You slump on the subway bench, dazed as you stare at the tracks. The loan shark's words echo in your head: you have one week to cough up some cash. If not...you'll start paying with your organs.
Shit. Sweat prickles your brow as you clench your shaking hands. How the hell are you going to come up with enough money? Your crummy job as a bike messenger barely covers food and rent, and your battered bike is on its last legs. You're already riding it hard every day just to make ends meet. Even if you manage to scrounge up enough to stave off the loss of a kidney, that only covers the interest. Your future looms large before you: an eternity crushed by a debt you can never repay.
"Excuse me," says a voice.
You raise your head and see a businesswoman sitting beside you, dressed in a stylish gray suit and carrying a briefcase. Her black hair is neat, piled in a bun; her brown eyes are clear and alert. She is beautiful, out of place in this grimy subway station, with her fresh face and soft features. Your eyes drop down to her figure, slender yet voluptuous under her prim suit. She smiles, dimples creasing her cheeks, seeming to notice your gaze. Her brown eyes flicker with amusement.
"Would you like to play a game?" she asks. Her voice is crisp and professional, her hands folded primly in her lap. "It's a simple one. We each have a card, and take turns tossing our card down to try to flip over the opponent's. If you succeed in flipping over the opponent's card, you win the round. If not, you lose."
The hell? Is this some kind of cult recruitment? You snap, "Do I look like I'm in the mood for a game?"
"The loser of each round," the woman continues implacably, "pays their opponent one thousand dollars. In other words, if you win a round, I pay you. We can play for more than one round, of course."
Your eyes widen as her words sink in. One thousand dollars. That's enough to pay off the next minimum payment from the loan shark. And if you win more rounds...This is insane. But how the hell else are you going to get the cash? Fuck it. What's the worst that'll happen? Before you know it, you're on your feet. "I'm in."
"Very well," says the woman. Her face expresses no surprise at your acceptance; she merely gets up from the bench and snaps open her briefcase, revealing two thick cards nestled in green velvet. She drops one on the subway floor, and hands you the other.
"You can go first," says the woman.
You take a deep breath, step forward, and throw your card down at hers. The two collide, and her card flips up into the air. You watch, heart in your mouth, as it hangs in the air.
Then it falls, unflipped. Your gut tightens, and you turn towards the woman. "I...I don't have the money to pay you," you say.
The woman continues smiling. "In that case," she says smoothly, "I can slap you."
She takes a step toward you. You hold out your arms to defend yourself, but before you can do anything, she lashes out with her left hand. It strikes you across the cheek so hard that your knees give way. As you fall against the wall, you cradle your stinging cheek with your hand and stare at your opponent.
"Well then," she says cheerily. "I believe it's my turn to try flipping your card."
She picks up her card and throws it down. The two dance in the air before falling back, and you groan as you see that she successfully flipped your card over. She raises her hand and delivers another stinging slap to your face. Again you drop heavily onto the concrete, clutching your throbbing cheek. The woman bends down before you, still smiling, and hands you your card.
"Your turn," she says.