This… this was what I meant when I thought of humans as greedy and ugly by nature. It was why I had taken the initiative in the first round, raising all in and directing the others to fold. The structure of the game was intentional. The creators of this twisted scenario knew exactly how people would behave. They had designed it to exploit human greed and fear.

In this strategy, the person who folded twice would inevitably end up with only one coin, while the other two players secured their paths forward. Don had been consumed by the fear that Clara and I might abandon him, the image of the Executive killing the woman earlier fueling his paranoia. And now, Clara found herself in the same position, her mind strangled by fear and anxiety.

The administrator shuffled the cards and dealt a new hand. The community cards were revealed: Ace of Spades, Ace of Hearts, and Three of Diamonds.

“As folding would result in an automatic loss, Player 380’s first move is defaulted to Call,” the administrator announced.

Curiosity piqued, I glanced at my cards. Two more Aces. Four of a kind. The strongest possible hand. There was literally no combination that could beat it.

“This game… is so rigged,” I thought, suppressing a bitter laugh. It was clear that the administrators had deliberately given me this hand, and I knew why.

In a surveillance room filled with monitors, a group of administrators and a corpulent man in a suit watched the game unfold. The man—the Game Master—let out a hearty laugh, his voice booming through the room.

“Just as you predicted, Game Master,” one of the guards said.

“These dirty animals,” the Game Master sneered. “They form plans to move forward together, but all it takes is a little push. Fear of losing. Greed for winning. Give them a strong hand, and they’ll betray each other without hesitation.”

He laughed again, a deep, guttural sound. “Exactly as I thought. Disgusting creatures. Humans act like intelligent beings, but they’re not. They’re just greedy dogs. HAHAHAHA!”

The Game Master’s entertainment came at the expense of our lives. He had rigged the game, ensuring betrayal was inevitable. It wasn’t about fairness; it was about watching us tear each other apart.

“They live rat-race lives,” he continued, “and when the right pressure is applied, they devour each other like wild animals. No pride, no dignity. Worthless beings. Truly a spectacle to watch!”

Back in the playroom, I placed my cards face-up on the table for everyone to see.

“Four of a kind,” I announced, my tone dripping with sarcasm. “So this is the kind of game you’re running, huh? We’re not beating the allegations…”

I locked eyes with one of the administrators, my gaze challenging. His expression betrayed nothing, but I could tell my words had struck a nerve.

Clara stood up abruptly, her chair clattering to the ground behind her. Her face was a storm of emotions—fear, shock, anger. She looked at my cards and felt the crushing weight of betrayal. For a moment, her body moved on instinct, raw and unfiltered. She wanted to hurt me, to make me pay for what she perceived as my treachery.

The administrators reacted instantly. Two of them forced her back into her chair, one pressing the barrel of a revolver to her temple.

“No violence is allowed in the playroom,” one of them stated flatly.

Clara slumped in her chair, her expression broken and hollow.

“Fold,” I said, my voice steady.

The room fell into stunned silence. Even the administrators looked momentarily taken aback. Clara’s despair began to lift, replaced by a fragile glimmer of hope. A small, almost hesitant smile formed on her lips.

But then her eyes turned to Don, and that glimmer shattered.

“… Call,” Don said, his voice weak and uncertain.

The administrators revealed the cards and declared Don the winner. His hand—three of a kind—secured him the victory. The chips moved to his side of the table: six in total. I was left with three, one of each color. Clara… had none.

“Don… DON, YOU STUPID MOTHERFUCKER!” Clara screamed, her voice raw with rage and despair. She lunged at him, but the administrators restrained her once more.

The room unlocked as the game was over, and also since the game couldn’t be played by less than three players as per the rules. Don raced out without any hesitation, leaving Claude and Clara behind in the room.

Claude watched, his mind racing. Clara had no coins left, yet she hadn’t been killed. This wasn’t mercy—it was calculated. “At some point,” he thought grimly, “violence will be encouraged.”

“Stay in this room. Don’t leave, you’ll be safe,” Claude said softly to Clara.

“Shut the fuck up,” Clara whispered, her voice laced with venom.

“Huh?” Claude’s confusion was evident.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Clara screamed, suddenly standing and delivering a sharp slap across Claude’s face. Her expression was a storm of anger, despair, and hopelessness. “You… it was your fault and your shitty plan. You… you fucked me over…”

Her voice grew weaker with every word until she no longer had the strength to stand. She collapsed back into her chair, her eyes dull and lifeless, her mind seemingly shattered. It was hard to tell if she was even still conscious.

“I’ll think of something. Just stay here,” Claude said, trying to steady his voice. He turned and left the room. As he glanced back one last time, he saw Clara, sitting motionless, her expression hollow. She looked almost lifeless.