The House Always Wins [Solo]

[Vivanco]

"Well, it seems that the gentleman's luck has run out." said the man in a suit while the unfortunate young Gutierrez rolled on the ground, handcuffed. He didn't have a trace of clothing except for the mud, dust, sweat and blood stained boxer shorts on much of him. The rest of his body was completely decorated with bruises and open, bleeding cuts on the chest and abdomen. With his eyes swollen and purple, without the strength to scream, his voice hoarse and his mouth gagged with a cloth, he could only discern the figure in a suit against the light of the city, barely a kilometer away, a couple of meters separating them from the road and a luxurious black car camouflaged at night on the edge of the asphalt.

“I have to admit, we had a hard time knowing what your trick was. However, you have not only cheated and caught you, but you have also betrayed us. " The man shook his head condescendingly as he pulled out a cigar, placing it on his dry lips, then reaching for a silver lighter from the inside pocket of his jacket. He barely had to move the stone to make it spark, and a light flame fought against the night breeze to light the cigarette. After a drag, he sighed.

"And I thought we were friends, and what do you do? You lie to us and throw us to the lions. It's incredible." He took one more light drag and withdrew the cigarette, handling it between two fingers.

"But do not worry. After all, you have a family. Roberta, her name was, right? " Gutierrez's eyes, crystalline from crying, widened as much as they could with fear, to which the knight, after a slight laugh when observing the poor man's terror, responded.

“We will see to it that they lead a good life. After all, the mistakes of some do not have to be paid for by others. We will give them our condolences. " And that's when he threw the cigarette towards him with a pinch, falling on the forehead of the gagged Gutierrez, causing him to writhe in pain, while the man pulled a silver revolver from under his jacket.

"In the end, the house always wins."

 

[Vivanco]

The lights blinded everyone who passed by the noisy "Calle Lopez de Hernia", usually nicknamed "Gaming Street", the avenue with the highest concentration of clandestine gambling halls in all of Petria since the ban on gambling in 2010, And although the existence of these gambling halls is common knowledge, the police cannot act immediately due to the increasing legislative restrictions on the police, requiring a prior complaint to investigate cases of clandestine halls for an incident in 2014 in which a family apartment was wrongly accused of being one.

Some discreet signs, and others not so much, neon with slight changes of the text so as not to directly advertise the existence of the room, and each interior was more luxurious than the last. A back door on this street can take you to spacious rooms decorated with marble pillars and statues, where people decide to leave their money in the most abusive way, from five repuroes to embarrassing millionaires who decide to spend in one night what a family could save in a lifetime. Amid all this commotion, a young lad runs down the street, shoving everyone in front of him, wearing a purple down coat, ripped jeans, and sports shoes. He was barely 17 years old, staring at the end of the street, while a group of adult men in black suits chase him, little by little catching up with the boy. There were seven of them, almost six feet tall each.

“Get back here, you fucking brat! Catch him!" one of them shouted to the rest of the group as he stood up, pulling out a mobile phone to proceed to call someone, his gaze still fixed on the chase.

The boy was panting as he tried to corner the bullies, sweat running down his forehead from the effort, trying to sneak between large groups of people to slow down his pursuers, until he found a crossing to a lost alley of the hand of God, sneaking into it and trying to hide in the side of a container. He could glimpse in the shadows of the adjoining lights the figures of the thugs passing sideways, running, and even so he breathed slowly, closing his eyes tightly until after five minutes, in which he opened them and did not denote a trace of the pursuers , being able to triumphantly breathe calmly, rising from his hiding place, though falling to one knee in pain. It took him a few minutes to get back up, but that knee was going to do nothing but trouble him.

Of all the places he could have gotten into trouble, he had decided to do it there. Limping, he left the alley, in the opposite direction that he had taken those who were pursuing him, looking at the ground. The street was wet, with little puddles formed just an hour before, and the street lights were doubling with the reflection.

 

[Vivanco]

The clock ticked midnight among the constant mechanical sound of slot machines, an orchestra of flashing lights and loud sounds, coins sliding down the slits of the machines for those anchored to get the precious prize, as the numbers and figures rolled by seeking the precious 7-7-7. Smoke charged the ambience, from the cheapest cigarrettes to the most expensive cigar, all equal on the table of the dealer as cards slid under the observant sight of all players around the table. Maîtres walked all over the place with silver plates with glasses of champagne, which bubbles shone beneath the light of the chandeliers.

The crown jewel of "Calle Lopez de Hernia", the As de Copas, or commonly called as The House had a reputation to keep, and it's pomposity did the place justice, alongside with the amount of work the place gave the city. From cleaners, accountants, dealers, bartenders, guards and many more, all of them were running under the administration of one Francisco Tarracono, owner of the place who liked to hang around his loyal customers.

A tall man with a tidily kept moustache, a smirk that held the charisma of a thousand politicians, a dark brown hair pulled back that reached to his shoulders, sideburns that reached almost to his chin like the surrounding beach to a gulf, with a nose as thin and slick as a slide, sharp as a chef's knife, and with always a half-lighted cigarette hanging from his lips. His almond eyes were almost always hidden behind his dark aviator glasses.

Tarracono always stood up from the crowd as he walked around his realm, followed constantly by two of his bodyguards, as if he owned the place. Which he did! A pure white suit jacket that beneath highlighted a bright yellow shirt with flowers stamped on it, a belt around his waist with a pure gold belt buckle that read "FT" on it, that held a fitting white flared pants, to end the suit on snakeskin shoes.

With the smirk, he walked by every person giving him money to encourage them that "Soon they'll get the prize!", or that "It's rough that about your wife. Here, take another drink. On the house." His realm and his inhabitants, all orbited around the sun, the heart of the place.

After he gave a walk around, he walked on the main corridor among row after row of slot machines, on a red velvet carpet above a marble floor all the way down to an elevator locked by a key, a key that only he owned that opened the door, and he stepped inside, his two guards standing outside as he rose. The elevator had crystal walls, and as he rose, he gloated for himself at the sight of his own little kingdom And he had the crown.

 

[Vivanco]

The clacking of the machinery was no longer audible as the doors of the elevator opened back again, high in the skies, in the highest floor in the building. A hall of marble, such as the one seen below lead to a double door, of oak wood, without much details. Across the hall, there were a series of artifacts from every part in the entire world. The last crown of the king of Rethan, held in a cristal display case, a painting of the prydanian king Richard the First leading their men to battle, a fragment of a column with reliefs of horses from the Kilith era from the city of Adra...

These artifacts were under digital surveillance for every single hour, every day, with movement sensors in the cristal that protected the pieces, and in case of a blackout, all entrances to the floor would be in complete shut-down. A perfect security, Tarracono thought for himself as he opened the doors to his office. A wide, circular room with windows that occupied the half of the circle to the outside of the city. A dhaharman carpet adorned the floor, and every piece of furniture was definitely worth more than some of the entire buildings that could be seen from up there. And he, with a smirk, walked to his throne of black leather, opening the computer on his desk.

The news tab was already open, as it wasn't completely shut down the computer before, refreshing the page of the Petria Herald, and to his delight, there were no news that were out of the ordinary. "Hm. Seems like poor Jacobo couldn't really keep it in his pants in the end." He said as his eyes trailed the news of the most recent political scandal. Jacobo Ramante, government delegate in the province of Koreta, in the north, was found in an orgy in a clandestine prostibule after an anonimous tip to the police, as the news read out. "A shame, really." He rolled his eyes as he spoke with a blatant fake sadness, groaning as he looked at his smartphone. Over 23 messages not read from the contact "JR", and instead of reading them, he blocked the contact and deleted the messages, shaking his head before leaving the phone on his desk.

Just as he put it down, it begun buzzing, and he had nothing else to do but to pick it up, as the contact was "F (Sec)".
"Yes? I'm currently busy." He said abruptly, the soft tone with which he spoke to his clients and gallantery were gone, more authoritative. "... What do you mean you lost it. I told you to find that FUCKING KID!" He said with a shout and a punch to the table. A silence followed as he took his hand up to his hair, pulling it back to fix it as he sighed, shaking his head after. "Oh, yes, of course. I understand, of course. Of course I do. I'll see what I can do." And he hung up, calling afterwards another contact.

"Number 48 and 18. I want them gone by tomorrow. No witnesses."