The "Onyx Palace" wasn't the fanciest casino in town.
To Gael, the dizzying patterns on the carpets were key. So were the clatter of the slot machines and the smell of stale smoke. They represented the perfect Petri dish. A closed and controlled ecosystem. Here, the currency was, quite literally, probability.
He crossed the double doors with his hands in his coat pockets. The wad of bills from the ATM and the winning lottery ticket rested against his chest. He didn't feel the nerves of a novice gambler, nor the desperation of an addict. He felt the cold, dispassionate curiosity of an entomologist about to drive a pin through a rare insect.
He approached the slot machine area. He needed to calibrate the scales, starting small to measure the impact radius of his collateral damage.
He chose a bright, Ancient Egypt-themed machine. He fed in a hundred-dollar bill, selected the maximum bet, and pulled the lever without even looking at the screen.
The lights flashed. The reels spun and ground to a halt, one after another, with a metallic thud. Three golden scarabs. The jackpot for that machine.
Ding, ding, ding. The machine began spitting out tokens and a ticket worth five thousand dollars.
Gael didn't look at the prize. His eyes locked onto his immediate surroundings, scanning the perimeter. Three meters to his left, an elderly woman who had been glued to a poker machine for hours let out a shriek. Her machine's lever had jammed violently, fracturing her index and middle fingers with a dry snap.
Gael took the ticket, his face expressionless.
Mental log entry one, he thought. Five thousand dollars in direct profit is equivalent to minor bone fractures within a three-meter radius.
He walked toward the gaming tables. The slots were boring; they were programmed with closed algorithms. He wanted to test his power against real physics, against weight and friction. He approached a roulette table where a bored-looking croupier was sweeping up the lost chips of other players.
Gael tossed down all the chips he had just exchanged for his slot machine ticket, plus a thousand dollars in cash. An imposing pile.
"Everything on double zero green," he said, his voice monotone.
The croupier raised an eyebrow but nodded, pushing the tower of chips toward the green box. He launched the small ivory ball along the rim of the spinning wooden cylinder.
Gael watched the ball. Under normal conditions, chance and physics would dictate its fall. But the ball did not behave normally. It bounced off a metal diamond, jumped erratically, and defied inertia. It made an impossible turn that seemed to slow it down mid-air. Then, it dropped with a dull thud into the double zero pocket.
A 35 to 1 payout. He had just turned his pile of money into over two hundred thousand dollars.
Before the croupier could even announce the winning number, the universe's invoice arrived on the other side of the room.
A waiter carrying a tray full of champagne glasses slipped on a perfectly dry surface. The tray went flying like a lethal disc. The glasses slammed against a craps table, shattering into a rain of shards.
Two players in expensive suits fell to the floor, screaming as they covered their faces, which were bleeding from deep glass cuts. One shard sliced through the cable of a large neon sign, causing a short circuit. Sparks showered onto the carpet, which began to smoke.
Chaos erupted in the south end of the casino. Security guards scrambled. Paramedics shouted for space.
Gael stood perfectly still in front of the roulette table. The croupier was pale, trembling, looking from the ball on the double zero to the disaster a few meters away.
"My chips," Gael demanded, drumming his fingers on the green felt.
The terrified croupier handed him stacks of high-value chips. Gael reflected on mental log entry two. Two hundred thousand dollars in a dense environment can damage structures and cause lacerations. The impact radius expands when more people are nearby. Misfortune seeks the fastest conductor to release its energy.
It was no longer a hypothesis. It was a physical law that belonged to him alone.
Gael pocketed his winnings, stuffing the large chips into his coat as if they were candy. He observed the panic, the screams, and the smoke rising from the carpet.
For the first time in twenty-seven years, the chaos didn't touch him. He was the eye of the storm. He was the master of the disaster.
A low, raspy laugh escaped his lips. It was the laugh of a man who had stopped being the victim to become the executioner of destiny.
Gael headed straight for the high-stakes Blackjack table. He wanted to see what happened if he forced the universe to give him a million dollars. He wanted to see if the casino ceiling would come crashing down.
But before he could get there, two massive shadows stepped into his path.
They were two identical men in tailored black suits, with transparent earpieces. Behind them, a thin man advanced with a steady gait. He wore an impeccable gray suit and had a cold, reptilian gaze. The crowd parted in fear.
The man in the gray suit looked at the mounds of chips in Gael's pockets. Then, he pointed toward a pair of double oak doors at the back of the room, far from the public's eyes.
"Sir," the thin man said, with a courtesy that sounded like a death threat, "our floor manager has noticed your... extraordinary run of luck. He would like to invite you to our private room for a chat."
Gael looked at the thugs. He quickly calculated the odds of their weapons jamming. He also considered the risk of them both having simultaneous aneurysms if he refused. The math was on his side.
A cynical smile, overflowing with arrogance, spread across his face.
"Of course," Gael replied, adjusting his coat collar. "I was starting to get bored out here anyway."