Chapter Text
The noise of lottery machines and dice clattering across tables filled the casino, a chaotic symphony of sounds that most people found obnoxious. But most people weren’t Chance. The grey-skinned, white-haired Robloxian sat back at the poker table, his posture relaxed and confident as he pushed more chips into the center, raising the bet to an absurdly high amount with a cocky grin. The man sitting to his left scowled, eyeing Chance with suspicion.
"You’re bluffing," the man said with a sneer, calling Chance’s bet by shoving his own chips forward.
Chance immediately recognized him. He was one of Mafioso’s goons—one of the many muscle-bound underlings working for the crime lord who owned the casino. A normal man might have backed down from a showdown with one of Mafioso’s men. But not Chance. Thanks to a fortune recently inherited from his parents, he was well-equipped to keep playing, and honestly, the idea of going head-to-head with one of the crime boss's lackeys was too tempting to resist.
Chance's smirk only grew wider as he leaned back in his chair, not even sparing the goon a second glance.
"Am I?" He replied, his voice dripping with mock innocence.
The other players at the table quickly folded, leaving just Chance and the goon alone. The goon was trying to hide the beads of sweat forming at his temples, the desperate tug of his poker face betraying his confidence. Chance’s smile only widened, watching with increasing amusement as the man tried, and failed, to hold it together.
"What’s your hand?" the goon demanded, his voice just a little too shaky.
Chance didn’t respond immediately, instead flipping over his cards with a flourish. A straight flush.
The goon, in the same motion, flipped his own cards. Four of a kind. Not bad—but it wasn’t enough.
Chance's grin stretched across his face.
He shooed the man away without a second thought, already turning to the dealer and rambling excitedly about how he couldn’t believe his luck. He didn’t even care about the winnings—no, it was the thrill of the game, the rush of playing against someone who thought they had the upper hand. That was the real prize.
But as Chance was babbling about his "beginner's luck," a figure approached him.
The air around him shifted, and Chance turned, expecting some congratulatory words or maybe a compliment from a casino regular. But no, it was Don Sonnellino himself—the mafia don, the owner of the casino. The imposing figure moved toward him with purpose, his deep voice carrying across the noisy room.
"Come with me."
His tone was firm, leaving no room for argument.
Chance, ever the naive one, nodded without hesitation, following the Don down the winding corridors of the casino. They entered a back office, the walls lined with plush furniture and expensive artwork. Don gestured to a chair, his movements slow and calculated as he sat behind a large, imposing desk.
"Congratulations on your winnings," Don Sonnellino said, leaning back in his chair, his voice softening just a little. "Not many people can beat my boys."
Chance leaned back in his own chair, stretching out and slumping comfortably, his southern drawl slipping out as he mimicked the Don’s tone. "Thanks! Lady luck seems to have blessed me tonight. Your boy almost had me worried for a second there."
"Almost," Don chuckled, his smirk widening. "You’re a unique one, Chance. Real shame you ain't gonna keep any of that money."
Chance froze, his smile faltering as the words sunk in. His eyes narrowed behind his shades.
"Wait, what?"
Don's smirk only grew as he slid a packet across the desk, smacking it down in front of Chance. The title on the front of the packet read DSM-5: Gambling Addictions. "House always wins, sweetheart. Can’t have someone like you walkin' out of here with that much cash, now can we?"
Chance recoiled, his mouth going dry as he leaned forward to examine the paper. "I won that money, fair and square. You don’t have the right to—"
Before he could finish his sentence, Don’s voice boomed, cutting him off. "According to this, you’ve been here seventeen times in just a week, spending ludicrous amounts of money and staying far later than anyone else. That ain't coincidence."
"What are you talking about?!" Chance yelled, rising to his feet in disbelief. "This is my first time here, you liar! I don’t—"
Don was calm, unfazed. At that moment, two figures entered the room. Both wore hospital scrubs. The taller one, with dark grey skin and black-green hair, wore the name "1x" on his badge, while the other, gentler-looking figure had the name "Azure" stitched into his scrubs.
"This one," Don said, gesturing toward Chance, "is gettin' all feisty because I don’t want him in my casino. Real bad addiction."
Azure nodded in acknowledgment. "Thank you, Dr. Sonnellino." Then he leaned in and whispered something to 1x that was inaudible to Chance.
Chance took a step back as 1x, a scowl on his face, pulled a syringe from his pocket. "What are you gonna do with that?" Chance’s voice was shaky as the reality of the situation started to hit. "You’re a liar! This is my first time here, can’t you believe me?"
Before Chance could protest further, 1x approached and injected the syringe into his neck. His vision blurred, the world spinning before his mind went blank.
When Chance came to, everything felt wrong. His back ached, and his head spun as he slowly sat up, his surroundings unfamiliar. The sterile, cold walls of a hospital room. His hand immediately went to his neck, feeling the remnants of the syringe.
"What the hell...?" He muttered to himself as he looked around, confusion clouding his mind. His eyes landed on a bed just a couple feet away. A figure groaned from the bed and sat up, rubbing his nose in annoyance.
Chance blinked in disbelief.
The figure, a man in black scrubs, had long blonde hair that curled slightly at the ends. His eyes were a brilliant blue, and Chance’s breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t remember the last time he'd seen someone with such striking eyes.
"Woah, um... where am I?" Chance muttered, voice rough. "Last thing I remember, that idiot—he... injected me with something..."
The blonde groaned again, rubbing his eyes before glaring at Chance. "Are you really this dense?" he snapped, his tone biting. "We’re in a hospital, obviously. What, you think I’m in here for a vacation?" He muttered something under his breath before standing and moving to the door.
"Hey, 1x!" the blonde shouted, his voice dripping with frustration. "Anyone? My roommate’s awake. Can you switch me to a new one? This guy’s already annoying me."
Chance blinked, still trying to process everything. A hospital? Was this some kind of joke?
1x—now appearing at the door—snorted, clearly irritated. "Itrapped, go back to bed. None of the doctors are here right now. It’s 2 AM."
"I don’t care! I can’t deal with this guy!" Itrapped, the blonde, whined, crossing his arms in annoyance. "Switch him out. I’d rather have that cultist freak as a roommate than this guy."
"You know I can’t. Just go to sleep and we’ll talk to the doctor in the morning," 1x said, scribbling something on his clipboard before disappearing from the room, his long black ponytail swinging with each step.
Itrapped slumped onto his bed, throwing a pillow over his face, groaning in frustration.
Chance, now unsure of what to do or say, pulled the blanket over himself, staring at the ceiling. He was still reeling from what had just happened. How did it come to this? What was Don Sonnellino playing at? And why was he here—in a mental hospital?
His mind raced as the hours stretched on, the confusion leaving him with no answers.