The group moved cautiously through the grand entrance of the El Rancho Vegas Hotel, a grotesque reimagining of 1960s decadence. The once-vibrant atmosphere had been replaced with a suffocating darkness. Aiden's attention was immediately drawn to the civilians scattered throughout the space—people hunched over glowing slot machines, their movements mechanical and despondent. The chime of spinning reels and false jackpots echoed through the air, a twisted mockery of excitement.
"Are those… civilians?" Aiden asked, his voice low and uncertain.
"Yeah," Rowan replied, her grip on her spear tightening. "Not everyone who gets caught by the Core ends up as a monster or a fighter. Some just… end up at places like this. Slaves to whatever sick kingdom the Core's enforcers have carved out."
Sylva floated beside him, her glow dim but steady. "It's worse than you think, Aiden. This isn't survival—it's torment. Every pull of the lever, every game they play, is designed to strip away their hope. And when they're empty…" Her voice trailed off, and her light flickered faintly. "They're consumed."
Aiden stopped as they passed a man sitting at a slot machine. He was middle-aged, his suit tattered, his fingers trembling as he pulled the lever with mechanical precision. The symbols on the screen spun wildly before stopping on a losing combination. Aiden flinched as the man let out a hollow laugh, his head shaking as if the loss meant nothing.
"Sir?" Aiden said cautiously, stepping closer. "You don't have to do this. We can get you out of here."
The man didn't respond. His eyes were glassy, fixed on the slot machine. Aiden reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder. The man jerked back, his head snapping toward Aiden. For a brief moment, his eyes filled with terror.
"No," the man whispered, his voice hoarse. "No, no… I can't. They'll… They'll take me."
"Who? The shadows?" Aiden asked, but before he could get a clearer response, the man turned back to the machine, yanking the lever with frantic desperation.
Rowan touched Aiden's arm, pulling him back. "You can't save him, rookie. He's too far gone."
"There has to be a way," Aiden argued, his voice cracking.
"Not here," Kieran said firmly. "They're prisoners of their own despair. If you pull too hard, they'll break. And then the Core wins."
Aiden's chest tightened, but he nodded reluctantly, stepping away as the man let out another hollow laugh at yet another loss.
The group moved deeper into the casino, past tables of card games, roulette wheels, and civilians caught in endless cycles of futile gambling. Sylva floated ahead, her light pulsing softly as they approached the largest table in the room: a blackjack table surrounded by flickering crimson lights.
A hulking shadow in a sleek dealer's uniform stood behind the table, its glowing eyes fixed on the group. "Highest stakes in the house," it rumbled, its voice like grinding stone. "You want access to the boss? You'll need chips. Big chips."
Rowan stepped forward, eyeing the table warily. "How much do we need?"
The dealer gestured to a sign above the table: "10,000 chips required for VIP access."
Rowan groaned. "Of course, it couldn't be easy."
Kieran frowned, crossing his arms. "Gambling? Really? We're going to waste time playing games?"
"Do you have a better idea?" Rowan shot back, her frustration evident. "Unless you feel like fighting the entire casino, this is our way forward."
Aiden hesitated but nodded. "We don't have another option."
Rowan sat at the table, picking up the cards dealt to her with a confident smirk. The first few hands were tense, the stakes higher than anything she'd gambled before. But luck wasn't on her side. After losing her third consecutive hand, she slammed her cards onto the table with a curse.
"This is rigged," she muttered, glaring at the dealer.
Kieran stepped forward, his expression hesitant. "Let me try."
Rowan raised an eyebrow. "You? I thought you hated this kind of thing."
"I do," Kieran said gruffly, sitting down and picking up the cards. "But you're clearly not winning."
The group watched in stunned silence as Kieran played his first hand, effortlessly hitting 21. The dealer's shadowy face betrayed nothing, but it dealt the next hand without hesitation. Kieran won again—and again. His plays were precise, calculated, and somehow always perfectly timed.
By his fifth consecutive win, Rowan leaned over, whispering, "Are you counting cards?"
Kieran didn't look up, his focus unwavering. "No. Just lucky, I guess."
Sylva hovered beside him, her glow brightening slightly. "It's more than luck. You're reading them—calculating the odds instinctively."
Aiden grinned despite the tension. "Kieran, I didn't know you had it in you."
Kieran ignored the comment, focusing entirely on the cards. By the time he'd amassed enough chips, the group had drawn a small crowd of spectators—civilians watching with a mixture of awe and quiet hope.
He pushed the stack of chips toward the dealer, standing abruptly. "We're done here. Where's Capone?"
The dealer inclined its head, stepping aside as a door behind it creaked open. "Right this way."