“The Last Hand”
The Silver Mirage casino never closed. Its neon lights buzzed through the desert night, a beacon for the desperate and the damned.
Eddie stumbled in just before midnight, pockets empty, eyes wild. The dealer at the high-stakes blackjack table smiled as if expecting him. The man’s suit shimmered strangely—like silk soaked in oil.
“Care to play?” the dealer asked.
Eddie hesitated. “Got nothing left.”
“Then bet what you do have.”
He didn’t understand until the cards hit the felt—smooth, ancient, edges burned black. The dealer’s eyes gleamed red for a heartbeat. Eddie’s pulse quickened. He played. He lost.
The dealer’s grin widened. “I’ll be keeping that, then.”
“What?” Eddie croaked.
“Your time,” the man said, tapping the table. “All of it.”
The lights flickered. The casino blurred, sound stretching like taffy. Eddie tried to scream, but his voice was gone. The other gamblers didn’t look up; they never did.
When the lights steadied again, a new dealer stood behind the table. His suit gleamed faintly, like silk soaked in oil. His eyes darted toward the door, where a new man stumbled in, broke and desperate.
“Care to play?” he asked.
Username - dpaterson14