The waiter greeted them with a polite smile, but the sight of the men before him gave him pause.

  The leader was a beast of a man—rough leather jacket scuffed and worn, boots with frayed edges, jeans that had seen better days, and a scruffy beard that made him look even meaner. He was nothing like the usual high-rollers who came through these doors.

  And the rest of his crew? Just as rough. Tough-looking men, dressed like they’d been through hell and back.

  Still, the waiter kept his composure. “Welcome, gentlemen. Please, come in. Do you have a room reserved?”

  “Room?” The bearded man smirked, shrugging off his coat. His thick, muscular arms were covered in dragon tattoos, the ink barely visible beneath smears of what looked like dried blood. “They say Crown is the best damn place in Dune. Isn’t there a casino here? C’mon, boys, let’s make some money. Play big, drink big, have a fucking good time!”

  The rest of the crew burst into laughter, not even bothering to wait for the waiter as they swaggered through the revolving door.

  The waiter, now fully understanding what kind of crowd had just walked in, pulled out his radio and spoke in a hushed tone. “Manager, we’ve got some wilderness hunters here. Look like fresh meat.”

  To keep the mutant beasts at bay, Krythos had built an enormous wall, cutting off nearly half its territory. But with so many awakened ones in the city, there were always those bold enough to venture beyond the safety of the walls—hunters who stalked the wilderness, taking down mutants and harvesting their bones, hides, and other rare parts to sell to corporations and research institutions for a hefty profit.

  Deep Sea Pharmaceuticals, for instance, developed many of its high-grade pills using extracts from these very creatures.

  It was a dangerous life. Ten years ago, when the wall was still being constructed, swarms of mutant beasts had launched relentless attacks against Krythos. Only the presence of top-tier human warriors, fighting off the beast kings, had ensured the city's survival. Countless awakened ones had died, their blood soaking the border.

  These days, only low-level mutants wandered the forests near the city walls. Even so, the survival rate for those who left the city remained grim. But for the ones who made it back alive? The rewards were more than worth it.

  It didn’t take long before the casino manager, a portly man with a face full of smiles, hurried into the lobby to greet the newcomers.

  “Gentlemen, my sincerest apologies for not welcoming you sooner. Please, allow me to show you inside.”

  He knew exactly what kind of men he was dealing with. Anyone daring enough to hunt in the wilderness had to be an awakened one—and not just any awakened, but hardened survivors.

  "This is not an ordinary person, this is a mobile ATM." The manager thought, leading the crowd in front.

  Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

  Leading the way, the manager ushered them forward, and Kieran and his crew followed, taking in the sheer luxury of the Crown Hotel as they walked.

  The corridors were lined with LED panels, displaying a never-ending simulation of blue skies and rolling clouds. It was easy to forget they were underground. An artificial canal snaked through the floor, where guests lounged in boats, sipping expensive cocktails. Gorgeous women, barely dressed, draped themselves over the shoulders of high-rolling gamblers.

  “Jesus,” Kieran muttered, shaking his head. “This is fucking sinful.”

  As an instructor for the Border Armed Police, Kieran’s salary was nothing to scoff at—easily over 50,000 a month. He could afford a night here if he wanted. But he never had any interest in this kind of place.

  And now? After tonight? There was no way in hell he’d be welcome back.

  “Axel, you little bastard,” he muttered under his breath. “If I show my face here again, it'll be a damn miracle.”

  After what felt like a seven- or eight-minute walk, they finally reached the casino floor. It was an entirely different world from the hotel’s upper levels.

  The air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne and burning cigars. Well-dressed men and women moved gracefully from table to table, diamonds glittering under the warm golden lights.

  In stark contrast, Kieran and his crew looked like they’d just crawled out of a warzone.

  The manager kept his practiced smile as he turned to them. “Gentlemen, our casino has two floors. This level is reserved for esteemed guests such as yourselves. But, if you prefer a more… casual setting, we do have another floor for, ah, smaller wagers.”

  Kieran smirked. The guy was basically saying "You sure you can afford this place?" but in the most polite way possible.

  If Kieran had been here on his own, he probably would’ve just shrugged and taken the hint. But tonight? They weren’t here to gamble.

  His crew exchanged glances before stepping up to the cashier and exchanging chips—30,000 each.

  The manager nodded but remained stationed at the entrance, watching them closely, his polite smile unwavering.

  Behind him, the waiter sneered, leaning in close. “Manager, these guys aren’t shit. Look at how little they exchanged—barely worth our time.”

  The manager, still smiling, didn’t respond. He wasn’t stupid. He knew better than to underestimate men like these.

  The manager remained composed, leaning casually against the doorway, smiling and greeting passing guests as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Without looking at the waiter, he whispered,

  “Wilderness hunters risk their damn lives for every credit they make. It’s only natural they’re reluctant to part with it. But once they step inside a casino? They always get hooked. They’ve got the money, they just need a little… encouragement. So don’t rush them, or you’ll spook the high-rollers.”

  The waiter’s eyes lit up with realization. So they waited, watching the scene unfold like a play.

  Sure enough, in less than half an hour, the group lost everything they had exchanged. The manager chuckled. Just as expected. Then, just as he predicted, each one of them went back to the counter to exchange another 50,000 in chips.

  The manager’s smile grew wider. Sure, the profits went to the hotel and the boss, but any customer who gambled more than half a million meant a fat bonus for the staff.

  Another thirty minutes passed. Another complete loss.

  This time, as the tattooed man—Finnick—marched toward the cashier, the manager was already prepared. He straightened his suit and stepped forward, putting on his best customer service smile.

  “Sir, would you like me to exchange some more chips for y—”

  SMACK!

  The sound was deafening. The manager went flying, his body crashing into a massive porcelain vase, shattering it into a thousand pieces.

  “Are you running a fucking scam here?!” Finnick roared, veins bulging from his neck. “I’ve only played a few damn rounds! A hundred thousand! My brothers and I? Six hundred thousand total! And it’s ALL gone? Bullshit! Give us our fucking money back!”

  Finnick had been a street thug long before his awakening. Now? He was just slipping back into old habits, playing his role perfectly.

  The manager groaned, struggling to push himself up, his head throbbing from the impact. He stared at Finnick in disbelief.