"Pass."
"Straight."
"No thanks."
"Four nines—bomb!" Noah announced cheerfully, playing his cards with the enthusiasm of someone who'd discovered that high-stakes gambling was significantly more enjoyable when your opponents were too terrified to concentrate.
He hummed under his breath as he surveyed his remaining hand, one card left, victory within reach. The Russian enforcer sat across from him with six cards and the expression of a man slowly dying inside, while the warehouse manager clutched seventeen cards like they were his last connection to sanity.
Noah was about to play his final card when the Russian suddenly slapped down four tens with mechanical precision.
"Bomb," the Russian said flatly.
Noah's heart skipped a beat, not from fear, but from genuine surprise at the tactical move.
The explosive vest immediately responded to his elevated pulse, red lights flashing frantically as the beeping accelerated to panic-inducing levels.
Every gangster in the warehouse hit the deck with practiced efficiency, covering their heads like they'd drilled for this exact scenario. Which, after several hours of Noah's "hospitality," they essentially had.
The warehouse manager shot the Russian a look that could have melted steel. Are you trying to kill us all, you idiot?
The Russian's face had gone pale as he realized what he'd done. In a moment of competitive instinct, he'd forgotten that winning could literally blow them all to pieces.
He looked down at his remaining cards, a pair of fives, and played them with trembling hands.
"Uh... five," he managed.
Noah glanced at his final card and closed his eyes in theatrical despair. "Well, damn."
The beeping reached a crescendo that suggested imminent structural damage to everything within a city block.
"Wait!" the warehouse manager shouted, throwing down cards at random. "Two! And a three!"
"Four!" Noah exclaimed, suddenly brightening as he played his last card. "I win! Pay up, gentlemen!"
The electronic beeping returned to its normal, merely terrifying pace.
For a moment, the warehouse was completely silent except for the sound of grown criminals slowly remembering how to breathe.
I just saved the world, the warehouse manager thought with the shell-shocked pride of someone who'd defused a bomb by accident. I actually saved everyone's lives with a game of cards.
"Excellent game!" Noah said, collecting his winnings from opponents who handed over money with the enthusiasm of people paying ransom. "Though I have to say, that bomb play was inspired. Really got my heart rate up."
The two crime bosses looked at the mountain of cash now piled in front of Noah, their own money, won through a combination of superior card skills and the tactical advantage of being the only person at the table who wasn't afraid of dying.
"Is this..." the Russian began hopefully, "is this the twentieth round?"
"It is indeed!" the warehouse manager confirmed with desperate enthusiasm.
"Excellent timing," Noah said, pocketing his winnings with satisfaction. "And it looks like your people have finished another quality transaction over there."
He gestured at his subordinates, who had completed their twentieth theatrical drug deal while trying not to think about how their evening had devolved into performance art directed by an explosive-wearing madman.
[ELIMINATE DANGEROUS CRIMINALS: 12/15]
Noah's talent system chimed softly in his mind as ten new criminals crossed the qualification threshold through repeated narcotics trafficking. The warehouse was now packed with genuinely dangerous felons, all of whom had earned their upgraded criminal status through his innovative educational program.
"Well," Noah announced, standing and stretching like someone finishing a pleasant evening's entertainment, "I think our business here is concluded."
Every person in the warehouse, from the crime bosses to the lowest-level muscle, felt their hearts leap with joy so intense it was almost religious in nature.
He's leaving. The madman is actually leaving.
The two bosses practically teleported to the warehouse entrance, desperate to see Noah safely off the premises before he changed his mind about departing.
"Wonderful evening, gentlemen," Noah said as he reached the door. "I can't remember the last time I had such an entertaining night. Though I suppose all good things must come to an end."
Please end, both crime bosses thought in unison. Please, for the love of all that's holy, just end.
"Of course," Noah continued, pausing in the doorway, "I'd like to leave you with a small token of appreciation for your hospitality."
He began unstrapping the explosive vest.
Twenty pairs of eyes went wide with horror.
"This is a custom-designed device," Noah explained cheerfully, setting the vest on the floor at their feet like a housewarming gift from hell. "Consider it a memento of our time together."
Then he turned and sprinted into the night.
"WAIT—" someone screamed.
BOOM.
The explosion lit up the Brooklyn skyline like a miniature sun, turning the warehouse into a brief but spectacular fireworks display. The shockwave picked Noah up and threw him twenty feet down the street, where he landed in an undignified heap against a parked car.
He lay there for a moment, listening to his ribs crack back into place and feeling shrapnel work its way out of his back like the world's most violent acupuncture session.
Note to self, Noah thought as his immortality cheerfully repaired the damage, bigger safety radius next time.
He sat up and brushed debris from his clothes, then pulled a small remote control from his pocket. The device had a single red button and a small LED that blinked cheerfully in the darkness.
Heart rate monitor, Noah thought with amusement. As if I could actually control my pulse well enough to make that work. These guys watch too many movies.
The entire explosive vest had been an elaborate bluff, sophisticated enough to fool experienced criminals, but ultimately just expensive theater props with some C4 attached for the finale.
Behind him, the warehouse burned merrily, sending thick smoke into the night sky and ensuring that twenty dangerous criminals would never trouble society again.
Noah patted his pockets, now heavy with over a hundred thousand dollars in card game winnings.
Not bad for an evening's work, he decided. Though I probably could have gotten more if I'd been a better poker player.
As he walked away from the destruction, Noah reflected on how much his life had changed. Three weeks ago, he'd been Francis's favorite torture subject. Tonight, he'd single-handedly eliminated a major drug operation through psychological warfare and card games.
_________________________________________________________________________
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