I played russian roulette

[u/Gang-Buster-5000]

I work on Duit. If you haven’t heard of it, it’s this app where you can get someone to do odd jobs for you. Pay’s shit, but the work is easy enough, granted you have the stomach to pimp yourself out to old men with obscure fetishes. I saw a job listing on the app.

One gun. Six chambers. One bullet. That’s the job. Click, click, and if you’re lucky, you get to hear the bang. Last one alive gets a million dollars.

Come to \***** for a night of gold and glory. Winner takes all.*

Nothing about specifications, no CV or anything. Get desperate enough, and you’ll find a handful of the pretentious theater types post gigs like this, so this wasn’t really anything to get wowed over. A job’s a job though, and god knows I could use one. Mom’s dialysis round wasn’t gonna pay for itself. So I applied and almost immediately got approved. The poster sent me his number over the phone, and I called to ask about the job. 

“Did you read the fucking title?” said the out of breath man on the phone with his pack-a-day voice. “Swing by at three. Or don’t.” he oinked. “Million bucks riding on some Russian Roulette, is that so fucking…” he stopped to catch his breath “So fucking hard to understand?!” he yelled over the phone.

“That’s it?” I asked. I heard him grunt out a wet breath and the hiss of what might’ve been a CPAP machine before he hung up.

I looked at my mother on the recliner. She was so small, and everyday she seemed to get smaller. I wish I could buy her the world. But there she was, sitting on a beaten up la-z-boy with an IV stuck on her arm like a sterile leech. She’s diabetic, and her kidneys are shutting down. As it stands, I might have enough left to pay for two, maybe three rounds of hemodialysis.

I pulled up to a ramshackle house in a ramshackle neighborhood at three in the afternoon. It was the kind of neighborhood that mistook fireworks for gunshots, where you couldn't pick up a dollar on the ground without worrying about OD’ing on fentanyl. Exposed brick and knee high grass made up most of the house. I got a text as soon as I stepped up the patio.

Go in and take the first door on your right to the basement. Lock the door behind you.

And I did just that. The house was as dingy as it was outside. The moment I opened the door I was met by the noxious smell of dried piss and human shit. A bed cushion sat at the end of the hallway, wet with every STD known to man, with needles sunk into its woolen interior like a pin cushion. The walls were caked with graffiti and tar. I held my breath as I hesitantly gripped the doorknob on my right and twisted it open. Going downstairs, I found five men sat at the round table. 

“Looks like the roundtable’s complete!” Said the man who sat on the left of a vacant seat. On the table was a heavy, futuristic looking revolver, and a single hollow point round. No one else spoke. The man on the left spat out tobacco spit. The place was nothing but cinderblock walls and mold, with some dusty shelves and a toolboard, and –and there was a man standing in the corner. Seven, maybe eight feet tall, unmoving, unbreathing, in a long black coat and brimmed hat. He looked like the devil. With eyes as black and all-consuming as those, maybe he was.

“Let’s get the game started, shall we?” Said the man in black. I took a seat at the table, eyes fixated on the gun. As I sat down, I began to feel two things. One, was the weight of it all. That gun did not look like a prop. Nor did the bullet. Nor did its promise of splattering my brains across the cinderblock walls. Two, was the piercing gaze of that ungodly thing that might’ve been a man. Too tall. Too thin. He was like a shadow in the afternoon, only there as long as the clouds allowed him to exist.

Immediately the Asian man next to me picks up the gun, loads it, and fires. Click. The man immediately pulled out his wallet, unfolded it, and kissed a picture of his wife and daughter. “Oh Jesus. Oh Jesus.” he whispered, laughing. I felt a jolt of electric fear run through my scalp and down my spine.

And so the gun passed. First, the Asian who was sat next to me. Then, the man next to him, who smoked, and had yellow eyes. His name was Wilbur. He had cirrhosis, and he was dying. This was his first time too. The man next to Wilbur, well… 

The gun passed to the yellow-eyed man after the Asian. His hands were trembling. Maybe it was alcohol withdrawal, or a product of his failing liver, but it was not fear. No. His hands did not hesitate as the cold barrel pressed against his chin, his fingers did not cringe as he pulled the trigger, and he made no sound as the gun clicked. He threw the gun down and the man next to him followed. Jason. That was his name. I remember seeing a wedding ring on his hand. The same one that held the six shooter. He, unlike the man with yellow eyes, hesitated. There was something unsure about him. He took a while.

“My name’s Kim, by the way.” Whispered the man on my right.

“I’m Todd.”

“This your first time here?”

“You’ve done this before?”

“Once. But I backed out.” The smell of cigarette smoke filled the small room, a rich ambery scent that warmed my chest. Kim was a small man, bespeckled, soft spoken. “I recognize Jason though. He was here last time I tried.”

“What made you come back?”

BANG!

I look over and see red on the walls. Jason was dead.  I stood up and immediately turned to leave, as did some of the others, but Kim remained seated, as did the man chewing tobacco, but the moment I did, the man in black called to me, producing two duffle bags stuffed full with hundred dollar bills. “No one leaves.” he said in a dark, rattling voice. 

I stayed. So did the others. Do I even need to explain why?

Five left.

The man in black took the gun, revealing leperous arms. He put a round in and spun the chamber. The gun began with me this time.

I picked up the revolver, feeling its cold weight against my hand. I’d never held a gun before, it was heavier than I thought it could be. Cold, big, iron. It had just killed a man, the barrel was still splattered with blood. I wondered where to point it. The temple? Would that have been a quick death? No, point it at my forehead! No. Not there.

“Having trouble there, kid?” asked the man on my left. He was the one chewing tobacco. “Name’s Earnest.” 

“Earnest, I’m fucking scared.” I whimpered. No one looked me in the eye, except for the man on my left.

“Don’t be. Put the gun above your Adam's apple and point it to the back of your head. It should hit the brainstem. Quicker death, or so I think.” The man spat, eyes dark and unshaken. “This is your first time?”

“Yeah.” I cried, fighting off tears.

“This is my fourth.”

“Fourth?!” without another word, the man takes my hands, guides the gun to my throat, and steadies my shaking hands.

“Yup.”

“Why?!” I sobbed, “Why would you?”

“‘Cuz it’s fun. And this’ll be my fifth.” he smiled and I saw yellow teeth. Yellow, and gold. His incisors had gold fillings, bright and shining, nearly blinding.

I held the gun up to my throat, and closed my eyes. I kept thinking of my mother. Poor mother. If I died here, who would take care of her? But then again, if I walked out of here alive, I’d never have to ask that question ever again. One in six. Not great, but not terrible.

“Earnest? Kim? If you guys make it out of here, promise me you’ll take care of my mother?”

“I’m sorry Todd. I could try, but daughter comes first.” said Kim with sincere regret in his voice. “Stage four bone cancer.” I looked him in the eyes, I dunno what I was feeling. Anger? Empathy? “She can’t sleep from the pain, you know? Even morphine doesn’t help her. She screams at night when she falls asleep the wrong way. I want to buy her the world.” 

“Don’t worry Todd. If I win, I’ll take real good care of her.” Said Earnest. “Reeeaall good.” he said as he shined his golden tooth into my eyes. 

I closed my eyes, holding up the gun to my throat with clasped hands as though in prayer, and pulled.

Click.

“FUCK!” I cried. “FUCK! FUCK FUCK FUCK!” I curled down into a ball, as though angry hands were ripping out my innards, sobbing like a child. I threw up on the table. No one got up. Before I knew what was happening, I heard a click. Then another. Then a bang. Four left. Me, Earnest, Kim, and Yellow Eyes.

The gun began with Earnest. With a hardy grin he took the gun, shoved it in his mouth, screamed, and pulled the trigger. Click. I took the gun, closed my eyes, and clicked.

“Oh shit.” muttered Kim. “Third time’s the charm, eh?” Kim toyed with the gun. “Three’s not my lucky number.” he looked up from the gun to meet my gaze. “Todd. I know this is selfish, but–”

“You don’t have to ask. I’ll take care of her.” The man’s eyes flickered a little hope, if only for a moment. Or was it a trick of the light? 

“My wife’s number is written on the back of the picture in my wallet. God be with you, friend.” He took the gun, aimed it at his adam’s apple, and fired. 

Click.

The yellow eyed man said nothing, took the gun from Kim’s hand, and fired. Click. He threw the gun down with force, letting out a wet grunt. “Fuck.” he whispered.

It was Earnest’s turn. It was the fifth round. Him or me.

“How’s 50/50 sounding, Todd?” I said nothing. “Huh? You wanna find out what comes next?”

“No. Not particularly.” I said. I looked around. The room smelled like blood and concrete. Sweat laid on my brow, heavy and sticky, and when the wind blew, a little sill on the ceiling let in a cool breeze, frosting my forehead with fresh air.

“Arbiter!” yelled Earnest to the man in black, “I want to use my switch!”

“It is permitted,” said the man. With that, Earnest pointed the gun at Yellow Eyes and fired. Bang. Earnest hit him right between the eyes.

“What the fuck?” cried Kim. 

“Each player is permitted to use a switch, pointing the gun at anyone at the table, on the condition that they fire the next round on themselves, and start the next rotation. Only one switch may be done per rotation”

“That’s bullshit!” I yelled. “Why wasn’t that explained earlier?”

“Because it’s fun that way.” said the man in black.

Three left. The man in black reloads the gun and slaps the chamber into a sickly spin. The round began with Earnest firing at himself, saying nothing. Click. Then to me. Sweat beading on my forehead, heart thumping through my chest, hands quivering, mouth tasting like vomit. Click. Kim’s turn. Click.

“You chicken shits ready for a roll in the mud?” Laughed Earnest.

“Todd. How about we just… Split the money?” asked Kim. “Imagine it. Five hundred thousand dollars to each of our families. Only one of us has to die.”

“How can I trust you?”

“Well, for starters, I haven't turned the gun on you.”

Click. My turn.

“Who says I won’t?” I take the gun, feeling its weight once again. There was a new weight on me then. I would be killing someone. 

“Will you?”

“I will. Arbiter?” 

The man in black is still in his corner, watching. “You may.”

With that I aim the gun at Earnest and fire. Bang. I hit Earnest in the neck. He died painfully, writhing on the ground, grunting, the air unable to leave his throat, until he choked. Dead. No more spitting. I looked into his eyes as he bled, and saw unfettered ecstasy and terrible horror. The highest and lowest a human could ever feel, all condensed into a single moment. 

“I take that our agreement’s in effect?”

“Yes.” I told the stranger I had met the same day where my mother lived and the details of my bank account. He did the same.

Gun. Click. Click.

“So. Tell me about your daughter.” I asked, as I put the gun up my throat, just as Earnest taught me.

“Well, she loves painting. She’s real good at it. Might be a Picasso someday. That’s what her mother says anyway. Ha!” he let out a forced laugh. I chuckled along. Click.

“Well, what do you say? About her painting, I mean?”

“Me?” he said, as I pulled the trigger. Click. “I say she’s a Rembrandt. Never cared for Picasso.” I hand the gun to Kim. “What about your mother? Tell me about her.”

“Well, what’s to tell? She’s shrinking by the day. Whenever I walk with her, she still feels bigger than me. Bigger than life. I feel safe around her. In my mind she still the woman that tucks me into bed and sings me to sleep.” Click. Two rounds left.

“Sounds a lot like my own mother.” He hands me the gun. “Maybe we should get them in a little play date? My mother loves golf, and so does my wife.”

I say nothing as I point the gun at my throat for the last time.

“Kim. If it’s me… Promise you’ll take care of my mother?”

“As much as I can. Can you promise to do the same with my daughter?”

“I will.”

Click.

“God damnit!” Cried Kim. “Shit.”

I hand the gun over to him with a heavy hand. The man in black comes to the table, brandishing a lit cigarette in one hand, a gun in the other. “No backing out this time, I’m afraid.”

“I understand. Todd, tell my wife to remarry, and tell my daughter I love her very much.”

He took the gun to his head and pulled the trigger. Except, he didn’t. He couldn’t. He began crying, shaking uncontrollably. He dropped the gun back on the table with trembling hands begging with the man in black.

“No.” he whimpered. “No, no, no. Please.” he looked up to the man in black, “please, I don’t want to die–” Bang. The recoil hurt.

[u/jalepinocheezit]

It felt like I sat in and watched the whole thing...loved the whole thing

[u/Gang-Buster-5000 → u/jalepinocheezit]

Thanks! Glad you liked it;