Buckshot Roulette Apr 2026

He stood up, chair screeching.

The Dealer picked up the shotgun. Reloaded. Three hot shells. He racked the slide and placed it in the center.

The Dealer pushed the shotgun to Leo. “Young blood first.”

Leo sat alone. Across from the Dealer. Between two corpses. buckshot roulette

“I know,” Leo said.

The table was a scarred crescent of oak, stained with coffee rings and something darker. Three men sat around it. Across from them, one empty chair.

The sound was a physical thing. It shattered the quiet like a fist through a window. A wet, percussive slap. He stood up, chair screeching

Darius, the oldest. Gray beard, calm eyes. A gambler by trade, by sickness. He was here because the game itself was the addiction. He’d chosen this over a slow death in a studio apartment. He wanted to feel the wire.

“Any questions?”

“Put it under your chin,” the Dealer said. “Barrel straight up. No angling. I’ll know.” Three hot shells

The Dealer’s head vaporized. The mountain collapsed.

Leo looked at the gun. Then at the Dealer. He understood, finally. There was no winning. There was only how long you took to lose.

Dealer’s rules. Always Dealer’s rules.

Click.

BOOM.