The VIP box was silent as a grave.
The smoke masking the fear had finally cleared, revealing Viper's face, pale as paper. His hand hovered in mid-air, trembling like a dead leaf in the wind.
Vance sat opposite, watching calmly. His eyes held no fluctuation, looking at Viper like one looks at a fly with no future.
Viper's eyes darted madly between the remaining wires. The Red Wire. His spectral analyzer screamed Safe. It was blue, cold, rational.
But after Vance's curse about the "Base-4 Algorithm," that Red Wire looked like a viper baring its fangs.
He calculated frantically. If Vance was telling the truth, Red was death. If Vance was bluffing, Red was life.
Is it a trap? Or a lifeline?
Viper felt like he'd swallowed hot sand. He wanted to drink, to scream, to order his guards to burst in and shoot this bastard.
But he couldn't. The white-masked Notary stood in the shadows—a horror greater than death itself.
Drip.
A drop of cold sweat fell from Viper's nose, hitting the metal table with a soft ping.
That sound was the straw that broke the camel's back.
"Go to hell... Go to hell!" Viper rasped, forcing courage into his voice.
His cutters jerked away. He avoided the Red Wire.
He didn't trust Vance, but he didn't dare gamble his life against that damn algorithm. He chose compromise. He chose escape.
His cutters bit onto a Green Wire on the edge. The analyzer showed medium risk, but not fatal.
He would bypass the curse of 4.
"I choose this one."
Snip.
The sound of metal snapping was piercing.
Vance didn't flinch.
He didn't need to check the result. The moment Viper cut, Vance smelled it—a stench so strong it was like a corpse left in the sun for three days.
Despair. The soul-rot that explodes only at the moment of termination.
No green light signaled safety. No mechanical whir signaled a domino shift.
The cut end of the Green Wire suddenly flashed a rapid, blinding crimson. Inside the intricate machine, a heavy, dull sound echoed.
Click.Lock.
Viper froze.
He stared blankly at the green wire, then at the red wire he had abandoned. The analyzer still showed the Red Wire was safe.
"Why..." Viper muttered, eyes losing focus. "I avoided the 4... I avoided it..."
"You avoided life."
Vance sat straight, his voice devoid of warmth.
"There is no Base-4 Algorithm. There is no Logic Rollback. The Red Wire was safe. Your machine wasn't broken. It was right all along."
"What broke was you."
Vance stood up, looking down at the crumbling man.
"Your fear made you betray your logic. You thought you were dodging a trap, but you jumped into your own grave."
Viper's mouth fell open. He wanted to speak, to curse one last time.
But it was too late.
Crow took a step forward, the white mask reflecting the cold light.
"Winner determined."
With the Notary's emotionless verdict, the injector behind Viper's chair hissed.
Pfft.
High-pressure gas drove the neurotoxin into Viper's carotid artery. The Balance's special blend. It took only 0.5 seconds.
The Manager who had ruled District 9's underworld, holding the lives of thousands in his hands, didn't even scream. His pupils dilated instantly. His body convulsed once, violently, then collapsed like mud into the chair.
He was dead. Killed by his own paranoia.
The nauseating smell of cologne and rotting fear began to dissipate, leaving only the faint scent of machine oil.
Vance let out a long breath. His back was soaked.
Only he knew that was a gamble on the edge of a cliff. If Viper had been firm, if he had trusted his machine, the corpse in the chair would be Vance.
But in this Eden of lies, there were no "ifs".
Winner takes all.
Vance unlocked his cuffs, rolling his stiff shoulders. He didn't look at Viper's body again. He turned to the Notary in the shadows.
"Now. It's mine."
Vance pointed at the charred drive, then down at the white-haired boy still standing in the bloodied arena.
"All of it."
Crow nodded. No wasted words. He produced a pre-prepared electronic contract.
"Contract sealed. Under the Zero-Sum Protocol, ownership transferred from the deceased Viper."
"From this moment, the bio-weapon designated Cerberus, and the administrative rights to this Arena, belong to Mr. Vance."
Crow paused, the featureless mask turning slightly toward Vance.
"Congratulations, Mr. Vance. You won the gamble, and you have won the attention of The Balance. Few in District 9 survive this table."
Vance didn't show excitement. He pocketed the drive.
"Save the congratulations." Vance adjusted his sunglasses, a tired smile touching his lips. "This is just the start. To survive in this rotten place, I have to kill a few more idiots like Viper."
He turned toward the exit, ignoring the corpse and the reaper.
He only wanted to do one thing.
Go release the monster from its cage, and give him a piece of candy.