Story Reader / Floating Record / ER10 Deceivers' Rapture / Story
Old Fred never should have raised a viper like you! He told me so himself before he di—oh, God forgive me! I mean, before he passed away!
You murderous scum! Burn in hell!
And to think he named you the sole beneficiary in his will! That's just like him—soft-hearted to his dying breath!
If he weren't like that, he wouldn't have been wrapped around Felice's finger...
09:50 p.m.
July 13
(Nothing but a leech sucking blood from a wild boar's hide. Even calling this "toying with him" would be giving him too much credit.)
(As for that old bastard... absolutely disgusting. I'll spare him the lobotomy, but if a blade could carve into his brain and cut out those memories, I'd be more than happy to oblige.)
You all saw it! This person is cheating!
This is your own damn incompetence, stop blaming others!
The rough shout yanks her from her thoughts. Her professional smile clicks on automatically.
The argument grows quite intense, with both participants even knocking their chairs to the floor.
Is there a problem, gentlemen?
It's all right. Just speak to me like you usually do.
The figure in the purple dress strides quickly to the table, her soothing words betraying a maturity that belies her youthful face.
Both accusers freeze mid-sentence. Even the uninvolved players straighten up, their casual attitudes evaporating.
Eleanor, let me explain...
Usually we all bet about 2.5 times... what kind of person would bet ten times in a game like this?!
Now that's what I call playing smart and dangerous—maybe take some notes, rookie.
Shut up!
Spittle flies from his mouth, flecking the neighboring player's face before he suddenly hunches over, pivoting toward the girl beside him.
Look, he never showed his cards—we all just figured the bastard got lucky and let it slide.
Then comes the flip... and suddenly his "pocket aces" include the Ace of Hearts!
That does sound like rare good fortune. Which part of the game are you dissatisfied with, sir?
The girl calmly intervenes in the dispute.
These days, mechanoids handle all the dealing and shuffling. I know your equipment here is the most reliable...
Look, I've played long enough to know every card that's hit the table. That bastard cheated!
That's basic skills, stop flaunting it! Cut to the chase!
Don't play coy after cheating! You already pulled the Ace of Hearts once—how the hell does a perfect duplicate just appear? Such a cheap trick, and you still have the audacity to—
His accusations are drowned out by the grumbling of surrounding players, eager to win big and fill their pockets, who can hardly tolerate such a waste of their time.
We use the city's standardized arbitration system. If you don't mind, we can pull up this table's dealer records.
I don't mind at all! My hands are completely clean. Let's do this and expose that bastard's true colors!
Just a moment, please.
Her fingers fly across the panel behind the mechanoid dealer. With a hum, a holographic replay of the entire game flickers to life above the table.
The commotion attracts attention from neighboring tables, while the face of the player raising objections gradually contorts: the artificial construct's circuits have clearly recorded every second of the game, with no evidence supporting his claims.
There must be something wrong! I remember it crystal clearly!
The other guests are eager to start a new round. I'm sure you understand, sir?
If you'd like to investigate further, I can cash out your winnings now... and we can continue this discussion in Security.
Her smile remains radiant, but the steel in her voice leaves no room for misinterpretation.
Ugh...
He hesitates for just a moment—then backs down with a dismissive wave.
Go ahead with your business, Ms. Eleanor. I can handle things here myself.
As the situation settles, the players start shouting for the mechanoid to shuffle the deck again, completely unfazed by how abrupt their shift in attitude is.
The sharp sound of metal hitting the table quiets the crowd once again.
Why don't we settle this the traditional way, shall we?
He challenges his opponent who had just won the previous round with a stroke of luck.
His right elbow rests casually on the edge of the table, a revolver gripped tightly in his hand.
Didn't expect your taste to be so antiquated.
Some traditions are worth keeping. Like human dealers. These machines took all the fun out of arguing with the house.
Every fair game needs a referee—no matter what form it takes.
I propose... we let Eleanor load the bullets. What do you think? I have nothing to hide, nothing to fear.
When the winner accepts the challenge, the room erupts in whistles and cheers. While the law protects the right to carry firearms, such outlandish behavior is rarely seen in daily life.
Eleanor's smile widens into an even more exaggerated arc.
Ensuring the safety of our guests' lives and property is a fundamental principle of this establishment and all of Las Prados.
As she speaks, she swiftly seizes the weapon from the challenger's hand, completely ignoring its owner's belated protests.
Hey, you! Careful, that thing can easily...
This is about my dignity! Don't you...
Don't worry, I'll finish this game for you.
Letting a guest take part in such a dangerous duel is a serious lapse on my part, isn't it?
Then, the girl skillfully inspects the chamber and hammer, as if handling a child's toy.
Her face lights up with pleasant surprise.
A Copperfield-Fosberry double-action repeating Revolver! What a rare find these days!
<color=#ff4e4eff><b>Eight chambers</b></color> of .357 Magnum rounds—a meticulous recreation of vintage craftsmanship, designed exclusively for collectors... and deserving of equally exceptional rules.
She speaks of it with intimate familiarity. The bulky revolver doesn't look out of place in her slender white fingers—rather, it creates the impression that she is the weapon's rightful owner. Eleanor places the gun back on the table.
You'll be loading <color=#ff4e4eff><b>two bullets</b></color>, Mister. This makes the chance of failure... one in four.
With a curl of her lips, she unexpectedly raises the stakes of the game.
The onlookers around the table gasp at the same time.
Of course, I wouldn't dare ask our guests for anything as crude as money. If I'm fortunate enough to win, I only hope that you can fulfill one small wish of mine. What do you say?
The scent of excitement electrifies everyone's nerves. The card players have thrown all thoughts of prize pools and strategies to the wind, their eyes firmly locked on the unfolding drama.
No objections here, let's do it!
Please.
She raises her pinky finger and elegantly grips the barrel, offering the handle to the challenger.
The fidgety man snatches the weapon, showily flips open the cylinder, and pulls out a handful of bright yellow bullets from his pocket with his left hand.
He flicks the bullet into the air, then spins the curved cylinder, letting the rotating chamber catch the smooth, falling round. This small feat of dexterity earns another round of mocking cheers.
I'll go first!
Before his words even finish, he presses the gun barrel against his temple and savagely pulls the trigger.
But the crowd's thirst for blood goes unfulfilled—the gunpowder explosion they were expecting didn't happen.
The weapon malfunctions, seemingly due to a lack of lubrication. The mechanism engages, but the cylinder remains completely stuck.
My, you're certainly impatient. No matter, it's only proper to let our guests go first. But since it's jammed... perhaps I should be the one to take the first shot.
She takes the weapon from her opponent, noticing the grip feels oddly sticky to the touch.
Well then, I'll begin.
The briefly interrupted atmosphere of excitement flares back to life as she presses the barrel to her forehead and, with perfect composure, pulls the trigger.
The ecstatic atmosphere freezes for an instant, then resumes its flow in the absence of any gunshot.
Bet calling, insults, indecipherable murmurs, and even disappointed wails all erupt uncontrollably from the crowd.
Risk is the very essence of thrill, and this long-absent high-stakes showdown shatters the pretenses of normally dignified gamblers. A near-primal frenzy surges through the hall, bubbling to the brink of explosion.
What a shame, it seems I survived. Well then, your turn, sir?
With an innocent smile, she extends the revolver. The combination is enough to push the challenger's nerves to the edge of hysteria.
This is a turn of events he never saw coming—Eleanor is just a pampered rich girl who happens to know her way around a card table. How could she possibly be so adept at this kind of game?
The delicate crescents of her smiling eyes curved like scythe blades—a fleeting thought that sent a chill down his spine.
O-okay, I'll... I'll do it...
The judge's gavel hovers, poised for a verdict that never comes.
Let's begin another round.
Girl, challenger, girl, challenger, girl, challenger. <color=#ff4e4eff><b>Six shots</b></color> over in merely moments, yet to the seasoned card player, it felt like a century had passed. Cold sweat now trickles down his face toward his neck.
Six trigger pulls, six empty chambers. The answer was clear.
The revolver returns to Eleanor's hand, heavy with the weight of death itself.
I... I withdraw my challenge! Did you hear me?! I'm not playing anymore!
Both bullets are in Ms. Eleanor's hands, I'd say fortune favors her. Shall we call this her win?
Heated arguments surge from all directions, only to be dispersed by the decisive word of the one controlling the game.
That won't do, you know? Rules are the foundation of any game. They're not just casino protocol... they're my promise to all my guests.
Promises are not to be changed on a whim.
The scent of blood seeps into the air as the hall spirals into chaos.
Oh, I forgot to mention something to you... I never believe in luck.
I only believe in probability.
She raises the gun barrel to her forehead once more and pulls the trigger.
The crisp strike of the hammer tears through the noise, replacing the chaos with an undisturbed, deathly silence.
One second, two seconds, three. The ear-splitting explosion everyone expects still hasn't arrived.
The man across the table forces his reflexively closed eyes open, seeing through the haze Eleanor's mysterious purple hair and composed smile still intact.
The girl remains unharmed.
Her smile lands like a droplet in a still pond, sending ripples outward from the card table, spreading through the gathered crowd.
The revolver is empty! He accuses others of cheating when he's the one cheating himself!
That's impossible! I saw with my own eyes the bullet he tossed fall back into the chamber!
Even the one who had been making false accusations loses his composure, utterly shocked by this result that defies all logic.
No need to be so harsh on this gentleman, everyone. The game isn't over yet—how can we jump to conclusions?
She pulls the trigger again. In that instant, the hammer and cylinder nearly complete their tasks in unison.
She's lost her mind!
No, the cylinder is actually...! But how did she...
Maintaining such high spirits in the face of death—this behavior could certainly be called madness.
Yet every movement of the girl is measured and deliberate, as if she refuses to tarnish her status as the owner of the establishment.
The sound of the hammer striking an empty chamber rings out again, unsurprisingly, leaving her feeling somewhat deflated. What pleasure is there in a game you know you'll win?
I've completed the final shot. It seems... I'm the survivor.
I was supposed to be entertaining my guest, yet I went ahead and won our duel. But you'll forgive me, won't you, sir?
One of them was supposed to die. Setting aside the cheating, by the game's rules, both surviving should count as a tie.
But the man across the table has lost the ability to speak. He just stares at his opponent, his every facial muscle pulling in a different direction, as if unsure what expression to wear.
No, that's impossible... how did you know...
Oh my, are you confused, sir?
She boldly flips open the revolver's cylinder and dumps its contents onto the table.
With two soft clinks, a pair of knuckle-sized metal cylinders come to rest among the playing cards.
The spectators nearest to the duelists swiftly grab the cylinders, holding them up for a closer look at the evidence.
He's the one who cheated! These are clearly two empty shells!
You have the nerve to criticize me? You're nothing but a bluffing charlatan!
He basks in the satisfaction of having reaffirmed his innocence, while the onlookers around him finally relax their tense nerves.
Yet no one turns to the disgraced man. All eyes stay locked on the girl, as if she's the only one left standing in the spotlight.
The standard Copperfield-Fosbery double-action revolver weighs 56 ounces (1587 grams) unloaded.
She knows people are desperate for an explanation.
This gentleman has exquisite taste—the embellishments on his gun are rather refined. With agate and diamond inlays on the grip and a gold-plated barrel, the unloaded gun weighs around 1800 grams.
The standard .357 caliber Magnum rounds are somewhat heavier than regular ammunition. To be precise, 15 grams per bullet.
So, the total weight after loading two bullets should be 1830 grams, or perhaps a bit more.
But when you've only loaded <color=#ff4e4eff><b>two empty shell casings</b></color>, the weight is practically indistinguishable from an unloaded gun.
Her casual tone only brings about an even more profound silence.
A skilled player can remember the whereabouts of every suit and every single card. Manipulating dice and such minor tricks are child's play to them.
I merely picked up the basics of estimating measurements while working at the bar—just applying what I've learned on the fly. I'm still nowhere near as skilled as you, my guests!
She feigns embarrassment at her own display, offering a delicate bow to those seated on either side of the table.
Well, what do you think now, sir?
That's impossible! No one could be that perceptive, especially not some little gi—
The exasperated man catches himself mid-sentence, swallowing the rest of his disrespectful remark.
Oh, that was just a little playful banter to lighten the mood. You're absolutely right, sir. How could anyone possibly distinguish a mere difference of a few grams?
This type of Magnum is loaded with miniature high-explosive rounds, packing more gunpowder than usual. That's why they typically have flat tips.
When I noticed you deliberately using that sleight of hand while loading, I had already figured out most of it.
Flat-tipped bullets and empty shells are truly difficult to distinguish without careful examination.
Still, your technique is quite skillful. You must have practiced it throughout your professional career.
Whether he is a second-rate hitman or a third-rate private detective makes no difference to her. An opponent who willingly exposes their weaknesses isn't worth the effort.
City Guards! Where are the City Guards?! Get this disgraceful wretch thrown out of here!
That's right! Don't spoil our fun!
People begin shoving one another, only to freeze at the sound of metal striking the floor.
The girl picks up the Moon Umbrella leaning beneath her chair and taps it against the floor, making everyone around her suddenly realize she hadn't come unprepared.
No need to rush off just yet. Revealing the prize is the most enjoyable part of any game, wouldn't you agree?
As the winner, my wish is quite simple. This gentleman acted on impulse, and I kindly ask everyone to consider today's little drama water under the bridge.
However, let baseless accusations go unchecked, and soon there are no rules.
She tilts her head, her smile cutting like a scythe blade into the perpetrator.
Since you're such a skilled veteran, Mister, your budget must be quite substantial. After all... an employer like yours wouldn't offer a low salary, would they?
The girl utters cryptic words that only her target can comprehend.
You... how did you...
The man has abandoned all will to resist, his words spilling out instinctively from whatever thoughts formed in his mind.
My goodness... prying into a lady's secrets is rather discourteous, don't you think?
Anyway, thank you, Mister, for providing everyone with such an exciting match. It's been quite some time since I've had this much fun!
The guests are still in high spirits. So today's drinks... will be on you, Mister.
Before the man can even react, the hall bursts into cheers.
He awkwardly forces a stiff smile, waving to acknowledge the people around him.
The mechanical waiters glide through the crowd, their trays cutting slender paths like icebreakers through packed snow.
Gossip, alcohol, and a high roller covering everyone's tab—another night of revelry is in full swing in Las Prados.
The girl had already vanished by the exit before the party even began.
Throughout the entire encounter, she behaves as if unaware of the pair of eyes watching from the corner of the hall.
Interesting, interesting. What a promising young talent.
Status update?
According to surveillance data, Lucky 38's visitor count was higher than usual, so I went to inspect the main hall myself.
...and took care of a little dispute.
Oh? Something serious enough to drag you out personally? Some mechanoids acting up again?
I'm afraid it was something more serious than that.
Get to the point.
Although the perpetrator's handgun was modified, I can confirm it's a standard model from the Polaroid division of the Kurono Intelligence Bureau.
I'm not sure why he would deliberately expose his identity, but this means...
Kurono's people are back.
She switches off the communicator hidden under her hat brim and walks toward the high-rise apartment across from the parking lot outside the hall.
