Blind Crokinole

During acid rain, which could take upwards of months, most of the upper class take shelter in their luxurious mansions. Still, even among higher circles, not everyone has seen a speck of greenery in their lineage, let alone have a patio. As such, architecture has changed in quite significant ways. Lump housing, as it's been nicknamed, emerged in place of boundary lines amid housing blocks, protruding in all compass points, leading to cancerous-looking residential districts. It is, in fairness, something mostly experienced by the "nouveau riche" if by that you could refer to the first generation to live below a sky smothered by various tones of grey clouds. As opposed to those with generational wealth that spans centuries upon centuries, where the rule of "first come, first served" rings true. It is those who can have the privilege of inhabiting a mansion up on a hill of contaminated grass, the ones considered highly elite, as is the case with the Nox family.

The Nox family has had an interesting story thus far, once owners of oil riggers across the vast sea before half of it dried up, and another time, the biggest benefactors of all climate change causes. Like the flip of a coin, the family survived by taking the side conflicting with their near past at the seemingly random whims of the current leader at the time. And yet, like many things that operate in this world, it is but a calculated effort to survive. Each family head adopts a new principle with each passing era, which brings us to the present, where even in the pitiable state of the world, the ultra-rich still find idle time for their strongest vice, gambling.

Gambling has never been a cut-and-dry activity; it could take many forms, and every social class practices it. Even the simplest of games becomes gambling if monetary consequences are implemented. Said consequences have torn down entertainment institutions to the fundamental materials, one of them being film stock. Yes, the plastic base coated with light-sensitive emulsion has not run out, though it has become extremely expensive, but film only lasts 10-15 years if stored in good conditions, maybe more if it's high-quality film. Expired film is not ideal, as it has to be overexposed by stops for every decade it has been considered expired, and too much overexposure can lead to loss of detail, distortion, grain, you name it. But because it's been much sought after, the government had to step in to create duplicates, extending the life of many motion pictures (though it's but a novelty). What government? New America, of course, is an amalgamation of both continents. Foreign movies? Not after they've been bought out decades ago. No new movies have come out since 2176, since film material has become expensive, and many digital releases and recordings have been lost to time through every worldwide cyber-schism, and many movies from 2050 onwards were not worth salvaging since the widespread industry use of generative artificial intelligence, which surely did a number on the environment. The film industry as a whole has disappeared, the only repository for movies subsisting thanks to the New America government, which in turn started a series of auctions wherein fragments of all-time movie classics would be sold. However, something weird happened in the latter half of the 23rd century: prices rose at an all-time high, but the auctioned content was trimmed to the very frame (figuratively in some cases). Collectors can't obtain every single movie to the last second without auctions; it is almost an impossible feat, and as such, it's been a common practice to wager frames and scenes in high-stakes gambling matches.

—Welcome, sir. Mr. Nox has been expecting you; he is waiting in the lounge room.— What could be confused for butler service is, in reality, an arbitrator system. Hired personnel are strictly forbidden to prevent allied cheating; the government instead assigns a group of arbiters to oversee each match. Cell, therefore, walks through a filter where he's thoroughly searched by the shiny houndstooth-patterned red waistcoats, a.k.a. the Hounds, for any weapons and things not allowed by the host.

Right now, one of the richest people alive is going to compete in a gambling match against the cryptic "Celluloid Whale", an individual who started garnering attention after becoming the first person to own 10 complete movies via gambling means, a collection which has now expanded to over 38 titles. The way a gambling match is arranged is by either side choosing to invite the other to participate, which automatically gives them the hosting privilege of choosing which game they'll play. It's obligated by law to either accept the match or put the wager up for auction. This allows the owner of the piece to repurchase it, after which a cooldown period of 5 years per piece is allowed to transpire without putting it up for sale. This goes for buying it off a government auction and winning a gamble, so it can be years before a chance to invite someone presents itself. However, in the world of the ultra-rich, it's no wonder how easily scenes exchange hands in a matter of days, with owners forking over their rightful possessions due to them losing a match. It's essential to note that if no invitations are sent, there will be no need to put the movie fragment up for auction, although this is rare. The New American Government takes a 28% tax on all gambling activities (players decide on the value of the piece, whoever loses pays and the 28% tax is applied during the payout), 36% from independent auctions, and 100% from government auctions (plus an entrance fee which varies depending on the rarity of the piece, determined by the percentage of the film owned by private collectors). Cheating penalties and whether or not to continue a game after cheating is detected are up to the players.

—Oh!— Mr. Nox got up from his sofa. —Welcome, welcome! C'mon, sit next to me, Cell.— The old man wore a kind face while holding his right palm above his left. He dressed appropriately for the occasion with a fancy black tuxedo and bow tie, and a white dress shirt. In contrast, Cell wears a gamboge-orange bomber jacket with striped ivory and red sleeves, and spruce-blue wrist-length gloves.

Cell sat on the couch to the right of Mr. Nox. Just then, the old man made his way to the drawer behind them, which contained the contract for this match. Cell had turned his head to watch him open the drawer but then focused his sight on what was facing him: 5 big bay windows where you could observe the vast dark/greyish sky, ostentatious candelabra, eccentric wall details, and an ominous shape standing in the middle of the lounge room covered with tablecloth though it appeared to be the stellar game for the night.

—Glad to know you always keep your attention on the right thing!— said Mr. Nox as he approached the couch, laying down the papers next to Cell, who then threw them on the floor. No hound seemed to react; even Nox kept a dignified grin plus a pair of smiling eyes.

—I don't recall saying I agree to the match yet.

—Eh? Cell, please don't be difficult, don't tell me you came all this way for tea time.— Nox stated in a purile tone.

—That's not it. People are taking advantage of the loophole where they can send an invitation without any prior instructions or game rules, and so I'll have you spell them out, or else I'm out of here.

—Hmm. But the game's not difficult, are you scared I might have done something so complex that an experienced gambler might not know how to go about it? Besides, once you've entered my house, it's considered partly accepting the invitation, which is enough for the government to fine you for abandoning the game.

Silence. Absolutely no response from Cell, only quiet staring.

—Okay, since you asked nicely, I'll tell you what we're going to play today.— Mr. Nox walks up to the mysterious table and proceeds to lift off the tablecloth in a flashy, magician-like manner— Voilà!

The revealed object appeared to be a table with a glistening black circular center above a larger wooden board surrounded by a protruding rail. This "manhole cover" seemed to have a sculpted finish of unknown faces, a kind of bas-relief where factions slightly stand out against the dark metal surface.

—Those are the prized actors of your potential movie; some of them didn't have any available photos, so I had the "artisan" go off based on some of the recorded descriptions done by the government watchers and some... "generative ingenuity." Do you like it? It's all I could do to get as spoiler-y as possible.

—Chilling.— Cell said in the course of fidgeting with the zipper of his jacket. —Get to the point, how does one play this?

—Oh no, no, no. Mr. Cell, this element of the game will be explained later, first though...— With a snap of his finger, Mr. Nox calls for the hounds to lift off the cover, standing 3 inches above the actual board. Once revealed, the board could be seen clearly: a circle divided into three regions and a hollow center for scoring purposes, with 6 bulging pegs in the inner circle's outline, reminiscent of a bullseye. —... this is Crokinole.

Mr. Nox sits in one of the two chairs and, with a hand gesture, invites Cell to stand next to the table for a demonstration.

—Crokinole is simple; participants take turns shooting their discs from their respective quadrant shooting line and gain points based on the circle they end up in, let's number each one from biggest to smallest: 1st region is worth 5 points, 2nd is 10, 3rd is 15 and the small "disc-sized" hole in the middle a whole 20 points worth. If there's an opponent disc on the board, you must contact it to make it a valid shot; more on that in a bit.— He accompanied his words with hand and finger movements and would continue by flicking the game's pieces for a simulation.— If you contact one of your discs without touching your opponent, then both come off the table, and there's no rule for needing to touch your opponent's discs in a specific order, just touching them... but—

—But?

—But, we are not playing bog standard Crokinole, are we? This is where the cover comes in. You see, to make things even simpler for you, everything about having to knock other people's discs into the gutter is not obligatory, but it's something you can do though it's also more difficult because you can't see where your discs end up in the board so you need to be extra careful of not under- or overshotting it. However, every shot is a free shot; there's no need to touch the opponent, so you can aim for the center all you want. And thus, the correct name for this game would be: Blind Crokinole.— Mr. Nox explained with a faint feeling of smugness in his words.

—What about the orifice? Won't we have to take off the discs that land there to let others play?

—Ah! Great observation, Mr. Cell, you see, in the spirit of the original game, which incorporated pegs neatly positioned in the raised rails, this hollowed opening leads to a vertical peg reaching the floor through the 1.16' (14'') column of this pie-crust-style table, which you can see via stepping on the table's right-side pedal which open this firebox-like door contraption.— Mr. Nox proceeds to enact this verbal description, showing off the intricate design of the table. —By the way, most boards are 30'', 26'' for the playing surface's diameter, ours is 30'' for its playing surface, 34'' as a whole, again, making things easier for beginners like you. Now onto the good stuff...

This was essentially a lie, since a larger playing surface would, in turn, make shooting to the orifice a bit more difficult to calculate. Mr. Nox clapped his hands together two times, and all of a sudden, the sound of a squeaky wheel could be heard. A stainless steel cadaver cart arrived. In it, hundreds of "gambling chips", in this case: Crokinole discs.

—These, Mr. Cell, are what we will be gambling with. A single one of these discs is worth 5 million dollars.— Mr. Nox pauses for a moment before asking something directly to Cell. —Does this seem fair to you?

—...Sure.— Even the slightest bit of hesitation is delivered via a nonchalant tone. To those present, it either signifies an expert in control of the situation or a careless idiot not understanding what he's getting into; as such, Nox chooses to push further.

—Of course, that'd be boring for such a renowned gambler as yourself; there's another layer to the bet. Remember the point system? We'll basically, if you land in the first region, the bet stays the same, 5 million dollars. However, the second one is a total of 10 million, duplicating the initial value of the chips, then 15 million for the third region, and finally for the center—

—20 million dollars.— Stated one of the hounds with a slicked-back hairstyle and a dead stare.

—And who do you think you are to interrupt me!?— angrily yells Nox.

—The contract, Mr. Cell.— said the hound, who had recollected all the scattered pages from the floor, meanwhile, the other hounds begin to load up the table from its sides with the "chips".

—Finally, someone gets to the point.— Cell rapidly skims over the pages of the contract and takes out a pen from his jacket. He sets his elbow above the final page, apparently covering his signature, though an irked expression seeps through his face. —This piece of trash doesn't work. Could I get another pen?

—Certainly, sir.

—Nox, be sure you don't space words apart too much.

—Hmm?— Mr. Nox, bothered by the lack of formality displayed by the guest, but taking advantage of Cell's apparent lack of knowledge finds a way to put himself above the gambler, as he states: —Haaah, you've been in the gambling scene for so long and you don't even know 'The Hounds' are the ones who redact the contracts. In all honesty, you're disappointing me. I would never do any underhanded tricks. I went through it a hundred times to accommodate your tastes.— he added in a joking manner as his eyes wandered to a little desk with a lamp where the contract was placed by the hound.

—That's done. So, should we play?— Cell demonstrating clear impatience with all the rigamarole of procedures.

—Indeed.— He signs as well.

—Before that, gentlemen.— Intervened the slicked-back-haired hound. —Just for the matter of record, even if the stipulated number of frames is written in the contract, an audible verbal agreement is required for the gamble to proceed. Mr. Cell and Mr. Nox, do you agree to the sum of 1824 frames derived from the 76 seconds of footage pertaining to minute 16:41 to minute 17:57 of the film 0131981105?

—I agree.— They both say in unison.

—And do you swear to uphold the stipulations of the contracts, including the penalty for cheating?

—I agree.

—Agreed.

—The winner is the one with the most amount of money by the end of the game, an end which will be agreed upon by the two players, it's win or go bust. With the verbal agreement in place, the match will officially begin.

—Now. Pick a side.— Said Nox. Cell sits on the chair to the right of the table, a compartment opens from beneath the table's surface, revealing the starting 12 purple discs. Nox, sitting opposite Cell, receives white discs instead. —You like it? It's not obvious at first, but the chairs' seats serve as a pressure plate for the table's mechanism. Now, if you excuse me, can I have one of your discs?

Cell looked confused and wary at Nox's suggestion until he clarified it was the traditional way of deciding who shoots first during the game. Once Cell agrees to hand over a disc, Nox takes his hands to his back and begins mixing the pieces between his palms. After that, he places his closed hands in front of him and asks Cell to select one. Making a fist with both hands, Nox incidentally flaunts a ring on his right, with a jade shank and prongs, and a weird, dull white head, in the shape of an opal but with no shine, almost like it was made out of plastic. Going back to the decision, Cell picks his left side. Once revealed, it turns out to be a purple disc.

—I see why they call you a gambling master.— Sneered Nox.— Though it'll take more than a fairground trick to convince me of your skills.

I don't have anything to prove to you.— The cell responds as the cover for the board slowly comes down, leaving only the rail visible; all the while, you had to lightly tilt your head to see the shooting line. As Nox hands over Cell's disc, he plays with it with his fingers profusely after noticing what appears to be excess material in the disc's edges, feeling prickly to the touch.

—Valued at 1.7 trillion but unable to smooth the excess of small pieces of wood?— At this point, even a trillion is considered standard net worth if you are part of the elite. Inflation and deflation, and economic crises, have been factors that have made this a reality, though the currency has considerably adjusted so as not to balloon monetary values into an impossible number of zeros. Cell's net worth is close to a billion, but not quite, which makes him part of a lesser elite, though he started gambling with much less.

—Hey, what can I say? A cheap stake before, always a cheap stake.— Nox seemed taken aback by Cell's remark, but he had quickly composed himself to say this; however, it made his opponent pay more attention to his words, more than he had already.

Once set, the slicked-back-haired hound signals his turn, and Cell begins to line up his shot. He rests his palm on the rail in a semi-diagonal position and creates pressure for both his index and middle fingers by pushing them against his thumb. He shoots. He had feigned overshooting with his index finger whilst releasing the pressure on his middle finger and calmly pushing the disc. This was, of course, all show for a hypothetical hidden camera, not that he expected one, just out of habit. Though hounds will allow a certain degree of freedom for games designed by hosts, they can't dismantle it, especially if it's thoroughly patented. Nevertheless, if Nox had a trick, it wasn't as big yet simple as the one Cell had in store. According to his calculations, the disc would have made it to the middle of the second region on the board, traveling around 5-7''.

—My turn next.— Said Nox as he placed his disc in the shooting line. His way of flicking the disc is very different from Cell's style, as he pushes his index finger, his ring located in the middle phalanx of his middle finger, against the board's playing surface, which makes it impossible to see his hand without standing next to him; even then, the shadow from the cover hides Nox's fingers.

—About the cheating fee...— States Cell, stopping Nox on his tracks.

—What about it?

—Isn't it a bit too high?

Nox laughed.

—"A bit too high?" That shouldn't be an issue for a prolific gambler such as yourself? Granted, if your cheating is detected.— Nox makes his shot, releasing the pressure from his finger onto the disc, as if shooting carelessly. He turns back to Cell, but he's already lining up for his next shot.

Cell replicates his shot from last time, hitting his disc already on the board, landing successfully in the orifice. His second disc bounces from the first onto the space that makes up the first region. Nox also similarly shoots his next disc like his first shot, with the same sloppy outcome; neither of his discs aimed at a straight line, both ending on opposite sides of the board, not becoming an obstacle to Cell in the slightest.

Now that it's Cell's turn again, his strategy sees some changes. Since he can no longer replicate his shot at the risk of this turn's disc bouncing off to the gutter, he decides to keep the feign but decrease the force at which he "flicks" the disc, resulting in him keeping on pushing until he feels the contact of the discs. Essentially, his game plan is creating a row of discs from which he could place approximately 12 discs on the board's playing surface since its radius was 15 as a whole, but taking into account the 1 3/8'' hole at the center, it's 14.31'' to the edge of the orifice. He has opened the metaphorical shell of the problem, yet one thing remains in his mind: "What is Nox's strategy?"

—Mr. Cell?— Nox stops Cell's train of thought. —If I may inquire... what is the reason you collect movies?— he asks as he flicks another piece.

—I suppose to watch them, do I need another reason?— Cell responds as he takes his turn.

—Don't get me wrong. I also have one or two movies in my repertoire, but I've heard you can even get the whole credits for the films you collect. What's with the obsession with getting every frame of something made by someone who's not even alive anymore?

—Well, that's easy. I want to know who's responsible for creating what I'm acquiring.

—Even if what you're getting is a lowly sequence of pictures?— Hook.

—Pardon me?— Cell halts for a second before taking his shot. His voice shifted to a disheartening tone.

—I mean, at the end of the day, these are just entertainment, but I can't imagine you ever being satisfied with one, like with junk food, you gotta have more and more, even if the content is lacking.

—What makes you think it's lacking? I don't understand what you are getting at.

—What I'm getting at: isn't this just a gigantic waste of time?

—...

—You see, my grandfather never owned any pictures, and so my dad made it his wish to buy as many movies as he was humanly capable of. But at some point, he realized he never got his fill. So one day he looked at me and said: Don't you make the same mistake as me. With my own eyes, I'  seen my father abandon his obsession. Of course, I got to watch all the movies he owned at the time, but as I sat there, watching stories of people unfold with their meager problems, and sometimes having a grandiose feel, I realized it was all irrelevant.— Line.

—I see...

—Is that all you have to say!? Sorry, to have insulted your livelihood— Nox chuckled. —Don't tell me you were actually touched by one of these "talkies"?

—I'm down to 9 discs. Can I have more?

—Ahm. Sure. Just press the button to your right, and more chips will come out.— Nox was a bit perplexed at the non-reaction; every dialogue exchanged between him and Cell had just been a turn taken by both, but no word he spewed during that time had gotten to him.

—About what you said...— Sinker. —I think you just don't have it in you. —Cell keeps on playing.

—Huh?

—If you think movies are irrelevant, then I won't even entertain the notion that you enjoy them.

—Uh... yeah, I do have my fair share of fun with them. Just like I would with any other media.— Nox becomes confused, irked by the fact that Cell belittles him. —I'm saying that fiction at the end of the day is fiction, and living and dying by it is pointless. I know of your underground dealings. I know you value films more than the lives of your opponents. So what's wrong with what I'm saying? You can't be saying I'm enjoying things the wrong way, can you?

—Yes. I'm exactly saying that. Your way of enjoying movies is incorrect.— Cell stopped looking at his plays and fixed his eyes on his rival with a serious expression.

—Eh?!— Nox pauses his shot. Aggrieved by the statement he'd just heard.

—Movies are a time capsule, be it intentional or not. In the effects, in the dialogue, hell, even in the actors interpreting the characters in the story. Movies are reflections of the world at every ugly and minuscule angle. They convey the state of things: the values of the population, its beliefs. It's the voice of millions, the voice of hundreds, and even the voice of just one person. It involves a certain degree of artistry and determination to go through the process of creating films, let alone one. It's something that persists for decades into the future in visual form, allowing people to relate to films that are 100 years old. If that's "irrelevant", then... You are non-existent.

Nox stays silent for a moment, enraged by Cell's spiel. 

—Then what does that make you? You are as non-existent as I am.— He finally says.

—That's what I implied, yes. You and I are zeros.— Cell responds. —Now, will you please take your turn?

Nox's face turns red with anger, but it quickly mellows out as he snickers to himself. He resumes his play as normal, with this air of inattention, yet it's not the full scope of Nox's game plan. In reality, the "excess" from the disc is a bunch of small hooks that, paired up with Nox's ring, allow Nox to move his discs at his own will. The head of Nox's ring is, in fact, a compartment for silk, strands of spider silk bundled together into an oval, where he just has to touch the side of a disc to attach it to strings of silk, with him sending out his shots in the the other side of the first region only to pull all of them and have them reside on the third to second region, a much surefire way to guarantee a big pay. Of course, there's the possibility of the cord breaking, but that's the magic of a spider's web; it can hold on to 18 oz despite its thinness, with each Crokinole disc weighing 5 ounces. Right now, 12 of Nox's discs are connected to a string, ready to be sucked into the center of the board, yet Nox has been patient not to let his cover slip, not to make a sound that'll give his technique away; he's been holding on to the imperceptable bunch of threads which he carefully pulls while maintaining two fingers pushing side to side to the clump so it creates a uniform aim to the center. His ring finger, while contracted, is slightly protruded, pushing on one side, using the index finger he flicks with to also push when he makes a flinging motion. In a fraction of a second, he moves the rest of his discs. He makes a quick move when taking the 13th disc with his left hand.

—Actually, Cell...— But that isn't Nox's full ace under the sleeve. — I haven't been completely honest with myself...— It'd be one thing to connect all his discs to his ring, but at the end of the day, the evidence remains; however, this is where the cover plays a part in this game. —I do like movies, but my type of movies are...— The cover can flash a flame over the entire board in less than a turn, after which it immediately activates an air filter so as not to give away its trick. Cobweb tends to smolder, but the effect of the quick flame causes the string to disconnect and contract back to the ring, giving Nox the chance to close its compartment. —... the ones with a twist.

This would be a checkmate...

But as life would have it, change is afoot, a change in Cell's strategy.

—Oh, really? Well, that's okay in my book. As long as a twist doesn't compromise the story being told.— Cell is on his 14th shot.

—Interesting. Go on.— Keep on blabbering about your sweet nothing movies. At this point, Nox can't hold his thoughts of winning.

—You see, a movie shouldn't put all its weight behind one twist. You see, even if we "movie-junkies" can't help ourselves but watch the next "piece of fiction" as you would put it, we are romantics at heart and will go back to appreciate all the details in films we've already seen.

—What a waste of time.

—Isn't it? We could have the time to acquire more movies to watch, but instead we go back to our "classics", yet there's a problem with "twist movies".— Cell denotes on a sarcastic note while continuing to play.

—Ah... I guess I should ask what this problem is.— Keep on killing time, boy, so we can wrap this up fast! 

—Because you've seen it before, the twist has no effect the second time you watch it. It becomes predictable, and that's the biggest sin a film can make.

—Hah! You watch 30-something movies and you can tell what's predictable?!

—In essence, I do.

—Nonsense.

—Don't you feel the same way?

—Look, kid. At my age, it's best when you can predict things; when something is too ambiguous, and you have no safety net to fall back on, you'll wish things were certain. Once you reach my age, you'll notice it too.

—Then why are you gambling?

—Uh...— Nox is taken off guard. —Well, I guess I enjoy the thrill of it.

—How? If you are so afraid of unforeseeable things, why are you staking your life in a gambling match?

Nox can't keep his cool any longer.

—Are you stupid?! Just because I'm humoring myself by playing with a "renowned" gambler, you think I'm taking a risk? That's a load of bull. You are just a small fry; you don't know anything about the real world. You just live by your idiotic games. Hell, even I got sucked in and went along and ordered this custom Crokinole board so that I could partake in a match with you, but you've been nothing but an ill-bred guest. And frankly, I've taken a bunch of your slander for a night. Secondly, for someone who doesn't like "twist movies" AS YOU CALL THEM, you sure gamble a lot, which involves a certain degree of... I don't know... "defying the odds", "turning the tables", "LUCK"! You know, twists.

—...

—What now?! Are you taking your turn silently? Did you realize how far up your arse your head is?!

—...Can I stand up and hit my next disc from the side of the table?

—What a dumb request! Who gives a crap! Do it, I don't care.— Even though Nox says this, he places his left hand on top of his right to hide his ring. —Go on!— Right now, Nox has placed 23 discs into the board; he hasn't pulled them completely inward, but this sudden request from Cell has given him the chance to keep moving amid his yelling.

Cell stands to his left and places his disc.

—This is nothing but a bastardization of the game. I am afraid you are not taking this as seriously as you might want to be doing it.

—Shut up and make your play!— Come on, just a little more until I pull more discs into the center, the ones on my left are a bit behind the others since I lunged them further than the others. In the old man's head, Cell's plan has been obvious from the start. Because Cell isn't as secretive as Nox, he's let on to the fact he's been shooting straight this whole time, and as such, Nox thinks he hasn't scored many of the hole's points since he believes he's kept up a row strategy.

Cell takes some steps back and takes up his right elbow, having his right arm aimed at a somewhat diagonal angle.

—Oh! Fantastic! You are about to delight us with one of your circus tr—

—You know Nox. If executed correctly, even a "twist movie" can be an excellent movie. It's all about the impact.

Cell lunges forward and hits his 24th disc with his whole body weight behind the strike, immediately breaking both his fingers in the process, not showing any hesitation or reaction after the injury. Consequently, the disc darts forward with such force that it shoves 8 discs from Nox beyond the gutter, Cell's disc also bouncing off bounds; however, in Nox's case, instead of falling, the pieces hang on to the threads, revealing Nox's cheating.

—W-WHAT?!?!— Nox screams in astonishment at what he just witnessed. Not as focused on Cell's self-inflicted wound as he his with the fact that the gig is up. He's instantly detained by the hounds, two grabbing his arms and another one holding his hand.

—Sorry for the interruption, gentlemen, we have to check for any and all suspected cheating activity.— Said the slicked-back-haired hound.

—That won't be necessary.— Said Cell, his fingers mended by one of the hounds, cutting through his glove to look at the damage, straightening the broken bones, and covering them with gauze. —Unhand him, I think I've got it figured out.

The hounds unhand Nox at Cell's orders since he's the one who uncovered the cheating, and the hounds are obliged to hear his requests.

—Silk, is it?— Said Cell while touching the strings. —Quite the gimmick. But I guess you wouldn't be as dumb as to think it would be invisible to my eyes, would you? Open the cover, hounds.— Once opened, Cell lay his hands across the opposite side of the bas-relief, feeling up the surface's various holes. —So I'm guessing this was the second part of the plan; it would be dumb to just leave it at me not noticing the strands of silk. By the way, I'm also a fan of heat.

—Ugh... save me the displeasure of having to explain to you what they are for.— Says Nox, massaging his hand after being tightly restrained by the hounds. —It would be a shame if you lost the fragment of 0131981105 we wagered because of a cancelled match.

Nox was careful to notice that there was only one of Cell's discs on the board's second region; 15 of his own remained. Cell had switched strategies after twelve discs of his were on the board; he focused on carefully pushing enough so that more than one could enter the hole in the same turn, courtesy of the "curtain" the cover provided. After which, he started flicking normally so as not to make his strategy obvious, taking advantage of the discs ricocheting with each other in a straight line. As a consequence, his 23rd shot was left of the board while he sacrificed his 24th on unveiling Nox's trickery.

—Yes, it will. And you would have to pay a considerable sum of money for your cheating.

—C'mon, 500 million hardly makes a dent to m—

—267 billion.

Complete silence.

—... excuse me?

—That's a sum you can't ignore, right?

—Ehrm... Of course I can't. 9 zeros is a huge amount, but an incorrect one, might I say.— he's wary of his opponent's words.

—In the... contract... That is the correct penalty fee.

A hound hands the paper to Nox while he looks at the man in front of him with a look of disbelief and contempt. But after reading carefully, he realized he's been played.

—What is this, Mr. Cell?— he asks in a strained tone. —Is this your idea of a joke? This is clearly a forgery, and you misled me into thinking I was playing for a smaller quantity.

—It is on record. You signed the papers. You verbally agreed to the match in the presence of the hounds.

Nox's anger is redirected to one of the hounds.

—It was you!— He stands forward and tries to grab the slicked-back-haired hound by the collar, but the hound is quicker and places Nox under a headlock.

—Please be civilized, Mr. Nox.— says the hound.

—Let me go, you motherf-AH!— The lock is getting tighter and tighter.

—Stop that, will you?— Cell requests.

After letting go of the old man, Nox falls to the ground, sweating profusely, wearing a beet-red face. He faltered in trying to get up and stayed still for a second in an attempt to regain his breath.

—You... you! YOU LIAR!!!— yells Nox in-between coughs.

—There hasn't been a single lie coming out of my mouth, Mr. Nox.— The gambler finally formally addresses the host. —Recompose yourself, will you!

Defeated, Nox holds to a leg of his chair and pulls himself back up.

—You tryna ruin me, boy?— Pompously exclaims Nox. Accentuating every word that comes out of his mouth.—I ain't no sucker for your lowlife schemes!

—This is no ruse, Mr. Nox. The reality of the situation is that you owe me 267 billion.

—Pfft.— He dismisses Cell's claim while gagging with phlegm.

—But I'm a good Samaritan...

—Hm?— The old man mocks the assertion he just heard, exaggeratedly squinting his eyes.

—... And I'm willing to play another match.

—Do you think I'm stupid?!— Now full-on sardonic. —The kind of brainless idiot capable of falling for the same trick twice?!

—I'm giving you a chance t—

—"I'M GIVING YOU A CHANCE!" THE GALL OF THIS MAN TO SAY THAT WITH A STRAIGHT FACE!— He signals as a circus ringmaster would on a clown show.

—Let's drop the theatrics.

—No! Nope. I'm not doing it, nuh huh. I refuse to keep up this gentle host charade anymore; you might as well SPIT on my face!— He says as he circles the table.

—Hear me out, will you?

—What is your convincing argument?! What can I expect from the "pious" follower who only serves his movie and gambling gods?! The gifted gambler who rose to the top is, in reality, a filthy deceiver!

—AND YOU ARE A DIRTY CHEATER NOX!— Cell stands and shouts at the same time of pointing his left hand's index finger at the old man. —You have no higher ground to stand on. And guess what, if you cancel this match cause of your whining, I'll run your reputation to the ground! Oh, that I will. "EXTRA, EXTRA: RICH IMBECILE LOSES PATHETICALLY TO THE CELLULOID WHALE!", you know how ridiculous that sounds. It'll leave a stain, oh, what an all-consuming stain on your reputation it'll become. I'm sure you'll social circles won't be embarrassed to be on familiar terms with you...— Cell remarks in a sarcastic voice.— I'm sure you will be able to close deals with your associates, and you won't be looked at as the butt of the joke in the eyes of the public; surely, that won't happen.

The old man goes pale.

—Gi-Give me a glass of water...— Nox pleas to a hound near him.

—Think about it, Nox. I'm giving you the chance to recoup all your losses. Matter of fact. Hounds! Bring a white piece of paper and a ballpoint pen!

Once the paper arrives...

—You, there.— He points at a random hound. —Write the following.— The hound rushes to grab the pen and start writing. —"This letter of authorization grants Nox Koepp the right to continue playing a match with Michael G. Anderson, regardless of a previous breach of contract, on the condition that the score is kept, the discs are taken off the board, and the cover isn't meddled with for another 15 turns, 15 shots each. The host, Michael G. Anderson, hereby swears not to partake in any underhanded tactics during the remainder of the game. The positive compliance of the hounds with this letter is anticipated and greatly appreciated. The letter becomes effective immediately unless stated otherwise by the host and guest of the gamble. Forfeiting the gamble once it's underway is strictly prohibited." You got that?

—Y-yes, sir!

—Your call, Mr. Nox.

Nox had stood there, intently hearing while sipping the water he ordered, perplexed at what he had just witnessed with his very eyes.

—Gimme that.— The old man takes the letter from the hound's hands and takes out a pair of glasses. He stays lost in thought for 5 minutes, reading and reading, until he finally comes back with a response: —Where do I sign?

Now with the game of Crokinole back on track, the one thing going through Nox's mind was the fact that as long as he held to the 1824 frames, Cell wouldn't dare to cancel the game, as well as that being the main reason for Cell even accepting the gambling match. The discs are taken off the board by the hounds. Right now, 22 of Cell's discs have landed in the center hole, meaning he's made around $440,000,000, with one landing in the second region, for a total of $450,000,000. Meanwhile, Nox had 5 on the 3rd region ($75,000,000) and the remaining 10 on the 2nd ($200,000,000). A difference of $175,000,000.

As Nox delves into the reason why his secret got revealed, for him, it didn't make sense how, even when hiding his hand, Cell was able to notice. Did he tilt his head when I wasn't looking? He thought. No, that can't be it, he was in front of me the whole time- Wait! Could it be... He conjured up a theory that was close to reality; the sound caused by the contact of his fingernail and the discs gave away the fact that he was sending them far into the other side. It's part of the reason Nox predicted Cell's strategy, as the sounds produced by his flicking weren't all that noticeable in comparison. Still, it's a subtle detail, but one a gambler can exploit. In essence, Nox had changed his methods. No longer did he place his finger against the board; instead, he kept two extended fingers and the rest curled up. One finger tapped loudly whenever he made his shot to hide the force with which the wooden piece was struck; at the same time, the other finger would do the flicking. And so it went fast amid 4 turns until suddenly Nox's heart sank. What if the fragment of the film isn't the only thing he wants? What if my read on him isn't as accurate as I thought?

Nox couldn't shake the feeling that he had made a major mistake taking Cell up on his offer. His words reverberated in his head. Cell could still do what he threatened to do if he won. Nox realized he was taking everything a bit too lightly and that the new contract between him and Cell was a bait set for him to think he would get salvation. I can't believe how fast I accepted the terms. He reflected. His only choice was to kindly ask.

—Uh... excuse me, Mr. Cell.

—Huh?— Cell had just finished taking his 5th turn. His posture was more upfront, with his injured hand placed on the table. —What's this all about? It's your turn, man.

—Yeah, yeah, I know that. But... I just wanted to ask if we could sign an NDA.

—An NDA? Oh, I see, you don't want your "gorgeous" design out in the public.

—No, I don't mean that what I mean is...

—C'mon, man. Time is life.

—I want to assure you that you won't badmouth how terrible a host I've been.— A bit of self-deprecation sprinkled in for empathy points.

—Relax, man. You can trust me, I won't say squat.

—Sure, I can take your word for it, but it's just for... security reasons.

—I see. Yeh. Yeh. Yeah. Yeh. Yeah. Yeh. Yah!— By this point, Cell is taking the piss. —Sure, I'll sign your precious NDA... When the match is over and I've won everything.

—E-Everything?

—Exactly what it means. Everything. Now play.

He definitely has something up his sleeve. I won't let him win; it doesn't matter the cost. Perhaps, a last-ditch exit for Nox in case things got bad, Nox had a button whose input made the pegs in the third ring line of the Crokinole board rotate at medium velocity. The pegs weren't an obstacle, sure, they are used in normal Crokinole, but in this free-shot version of the game, they seemed more like a welcoming gate into further board regions. As is the case with his spider silk trick, Nox had prepared beforehand to make sure he would know if this was a viable tactic. He made sure to hide in his mansion before the hounds could check for any outside suspected cheating tactics. After which, hours before Cell arrived, he had them check him, with the ring not being seen as a possible cheating gadget; suffice it to say, it passed the check-up successfully. Right after, he went and collected the button and hid it under a skin pouch in his palm, one he had surgery for in case things went south during the match. It was the last resort.

—Now-now, that's pretty presumptuous of you. What about if I win?— He pressed the small button with one of his curled-up fingers soon after taking his 5th turn. Now that the pegs are moving, and only he has the timing down, it'll be impossible for Cell to win for sure in the remaining turns.

—I'll make sure it doesn't happen.— States Cell. Nox, fervent with anticipation to hear that 'click', the sound of the disc connecting with one of the pegs. Cell makes his shot and... there is no click.

Well, I guess you ain't a world-renowned gambler without a fair bit of luck. Nox makes his next shot; he's been keeping track of the timing of the moving pegs since he pressed the button. It makes it unscathed onto the third region along with his other shots til that moment. Shoot again, Cell, show me how you lose.

Preparing for his sixth shot, Cell concentrates... and shoots. No click can be heard.

WHAT IS GOING ON?!?!?! WHY IS THIS HAPPENING?!?! Nox's distress is palpable in his look, as if he's caught a disease. He tries to think fast. But he's wrapped up in the timing on the pegs; if he loses it, he has no chance of bridging the gap between his and Cell's score. He keeps trying to notice anything. Anything that can help him make sense of how Cell also has the timing down to a tee. Until he finally sees it. Despite being completely obvious to anyone watching. Cell's right hand is right underneath the board. Since Cell injured his right hand, he's placed it on the table, specifically on the side of the rail, instead of shooting with his left. But, Nox, giving his undivided attention to his plays, missed the fact that the hand moved, and right now, Cell is feeling the weak, blink-and-you'll-miss-it, vibrations of the table. Nox's next shots are unrefined, hitting the pegs unintentionally with his shots sometimes ending on the first region. He's incapable of handling the current situation.

—Hau- ho-...— The old man can't even call the hounds, as it'll also reveal his second attempt at cheating. He tries to alleviate his throat by drinking the rest of the water he ordered.

—Mr. Nox... Mr. Nox!

—Wha---

—Yours is the last shot.— Without even knowing, Nox had now entered the 15th shot.

—I... I... give u—

—It's against the rules to abandon the gamble.

He has noticed too late. He's not dealing with someone who should've been reckoned with.

—N-no...— Now a feeble man, Nox delicately pushes his last disc through the board, barely making it past the shooting line.

—That counts, I suppose. Now it's time to open the cover.

—Ple-Please...— Nox begins to bleed out his nose. —Look at the amount of strain this gamble has put on my body. You opened my head like a can. Please, whatever you are about to do, don't do it.

—Shut up, old man.— Cell looks back at Nox as if he's watching an ant writhe in pain.

Each disc was 3/8'' thick, meaning about 37 could fit inside the column, which was the exact number of purple discs that were found in it. Cell had won the highest amount of points, equal to $750,000,000. The 22 original shots to the core + the 15 from the rematch + the one that ended up in the second region during the original match. The ones added by the rematch had all been perfect shots to the very middle of the board, never missing the hole even when the pegs moved. Meanwhile, Nox's original $275,000,000 only increased by $140,000,000 (5 discs in the 3rd circle, 4 on the 2nd, and 6 on the 1st) for a total sum of $415,000,000. He's on another level.

—I'll... admit... you've bested m-BLERGH!— Nox suddenly began to cough up more blood. Wait, I thought the blood that came out of my nose was just because of the strain, but now I realize that...

—Mr. Nox, thank you for inviting me... and for making me the heir to your fortune.

—Heir?— The contract! Nox stumbles across the room in a bloody mess and takes the new contract that was sitting next to a lamp; it was in the same spot as the original one.

The old man crumbles the paper's side with a tight grip.

—What is this?!— His voice wavers.

—What is what? It's nothing but the contract you signed.

—I didn't sign any of this. It's obvious the contract has been modified. I've been duped.

—No, no. It was written there already, you just didn't notice.

Directing his gaze again at the letters written, Nox notices the previously missing section of the contract, the ones stating Michael will be granted all of his possessions at the moment of his untimely death, have a different shade from the ones written in his presence by the hound. Then it hit him, heat, thermochromic ink. In the same way, Cell had also modified the original contract's "gaps".

—Maybe you're a little dizzy. Why don't you have some water?— Cell says as he hands Nox a glass of water. Another revelation.

—GET AWAY FROM ME!!!— Nox spills the glass from Cell's hand. —WHY?! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?! YOU'RE A MURDERER!— The old man has begun to vomit blood more profusely. —SO YOU HATE LOOPHOLES HUH?!! WELL, YOU SURE USE THEM-uh.. ah...— The effects of the poison continue to set in. —You've... just been... lying by omission...

—You're so generous, Mr. Nox! Leaving your vast fortune in my hands.— Cell forces a fake, yet ominous smile.

—You scoundrel! Keep your filthy hands away from my money!!! HELP! HELP! HOUNDS DO SOMETHING!— No reply.

—Hey, recompose yourself! We still haven't resolved the issue of the money you owe me. What was it? $700 million? $196 million now belongs to the government. You won't have the chance to pay it back to me now, right? So I'll have to ask the "third parties", y'know, your remaining family members and business partners, now that I'm your heir and all, I suppose all your dealings will go through me if that's not an issue.— He crouches to Nox's level and whispers: —I need to reward these gentlemen for their...— He says as he extends his arms to point towards the hounds —..."gratuitous" oversight.

—Nooo... no!— Nox grovels in the ground, now a debilitating figure, a shadow of his former self a few hours ago.

—Let me put you in a little thing you might want to know.— Said the gambler, now standing. —My love for movies is so immense that I act like a 'whale'. You see, I'm the kind of person who spends ridiculous amounts of money to get what I want.— Cell denotes.— However, you weren't the first invitation I received. As a matter of fact, a lot of people caught on to the fact that I'm looking to complete 0131981105. There are a lot of people eager to meet me, being a stone in my path if you will.— He takes a pause. —And out of all of the challengers, you had the cheapest barrier to entry. I'm so grateful for the funds; they'll go to good use for my future ventures.

—No... no...— As his life fades out, Nox begins to hallucinate as he watches Cell for the last time. He stared as he saw giant teeth, similar to a whale's baleen, grow out of Michael's mouth, tearing through the skin. Beyond the bristles, a light shone brightly.

—Thank you for playing with me!

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The 76 seconds of footage from 0131981105 wagered showed a group of 9 soldiers in a swamp, with one of them shooting blanks at unsuspecting locals while riding stolen canoes. The locals respond by shooting back with actual bullets, taking out the staff sergeant who commanded the other men. Scared by the commotion, one of the men flips over the canoes, causing every one else to fall to the lake. All surviving members of the squad had jumped into the water and now run-off into the deep Lousiana forest.

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