The field-dampers did a good job of suppressing the mildly telepathic effects of the nyarlothol-rich atmosphere on Reno.
Meant no one knew I'd flopped the nut: two aces, an eight, with an ace in the hole.
I went all in.
The three-eyed dealer whirred and clicked dealing the turn. Another ace - man, the poon I was gonna buy.
The hard-faced prospector on my left folded. Just me and big guy waiting for the river.
I almost held my breath as the card flipped from the shoe.
Five aces? Shit.
Straining to tune mental chatter, I didn't need to be psychic to know some mechanic had played me a bad beat; cheating is death here.
Wheeling, I faced a man, mind frothing revenge
As I blasted the dealer the field evaporated, I knew.
Her father.
Seems it's a kill game...
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