A smile from yesterday

Third person:

The rain fell in dripping veils,and Red pulled his coat tighter.Not because of the cold.But because the night feltas if it recognized him.

The bar was smoky,the light a dull yellow,the music soft,lost in the murmur of voices.

All he really wanted was information.A clue. A name.

But instead, he got a smile.

A disgusting one.Wide.Puckered.

Family.

"Well, I wonder. If it isn't the little ladybug..."

Red froze.

A man sat at the bar with a glass of whiskey.His hair was gray, his suit too slick.And under his left eye...

A faded X

"I thought you were history, kid."

He sipped from his glass, eyeing red with sparkling mockery.

"Or better yet, I thought you'd been forgotten."

Red swallowed.His stomach clenched.

He knew him.Not by sight.But from back then.

The table. The pact. The map...

But the details were still hazy.Like a dream from too soon.

"I...I know you."

The man laughed.Dryly.Cynically.

"Of course you know me. But do you also remember what you owe me?"

"Or did you repress it, just like the rest of you?"

---

[Chance] POV:

That was one of them.One of the men at the table.Someone who knew about the pact.Who knew how the game really worked.

If I want to know something about ITrapped...If I want to know what I was,then that's the first key.

But he also knew:

This man wouldn't let him talk voluntarily.Not without stake.Not without risk.

The room smelled of old wood and cold smoke.A green felt table.A crooked picture on the wall.Only a single lamp dangling from the ceiling,as if it were about revealing the truth at any moment.

Red sat across from the man with the "X."Between them: a worn deck of cards.A stack of old chips.

"Like old times, huh?" the man said, grinning."Only this time without an audience. No blood, no oath."

Red said nothing.He looked at him in the eyes.Face against mask.Player against mirror.

The man starts to shuffle.Slowly.With practiced elegance.A twitch in his left eye-perhaps nervousness. Perhaps mockery.

"If you win, I'll tell you what you want to know."

"And if I lose?" Red asked coolly.

"Then you'll go home with a lie that feels like the truth."

A smile."Like back then."

---

Cards were dealt.Chips were pushed.Glances were exchanged like daggers.

The man tried to read Red,but Chance was there again.There was fire in his eyes that no bluff could explain.

You don't know anything anymore, the man thought,but you feel it again, don't you? The game. The danger. The reason we wanted you-and why we had to fear you.

On the fourth round, Red finally spoke:

"ITrapped. What do you know?"

The man didn't answer immediately.He pushed chips forward.A raise.

"Enough to know he didn't just die."

"You're lying."

"Maybe. Maybe not. The question is...do you want to risk it?"

The tension was razor sharp.Both held their cards.The air was electric.

Red took a deep breath.He felt the weight of his past,the weight of the name "Chance"on his tongue.

He went all in.

The man blinked.A split second of uncertainty.Then: He laid down his cards.Two pairs.

Red turned over his hand.

Full house.

Silence.The "X" man laughed.Long.Lost.

"Well... that's how you play when you've been drinking with death."

He reached into his pocket.Pulled out an old, torn photo.On it: Chance and ITrapped.Side by side.

"You used to be like brothers. But one of you started lying.Guess who bluffed first."

The man with the "X" turned the photo between his fingers,as if it were a key-or a scalpel.

"You want to know how you died?"

Chance-or Red, or both-looked at him calmly.His eyes were cold, but deep within them, something old flickered.Thought lost.

"Not only that. I want to know why. And what Mafioso knew."

The "X" man leaned back.A creak in the old wooden chair.A smile that has no humor.

"You played yourself too high.More than just luck.You...you were dangerous."

"For who?"

"For everyone."

He slides the photo across the table.Chance picked it up.

On the back -a scrawled note, written by himself?

"If I fall, it won't be by accident.""Not without reason. Not without a game."

"And Mafioso?"

A deep breath from the old man.

"He was the only one who didn't want to get rid of you."The only one who wanted to... keep you."

"Then why didn't he stop it?"

Silence.Then a whisper - almost apologetic:

"Because he was late."

---

[Flashback]

The room was cold.Trapped held the knife.Chance fell.Not from the bullet.But from trust.

Blood.Footsteps A voice in the distance, pressed, angry:

> "I TRUSTED YOU, DAMMIT!"

Mafioso.

He came at the momentin which everything was already too late.Too much blood.Too many lies.

He held Chance in his arms.Whispered things Chance no longer heard.Or... didn't want to hear.

> "You have to forget... please. If you're alive, forget."

And then: Black.

---

[Present]

Chance stood up from the table.Held the photo.

He hadn't died alone.He had fallen with his eyes openand someone had decided to make him forget.

But he lived.And he remembered.

"Thank you."

"You'll regret remembering," murmured the man with the "X.""The game's never over, boy. Not with you."

Chance left.With heavy breathing -but a clearer goal.

---

To be continued...