The exhaust fans roared, finally thinning the choking cigar smoke. But the air didn't get lighter; the red lights on the execution chairs only seemed brighter.
Vance's turn.
Because he skipped, he had to cut two wires. With ten wires left, the chance of blind-picking two safe ones was less than 40%.
Viper leaned back, cigar glowing. He looked like a noble watching a play, eyes full of winning mockery. He trusted probability, and he trusted his spectral analyzer. To him, the kid was already a corpse.
"What? Hand shaking?" Viper blew a smoke ring. "If you're scared, beg. The Notary won't spare you, but I might make your death quick."
Vance ignored the taunt. He sat there, staring intently at Viper. His smell was jammed, but his brain was replaying every micro-movement Viper made in the last round.
Last round, Viper used the analyzer. His gaze lingered on the left zone for three seconds. Right zone for two. Finally, he cut a Domino wire in the middle.
Why cut a Domino? Because Dominoes reset the Death position. That's a choice made by someone wanting to shuffle the deck. That meant Viper's scan showed the original Death position was unfavorable to him.
Vance smirked.
"Little snake, your analyzer is advanced, but it sees heat, not hearts."
Vance picked up the cutters. No hesitation.
"You scanned the left but didn't cut. That means the left had thermal anomalies—likely the Death Wire. So you cut the middle to reset."
"However, the Domino Reset has physical inertia. Like a roulette wheel, the ball doesn't vanish; it rolls."
Vance reached to the far right. Two white wires sat close together. During Viper's scan, his eyes had completely skipped this area. That meant in his subconscious—or his experience—this corner was a Safe Zone.
"First one."
Snip.
Vance cut one of the white wires.
Beep. Green. Safe.
Viper's finger twitched, dropping a long trail of ash onto his pants.
"Luck," Viper muttered coldly. "One more."
Vance didn't pause. He didn't even breathe. His cutters slid down and bit the second white wire.
"You know, Manager," Vance stared into Viper's eyes, his voice low and magnetic, "in ancient Earth gambling theory, there's the famous 'Survivorship Bias.' When everyone stares at the danger zone, the safest place is often the ignored corner."
"Second one."
Snip.
The crisp sound of metal snapping echoed in the silent room.
Beep.
Green light again.
Vance exhaled, tossing the cutters onto the table with a clatter.
"Looks like the Reaper doesn't want me today."
Viper's face turned iron-grey. He hadn't expected the kid to survive a double-cut on pure deduction. Those two white wires were indeed safe—he had saved them as his own lifeline. Vance had stolen them.
"Don't get cocky." Viper threw away his cigar, sitting up straight. "Eight wires left. The Reaper is still in there."
"No, not eight." Vance interrupted. He leaned forward over the sparse wire network, sounding like a prophet declaring doom.
"Manager, you've played this long... haven't you noticed the fatal flaw in this device?"
Viper blinked. "What flaw?"
"Numbers."
Vance held up four fingers.
"The Balance's Domino Device runs on a base-level algorithm written in Base-4. Every time the wire count drops to a multiple of 4, the Death position triggers a Logic Rollback."
Vance's voice was hypnotic, every word a nail driven into Viper's skull.
"There are eight wires left. Exactly a multiple of 4. That means the Reaper has reset to the Initial Position."
"Impossible!" Viper instinctively retorted. "I've never heard of that rule!"
"Of course not. Because the people who found it are either rich or dead." Vance sneered. "You think your analyzer sees everything? It sees current heat, not past algorithms."
"Don't believe me? Try it." Vance pointed to the thickest Red Wire in the center. "According to Base-4, that is absolute death. But according to your analyzer, its heat signature should be the lowest right now. It looks the safest."
Viper's gaze involuntarily fell on the Red Wire. Indeed, as Vance said, his analyzer showed the Red Wire was ice cold—theoretical absolute safety.
But... what if Vance was telling the truth? What if that damn "Logic Rollback" existed?
Once the seed of doubt is planted, fear waters it into a forest.
Vance smelled the change. The cigar smoke had faded enough. Underneath it, a sour, fermenting scent rose like yeast.
Doubt. Viper was wavering. His logic told him to trust the machine, but his instinct screamed at the number "4".
"Your turn, Manager." Vance leaned back, wearing that detestable smile of confidence. "Trust your cold machine, or trust my prophecy? In this Base-4 round, one wrong step is brain death."
Viper's palm was slick with sweat. He stared at the Red Wire. The green data stream in his eye wavered. The number "4" echoed in his head like a curse.
Vance said nothing more. He knew silence was louder than words. The pit was dug. The bait was laid.
Now, he just had to wait for the prey to walk in.