls aren't real, right?"
Degli's smile widened, revealing teeth that seemed just a touch too sharp. "Oh, I assure you, Mr. Thompson, souls are very real. And very valuable. So, what do you say? Your immortal soul in exchange for a clean slate. Seems more than fair, doesn't it?"
Thompson didn't believe in souls, in any mystical nonsense. But if it would get him out of this mess... "Alright," he said, his voice steadier than he felt. "If that's what it takes to settle my debts, you can have my 'soul'."
"Excellent," Degli said, rising from his chair. He produced a small, ornate dagger from his jacket pocket. "This will only take a moment."
Before Thompson could react, Degli had grasped his hand and made a small cut across his palm. "By blood freely given, by words freely spoken, I claim this soul as payment rendered."
The air in the room seemed to thicken, an oppressive weight pressing down on them. Thompson felt a chill pass through him, as if something essential had been torn away. He staggered, suddenly light-headed.
Degli's eyes glowed as he released Thompson's hand. "Our business is concluded, Mr. Thompson. Your debts are cleared." His tone turned mocking. "Do enjoy the rest of your evening. What remains of it, anyway."
As Thompson was ushered out of the office, his legs unsteady and his mind reeling, Degli returned to his seat. He pulled out a ledger bound in human skin and made a neat entry. Another soul claimed, another fool parted from something far more valuable than mere money.
Outside, oblivious to the transaction that had just taken place, Tyson, Felicia, and Maki had gone their separate ways. Each was determined to win their little wager, unaware of the true stakes being played for in the shadowy corners of the Devil's Den.
Felicia sauntered through the casino, letting her instincts guide her. She approached a bank of penny slots, adorned with gaudy superhero themes. A machine featuring a cartoonish Iron Man caught her attention. "Well, Tony," she said, sliding into the seat, "let's see if you're feeling generous tonight."
She inserted a $20 bill and started with modest $1 bets. The reels spun, a cacophony of electronic beeps and jingles filling the air. On her third spin, the symbols aligned; three watermelons in a row. The machine erupted in a fanfare of lights and sound.
"$250," Felicia murmured. "Not bad for a warm-up."
She played a few more spins, then cashed out, pocketing $310. Weaving through the crowded casino floor, Felicia let her instincts guide her. She passed rows of bleary-eyed gamblers, their hopes pinned on the next spin. A glint of silver caught her attention.
"You look lonely, handsome," she said, settling into another machine. This time, she started with $5 spins, the stakes climbing with her confidence. The board lit up, and suddenly she was riding a wave of small wins. $50 here, $75 there. Before long, her initial stake had grown to $750.
She was on a roll, but the real thrill lay in pushing her luck further. Her attention drifted to the high-limit area, cordoned off by velvet ropes. That's where the real action waited.
As she approached, a burly security guard eyed her suspiciously. Felicia flashed him her most disarming smile. "Don't worry, big guy. I'm housebroken."
The high-limit slot area was a different world. The machines showed minimum bets that would make most gamblers blanch.
Felicia's attention locked onto a machine in the corner. It was older than the others, its casing showing signs of wear. However, there was something about it that drew her in. The minimum bet was $100 per spin. She hesitated for a moment, her fingers hovering over the buttons. The responsible part of her brain whispered that she shouldn't; the odds were terrible. But then another thought crossed her mind. If she lost it all, she'd have to resort to Plan B.
Hanging off Tyson's arm and playing the eye candy.
Followed by skinny dipping.
The idea sent a delicious shiver down her spine. Winning at gambling was thrilling, but so was the thought of skinny-dipping for Tyson and the beautiful assassin, Maki.
"Well," Felicia murmured, her lips curving into a wicked grin, "nothing ventured, nothing gained."
She inserted her winnings and set the bet to $100. The reels spun, a blur of colors and symbols. The first spin, nothing. The second was a small payout, barely covering the bet. Felicia's heart raced with each spin, the thrill of potential loss almost as intoxicating as the prospect of winning. She rode a rollercoaster of near-misses and small wins. Her credits hovered around her initial buy-in, neither growing nor shrinking significantly. Logic urged her to walk away, to be content with breaking even.
"One more spin," she told herself, a mantra repeated by countless gamblers before her. "Just one more."
She hit the button, and the reels began their hypnotic dance. As they slowed, one by one, the symbols aligned in a row of lucky 7s stretched across the pay line.
The machine erupted in a frenzy of lights and sound. She stared in disbelief as the credit meter climbed higher and higher. Nearby players turned to gawk, drawn by the commotion.
When the dust settled, Felicia found herself staring at a win of $50,000.
A floor manager appeared as if by magic, wearing a plastered-on smile.
"Congratulations, ma'am," he said. "If you'll just come with me, we'll process your winnings."
Felicia rose from the machine. As she followed the manager to the cashier's cage, her thoughts drifted to Tyson and Maki. She wondered how they were faring in their little wager. With this windfall, she was certainly in the lead. But the night was still young, and she wouldn't push her luck any further.
After accepting her winnings, she turned to find Tyson, but her instincts prickled. Despite her winnings, something about this place, about this whole setup, felt off. But she shook off the feeling. Questions for another time. Right now, she had friends to impress. With a toss of her platinum hair and a confident stride, Felicia Hardy melted back into the casino.
Elsewhere on the casino floor, Maki scanned the room, assessing each game. Poker had too many variables. Slots relied purely on chance, and Maki had never trusted outcomes to forces beyond her control when she had the option. Then she observed the craps table.
This was a contest of skill disguised as chance.
She approached the table, observing the players with keen interest. The shooter, a portly man in an ill-fitting suit, was on a hot streak. The crowd cheered as he rolled another winner, chips being pushed toward the eager bettors.
Maki positioned herself at the corner of the table, close enough to watch but not so close as to draw attention. She needed to understand the flow of the game, to blend in before making her move. Her fingers twitched slightly from muscle memory and countless hours of training. In her mind, she was already calculating trajectories, force, and rotation. The same principles that let her place a blade exactly where she wanted it.
As the current shooter's luck finally ran out, Maki saw her opportunity. She stepped forward.
"I would like to shoot."
The stickman, a lanky man with a practiced smile, nodded and pushed the dice toward her. "New shooter coming out," he called.
Maki picked up the dice, feeling their weight. To anyone watching, she appeared to be just another hopeful gambler. But beneath her calm exterior, her mind was working overtime. She knew exactly what she needed to throw, and more importantly, how to throw it.
She started small, placing a modest bet on the pass line. No need to draw undue attention. Maki shook the dice casually and unhurriedly. But as she released them, her wrist snapped with microscopic precision using the same control that made her so deadly with Muse.
The dice tumbled across the table, bouncing off the far wall. They came to rest showing a three and a four. "Seven, winner," the stickman called out.
Maki allowed herself a small nod of satisfaction as her winnings were pushed toward her. She placed another bet, this time on the six. Again, she threw the dice with seemingly carefree abandon. But each roll was calculated, each bounce and spin accounted for.
Her chip stack grew steadily. She was careful not to win too consistently, occasionally allowing herself a loss to maintain the illusion of chance. But more often than not, the dice obeyed her commands, landing exactly as she intended. A small crowd had begun to gather around her, drawn by her streak of apparent luck. Maki ignored them, focusing solely on the game. She overheard snippets of conversation, whispers of a "hot shooter" and "beginner's luck."
If only they knew the truth, she thought with quiet amusement. This was not fortune. This was a skill honed through years of rigorous training, the same precision that had served her in far more deadly circumstances than a casino floor.
As her winnings crossed the five-figure mark, Maki recognized that she was drawing too much attention. A floor manager had appeared, watching the game with poorly concealed interest.
It was time to wind things down.
She placed one final bet, smaller than her previous ones but not suspiciously so. She picked up the dice, going through the now-familiar motions. But this time, she allowed a tiny imperfection in her throw, just enough to seem normal. The dice skittered across the table, coming up just short of her intended result.
"Seven out," the stickman called. The crowd groaned in disappointment.
Maki stepped back from the table, adopting an expression of controlled disappointment. "That concludes my participation. I thank you for the game."
She collected her chips, ignoring the pleading looks from other players who had been riding her streak. As she made her way to the cashier's cage, Maki allowed herself a moment of satisfaction. She had executed her strategy flawlessly, converting her initial stake into a substantial sum without arousing suspicion. The mission parameters had been satisfied. She was in an advantageous position.
After splitting from the girls, Tyson strode through the Devil's Den, considering his next move. Felicia and Maki were formidable opponents, but they didn't have his unique advantage. His attention locked onto the roulette tables, and his grin widened.
Perfect.
As Tyson approached, he could already feel the subtle pull of the magnets beneath the wheel. It was like a whisper against his skin, a secret shared between him and the machinery. He took a seat at the least crowded table, nodding to the dealer, a petite woman.
"Place your bets," she called, her voice carrying over the constant chatter and electronic beeps of the casino.
Tyson spread his chips across the table, careful to make his bets look random. A few on red, a couple on even numbers, and one on a specific number.
The dealer spun the wheel and released the ball. As it clattered around the rim, Tyson reached out with his powers. He didn't need much, just a gentle nudge here, a slight pull there. The ball danced to his silent commands, finally settling into the pocket he'd chosen.
"Twenty-nine, black," the dealer announced.
Tyson collected his winnings and placed his next set of bets, again spreading them out to avoid suspicion.
As the night wore on, Tyson continued his careful dance with chance. He won more often than he lost, but never consistently. When he felt eyes lingering on him for too long, he'd intentionally lose a few spins, cursing under his breath for show.
A small crowd had gathered around his table, drawn by what they perceived as a hot streak. Tyson played to their expectations, sharing high fives with his neighbors when he won and groaning dramatically when he lost.
"Lady Luck's on your side tonight, eh?" a portly man in an expensive suit commented, watching Tyson's growing stack of chips.
"You know how it is. Sometimes you're hot, sometimes you're not. I'm just enjoying the ride while it lasts."
As his winnings approached five figures, Tyson decided it was time to move on. He cashed out his chips, tipping the dealer generously. No need to be stingy. The night was still young, and there were plenty more games to play. His attention settled on the craps tables, and a new idea formed.
Craps was a game of chance, true, but chance could be influenced. Tyson saw Maki was also playing, so he approached a different table, feeling the familiar tingle of metal within the dice. He wasn't sure if the weight in the dice was there to prevent tampering or to lean the rolls in a certain direction, but it didn't matter. Metal was in the dice, playing right into his hands.
He waited for his turn to shoot, placing modest bets to start. When the dice came to him, Tyson cupped them in his hands, feeling their weight and the slight pull of the metal within. He shook them, more for show than necessity, then let them fly.
The dice tumbled across the table, their path subtly guided by Tyson's powers. They came to rest, showing exactly what he needed. The table erupted in cheers.
He continued to play, careful to mix his wins with occasional losses. The key was to appear lucky, not infallible.
"Hot shooter!" someone called out, and more players crowded around, eager to ride Tyson's streak.
"I've never seen anything like it," a wide-eyed young man said, staring at Tyson with awe. "What's your secret?"
Tyson winked, tapping the side of his nose. "If I told you, it wouldn't be a secret anymore, would it?"
As the night wore on, Tyson moved from game to game, always careful to stay away from purely electronic machines. With each game, his winnings grew, as did his confidence. This was almost too easy.
It wasn't long before Felicia sidled up to him, her lithe form pressing against his side. Her hands traced the contours of his chest, fingers dancing over the fabric of his shirt. Tyson's arm instinctively wrapped around her waist, pulling her close.
"And my good luck charm has arrived," Tyson announced.
One of the men at the craps table, a middle-aged fellow with a receding hairline, watched Felicia with obvious appreciation. "Getting a girl like that probably used up all your luck," he quipped.
"Then hopefully she brought some with her."
Felicia pressed herself closer, her body molding against Tyson's side. Her scent, a mix of vanilla and jasmine, enveloped him. Her platinum hair tickled his arm as she leaned in.
"How about a kiss for luck?" she whispered, her lips brushing against his ear.
Tyson turned his head, capturing her lips in a brief but passionate kiss. The onlookers whooped and cheered, adding to the electric atmosphere around the table. As he prepared for his next roll, Felicia's hands never left him. Her fingers trailed along his arm, her touch both comforting and distracting. She pressed herself against his back, her breath warm on his neck.
"How'd you do? Run out already?" Tyson asked.
Felicia leaned in, her lips barely grazing his ear as she said, "I'm up 50 grand."
Tyson nearly dropped the dice, turning to face her with disbelief written across his features. "How'd you manage that?"
Her smile was coy but triumphant. "Lucky with slots," she said in satisfaction.
Tyson snorted, shaking his head. "Too lucky," he muttered. His gaze swept over her, taking in the flush of excitement on her cheeks, the gleam of triumph in her expression. "But don't worry, I'll top that with enough time."
Felicia's hand found its way to the small of his back. As he turned back to the table, her fingers traced lazy patterns on his back. "Let's see what you've got," she said encouragingly.
Tyson shook the dice, hyper-aware of Felicia's every movement. The crowd around them held their breath, caught up in the moment. As he prepared to throw, Tyson felt a surge of confidence. With Felicia by his side and his powers at his command, how could he lose?
— Rogue Redemption —
At the back of the Devil's Den, Yellow tape and "KEEP OUT" signs fluttered in the breeze around a construction site. But they weren't meant to keep out trespassers. They were there to keep prying eyes away from what lay beneath.
Mr. Degli strode across the dusty lot with Ms. Oyle at his side, his expensive shoes crunching on gravel. They approached a makeshift elevator, cleverly disguised as a portable toilet.
"Are you ready, my dear?" Mr. Degli asked.
Ms. Oyle's lips curled into a wicked smile. "I've been ready for years, darling."
They stepped into the elevator, and it plunged downward, far deeper than any construction site should go. When the doors slid open, they revealed a vast underground chamber. The space was dominated by a massive machine, its architecture a nightmarish blend of modern technology and ancient, eldritch design. Pipes and wires intertwined with what looked unsettlingly like veins and sinew. At its heart stood a circular platform, ringed with symbols that hurt to look at directly.
Mr. Degli approached a control panel. "One hundred souls," he murmured, his fingers dancing over the controls. "One hundred damned fools, willingly given… And now. I can return to my true form."
As he worked, the air in the chamber began to thicken, taking on an oppressive quality. The machine hummed to life, a sound that vibrated in the bones and set teeth on edge.
Suddenly, Mr. Degli stiffened. His skin began to ripple and shift as if something beneath was clawing its way out. His expensive suit tore as his form expanded, growing taller, more muscular. His skin darkened to an impossible shade of midnight blue, then became so dark, so black, it seemed to absorb light. When his transformation was complete, his eyes blazed red, and his face looked almost featureless at rest, no nose, no visible mouth.
Beside him, Ms. Oyle underwent a similar horrific transformation. Her form twisted and warped, her skin taking on a sickly green hue. Her delicate features sharpened, becoming almost reptilian. Horns erupted from her forehead, curling back over her skull. From her back, leathery wings unfurled, stretching to an impressive span. When she opened her eyes, they glowed with a yellow light.
The being that was once Mr. Degli let out a laugh, a sound of pure malevolent joy, and somehow spoke, though he had no mouth. "At last. After all these years of planning, of gathering souls, we're finally ready."
"Blackheart has returned."
The machine's hum grew to a deafening roar. The circular platform at its center began to glow and shifted until it was as reflective as a mirror. The symbols around its edges pulsed with light. The air above it shimmered and tore, reality itself ripping apart like tissue paper.
Through the tear, something moved. A clawed hand reached through, followed by another. A creature pulled itself into our world.
It was only the first.
Behind it, more shapes moved in the swirling chaos beyond the portal. Demons of all shapes and sizes began to pour through, their howls and screams filling the air. But the horror didn't stop there. As the demons crossed over, the very fabric of reality began to warp and change. The concrete floor of the chamber began to bubble and melt, reforming into a landscape of jagged black rock. The air grew thick with the stench of brimstone, and in the distance, beyond the portal, great pillars of flame could be seen stretching toward a blood-red sky.
The demon that was once Mr. Degli spread his arms wide, welcoming the chaos. "Come!" he roared. "Earth is ripe for the taking. Let hell reign supreme!"
Ms. Oyle flapped her wings, rising into the air to survey the growing horde. "And what of the souls in your little casino, my love?" she asked, anticipation hissing through her words.
The demon lord's eyes glowed brighter at the thought. "Ah, yes, our unwitting pawns. They've played their part well, gathering even more souls for our cause. When the time is right, we'll add them to our army."
As the portal continued to spew forth demons and corrupt the world around it, the two demons reveled in their victory. They had waited for this moment, patiently gathering power and souls. Now, finally, their plan was coming to fruition.
Inside the Devil's Den, Tyson stood at the craps table, dice in hand. He was about to make another throw when a sensation like an electrical current shot through his body. The dice clattered to the table, forgotten, as Tyson's spider-sense screamed danger like never before.
Felicia's playful demeanor vanished. "Tyson? What's wrong?" she asked, her arm supporting his suddenly unsteady frame.
Tyson's gaze darted around the casino, searching for a threat he couldn't see. "I don't know," he gritted out. "Something bad. Like, really bad."
Maki appeared at his other side.
Before he could explain, a strange ripple passed through the air. It was subtle at first, barely noticeable amidst the flashing lights and ringing slot machines. But then, his gaze locked onto the back wall of the casino, and his eyes widened in disbelief.
The wall began to change.
It was as if reality itself was being rewritten, the modern décor melting away like wax under a flame. In its place, rough-hewn block stonework emerged.
"What the hell?" Felicia breathed, her usual cool composure cracking.
The transformation spread outward from that point, creeping across the floor and ceiling. Slot machines winked out of existence, replaced by iron sconces holding flickering torches. The gaudy carpet vanished, giving way to cold flagstones. The air grew thick with the scent of smoke and brimstone.
Around them, the other casino patrons watched in stunned silence. Some rubbed their eyes, convinced they must be hallucinating. Others backed away, terror dawning on their faces as they realized this was all too real.
"Okay, this is new," Tyson quipped, his attempt at humor falling flat in the face of the impossible scene before them. "I don't suppose either of you ladies has experience with spontaneous architectural shifts?"
Maki's hand had moved to her upper thigh, where she concealed her weapon. "I thought it was one of your illusions," she said.
As if in answer to her question, the massive doors at the far end of the hall, where the back entrance of the casino had once been, suddenly flew open with a thunderous boom. The sound echoed through the transformed space, causing several people to cry out in fear.
For a moment, there was only darkness beyond the doorway. Then, with a chorus of inhuman shrieks and growls, demons began to pour into the room.
They came in all shapes and sizes. Some were little more than wisps of shadow with glowing eyes, while others were hulking monstrosities of muscle and claw. Wings beat the air, tails lashed, and the stench of brimstone filled the hall.
Panic erupted. The stunned silence of the casino patrons shattered, replaced by screams of terror. People ran in all directions, desperate to escape the nightmare that had suddenly become their reality.
"Well," Tyson said, "I guess we know what my spider-sense was trying to tell me."
Maki had already dropped into a fighting stance. "Strategy?" she asked.
Tyson quickly assessed the situation. The demons were spreading out, cutting off escape routes and herding the terrified casino-goers.
"First things first. We need to get these people out of here. Felicia, lead out those you can. I'll create an exit. Then figure out what's going on outside. Find the extent of what we're dealing with and get back here. Maki, I need you and Muse to help me hold the line."
Felicia's playful demeanor gave way to a professional focus. "On it. Don't have too much fun without me."