“Trust is the only currency I recognize. If one can’t trust others, all other currencies become worthless.”
Name: Gilbert Solberg
Nicknames/Aliases: Gil
Gender: Male
Age: 27
Appearance:
http://images4.fanpop.com/image/photos/20900000/Anime-Guy-anime-guys-20980907-700-963.jpg
Personality:
Gil has an ever present, but strange sense of duty and honor. He has no problem manipulating and destroying those around him for his own gain, and yet if he makes an agreement with someone he always keeps not just the letter but the spirit of the deal. Possibly an undiagnosed sociopath. Gil believes in the laws of Economics and Game Theory are the only true laws of human discourse. A worshipper of the concept of Enlightened Self-interest, to Gil the greatest evil is not murder or thievery, but going back on your word.
Skills:
Physical Abilities: Gil worked a construction job when he was a little younger, and has taken the effort to keep in shape ever since. He is in good physical condition over all, but tends to be better at heavy lifting and tasks related to arm strength, rather than being fast.
Mental Swiftness: Gilbert is capable of amazing feats of mental agility. In addition to being extremely smart in general, Gil almost thrives under pressure. Gil is rarely taken off guard, and tends to come to solutions quickly and effectively even in the most pressing circumstances.
Deep Analysis: Gil tends to be good at approaching a problem and figuring out hidden implications of any information presented. However, this also comes with a weakness. Gil tends to come to some conclusions with paltry evidence, and has a hard time acknowledging that his solution might be wrong. When new evidence comes to light he will rethink his position, but he tends to overcommit based on conclusions he’s come to without considering the idea that it might be wrong.
Statistical Anomaly: Gil tends to be good at calculating odds (and other numbers).
History:
Gil was a promising student with a bright future. Nearly perfect grades, a 2100 on his SATs, and an acceptance letter to just about any college he applied to. However, he was never given a chance to use this advantage. On the day he graduated high school, his younger brother Alter Solberg collapsed, his breath ragged and heart palpitating. He was rushed to the hospital, and put on a respirator. He continued to have intermittent attacks, with no diagnosis in sight.
As the hospital bills climbed, Gil realized he would have to go into the workforce full time to help cover his brother’s medical bills. So he abandoned his college prospects, and came to a friend of his father who worked in the construction industry. Gil was a spindly little bookworm, but the man knew the kid’s work ethic was too great to let him fall behind. Gil took heavier loads, worked longer hours, and took fewer breaks than anyone else on site. Eventually his arms hurt less, and his lungs wouldn’t gasp for air.
It wasn’t enough. Even with the extra income the family continued to spiral down into debt. Alter continued to get worse. His only hope was a specialist the family couldn’t afford. So Gil decided to get the money. One way or the other.
And get it he did. In cash. And no one ever figured out how he did it.
But all the money in the world couldn’t save Alter.
Gil never did go to college. He put his money in an investment account, and continues to receive mysterious payments that no one can track. He pays his taxes, and no one can prove the money is dirty. He walks around the world listless, gambling mostly. He tends to put money on the longshot and lose it all with neither a care nor a smile.
Other:
Games of random chance. Nothing to change, nothing to rationalize beyond the odds. You cannot know the result until you play, but you can have a reasonable idea where you should go. Gil loved these kinds of games, because they were fair. The casino sets up the game so they profit in the end, but that was unimportant. You could know that fact before you came in. You had perfect information, except for the ultimate result.
So why was it that if you won, they came after you?
This wasn’t an official establishment, but it made a bit of money. The walls were concrete, and the ceilings were made of leaking pipes. The pungent scents of alcohol and tobacco hung with nowhere to escape in the air, mixing in the desperate scent of human sweat. This establish was literally and figuratively underground, but it hosted games other places wouldn’t. In one corner dogs that had been drugged until they were wolves scrapped it out until the bookies could make their blood money. In another, it was Three Card Monte, but of course the dealer cheated. There were many games at many tables, some even legitimate.
Gil loved this place because unlike a normal casino anyone could host their own game. He had even hosted a game once or twice.
“Thirty to one odds and you make it five times?” shouted a certain pudgy fellow standing next to the table upon which the main event of this casino was hosted. At his side was a man with the face of a rat, who nodded along, a Cheshire smile on his features. “You’re rigging the game somehow, and you think I’ll stand for that?”
The game in question was simple Roulette, but without the casino’s advantage. Instead a bowl of plastic, weighted balls were laid out on the table under the watchful eye of an armed guard. For a nominal fee, the players could bet with these against the House. Those in the know would huddle about this table, jeering at those who bet upon it. No one ever won.
It was a dishonest game.
“So what you want from me is… what?” Gil asked the man. “To return you your money which I won fair and square?”
“I want your money, your ass out of my casino, and maybe a pound of flesh,” the fat man pulled a knife, and the room got quiet.
“But first,” the rat spoke softer than his friend. “I want to know how you did it.”
“Yes, it must be a surprise considering the game is rigged. My magnet is simply stronger than yours. Rare Earth.” Gil pulled the magnet from his pocket and held it out towards the knife. The blade stuck to the magnet and Gil wretched it out of the man’s hand.
“Oh that is cute,” the rat faced man laughed. “How did you get that past the guards?”
"Security here sucks,” Gil shrugged his shoulders.
“We don’t use magnets at our table!” the fat man roared as much more intimidating thugs began to congregate around the scene. “Besides our balls are plastic! You can’t move them with a magnet.”
“The weights inside do respond to magnets,” Gil shook his head, the bored expression never leaving his face. He pushed the won chips across the table, “Take them. I just wanted to see if it would work. I never cared about the winnings.”
“Why that is very magnanimous of you,” the rat faced man continued to smile. “But now we will have to ask you to leave.”
“How boring,” Gil sighed. “This a casino in which anyone can host a game, right? I was hoping to host a big game tonight too.”
“That’s not going to happen now punk!” said quivering jowls. “You’re going to get out of here, and never show your face again! And give me back my knife!”
Gil jerked the knife back as the man lunged for it, and shook his head. He spoke up again, his voice as if he were speaking to a naughty child. “Not even if the prize were a million dollars?”
“A million dollars you say?” asked the rat faced man.
“He doesn’t even have[i/] that much-“
That’s when Gil began to throw stacks of money upon the table. One. After. The Other.
“I don’t come unprepared,” Gil allowed his voice to fall into a short drawl. “If you let me stay, I’ll even let you pick who gets to play. Of course, we need eight players…”
“What is the game?”
“Dollar Auction,” Gil replies. “Each player is allowed to bid for the money. The bet starts at a dollar. Whoever bids highest wins the million dollars. However, there’s a catch. At the end, both the second and highest bidder must pay out on their promise.”
“Pay a dollar to win a million?” asked the fat man. “I’ve never heard of such a thing!”
“It’s quite a popular game in academic circles. So it’s no wonder you never heard of it.”
“Why you-!”
“We will play,” the Rat-Faced Man cut his partner in crime off.
“Me against the proprietors?” Gil asked, a small smile creeping up on his face.
“Yes. And our guards,” he gestured to the thugs with the guns. “Is this acceptable?”
Gil knew the plan from here. It was all coming into focus. The two proprietors were well known to be fifty-fifty partners, and their guards worked for them. They would bid merely a dollar, and split his million between the two of them.
It was all going according to plan.
“I find this acceptable, shall we play a game?”
“Yes. We shall.”
The bidding started as predicted. The rat-faced man put up a single dollar. No one else volunteered to bid. Gil’s smile grew, almost imperceptibly. He reached under the table for his cellphone, and began to type upon the keys.
‘If you bid over a thousand now, I will pay you an extra thousand at the end of the game. Your loss is split between the two of you, so you still come out ahead. He doesn’t have to know.’
Send.
“Going once.”
A look between them. Skepticism.
“Going twice.”
A nod of Gil’s head. It was well known Gil had never reneged on a bet.
“Sol-“
“I bid one thousand and one,” says the fat man.
“What are you doing…?” the rat faced man lost his smile for the first time that night.
“What’s a thousand to a million?” asked the Fat Man. “It feels too pathetic to let the kid lose on a single dollar. It’s not proper.”
‘If you raise the bid to ten thousand, I will reimburse you twenty thousand at the end.’ Send.
A pause. The rat-faced man knew. He understood it all.
“Going once.”
A vibrate of the phone. He reached down and read the message.
“Going twice.”
‘I will agree if it’s a hundred thousand for two hundred thousand.’
‘I can agree to that.’ Send.
“Sol-“
“A hundred thousand dollars.”
“[i]What?!” bellowed the fat man.
“Don’t be so surprised. He obviously offered you a couple grand to take that bet. He offered me twice as much for this one too.”
“Wait… you offered him two hundred?! And I’m not even worth double to you!”
“You were cheaper than the rat.”
“You lousy son of a-!”
“So when were you planning to tell me he offered you more money?” asked the rat.
“…Well I-“
“It wasn’t enough to make money after betting,” the rat’s frown grew and grew. “Unless you were just going to keep it for yourself and screw me over.”
“Oh come on! Five hundred out of a million is-!”
“You decided our partnership was worth less than that,” his voice was ice.
Then there was a flurry of ringing phones about the table.
‘I will reimburse the first guard to bet 999,999, in addition to the winnings, after he wins the game. Ask yourself what you could do with that money. Enough to last you the rest of your life. Do you want to be a hired gun forever?’
Send.
“I bet all but my bottom dollar!” shouted one guard.
“All nines! Six of them! I was first!”
“No you weren’t!’
“Nine hundred ninety nine thousand nine hundred and ninety nine dollars!” shouted a third. “I was the only one who said it proper!”
“You bastard, I’ll kill you!” roared a fourth, pulling his gun.
Gunshots began to go off, and the patrons fled screaming. Gil calmly rolled under the table, away from the gunfire, a slasher smile across his face. The kind of smile that makes children cry. Rumor would spread. No one would ever come here again.
“Stop it you fools!” shouted the rat-face man. “I bet a million!”
He was ignored, hardly even heard over the gunshots.
“A million! A million!” shouted the fat man as well. “All of your bets are invalid! Stop killing each other you halfwits!”
And eventually it stopped. Silenced reigned amongst the corpses.
And then there were three.
“A million you say?”
Gil emerged from under the table, and the rat-faced man shuddered. That look on his face. What was it? That determination? That malice? He wasn’t human. He couldn’t be human. No human had a face like that.
“A million each?”
Both men paled.
“You will have to pay you know. But I’m afraid it’s a draw so far, and my prize pool is limited to the first million. I’ll just have to split it between the two of you-“
“A million and one,” whispered the rat faced man.
“What?!” bellowed the fat man. “You only stand to lose money-!”
“A dollar is better than five hundred thousand!” the rat-faced man snapped at his fellow.
“…So that’s how it is? You’d saddle me with it all and save yourself but for a dollar?”
“Yes. That’s how it is you fat, ignorant bastard! It’s your fault we’re in this to begin with!”
“MY FAULT?! I’ll show you what! A million and two!”
“A million ten thousand!”
“A hundred!”
“Two!”
Gil pulled up a chair, and watched. He reached for a drink, but paused. Nah. No need to ruin this with drink.
“Two million!”
And Gil clapped his hands. And it all stopped.
“I think that’s about all you have if you empty everything,” Gil announced. “With two hundred and some odd extra thousand on top. That’s the estimate I got on the worth of this establishment.”
…”You…” growled the fat man.
“The auction is over gentlemen. I don’t think you have anything else with which to bid.
“YOU!”
The fat man pulled a gun himself, but Gil’s had been in his hand already. He knew what was coming. He shot the man between the eyes.
“Raul…” whispered the rat-man.
“And that leaves me down two million. Of course he was your partner. I expect to see the full four million from you by tomorrow.”
“…No…”
“Mr. Rabert,” Gil began to slowly stride over towards the man. “You agreed to this game.”
“Yes but I-“
“And I will be paid Mr. Rabert.”
“We weren’t partners in the end!” cried Mr. Rabert.
By this point Gil was inches from the man. He stood well below Mr. Rabert’s height, but in that moment he seemed to tower over the desperate man.
“Mr. Rabert. I will collect on this debt, one way or the other. There is an easy way and a hard way. Which will it be?”
Mr. Rabert looked about the ruins of his casino. No one would ever come again. He had seven corpses to deal with. And now he would have not a penny to his name. He collapsed to his knees, his rat face contorted in horror at it all.
“I will get you your money…” he croaked.
“Very good Mr. Rabert. This is the account. Transfer it there,” he texted the number to man, whose phone whined in a ghostly vibration.
“Why? Why do this? You have money already! Why do this to us..?” Rabert choked on his own words.
“Cheating I can tolerate, Mr. Rabert. But not men who don't pay their debts. Speaking of which..." Gil went forward to the table, and collected his starting money. He took a fraction of the sum, and tossed it at Rabert's feet. The man stared down at the poison money is disbelief.
"I pay my debts Mr. Rabert. Two hundred thousand for you, a thousand for your partner. None for the guards who couldn't even win. Good day."
And with that Gil left the ruin behind him, four million dollars richer.