Masquerade ✔️

eight: nate

We're the underdogs, in this world alone.

I sit in silence at a small table, staring hard at the man in front of me.

A gun sits between us, waiting.

"What's your name?" The man asks, his brown eyes cutting into mine.

"Doesn't matter." I reply. Slowly, deliberately, I pick up the gun and spin the cylinder, listening to the rattling intently.

"Are you the one who does all of these?" The man presses on, watching as I bring the barrel of the gun up to my head.

"Yup." I pull the trigger.

Only a muffled click.

"So if you're here..." The man appears to be thinking intently, taking the gun from my hand.

He spins the cylinder slowly, taking long, shaky breaths.

"That means you've never lost." The man inhales sharply and presses the gun to his temple. He closes his eyes and yanks hard on the trigger.

I'm not worried. My brains won't decorate the concrete walls tonight.

The man exhales in a jittery way, his breath coming in short, ragged puffs.

"You are correct. I don't loose." Not wasting a second, I flick the cylinder and watch it turn over and over, finally settling into place.

I hold the gun to my head and fire.

Nothing happens.

I do a quick calculation. I have to spin once more. He has to spin twice. If he doesn't die, and I don't, the last shot, the bullet, will go into his head. The odds are in my favour, and I pass the gun over.

"Thanks." The man rotates the cylinder quickly, as if he wants to get it over with.

He shoots before he can stop himself, before fear overcomes him.

I notice a faint ring of gunpowder on his temple, from all the empty cartridges that he's fired into his head.

"Want to switch up the odds?" I offer, picking up the gun. Carefully, I slide another bullet into the cylinder. Now the odds are two to three. Pretty good, but I don't loose. Ever.

"Cheers." I pull the trigger. No bullet enters my head.

"Last shot." The man takes the gun.

"You must be cheating." He says, spinning agonizingly slowly.

"I am many things, but a cheater isn't one of them." I motion for him to fire.

The blast blows his head into mush, pink-grey lumps of brain splattering the walls and ceiling. His body, intact from the shoulders up, sways for a moment before slumping to the floor.

I stick the gun into my waistband, step over his corpse, and walk arrogantly up the steps.

"Cut!" Andrew yells, and Henry gets up from the floor.

"That was perfect, guys." He praises as I slide down the banister, landing with a flourish at the bottom.

"Thanks." Henry and I say in unison, my hand yanking the empty gun out of my jeans and handing it off to the props department.

"Nate, one sec." Andrew catches me as I'm about to leave, his eyes wide and bright.

"How was the ball last week? Like it?" He grins, hopping back up into his chair.

"Yeah, it was amazing." I can't help my matching smile, thinking about the fun I had. After the woman vanished, I ran into a few friends. We ended up passing out on the couches in a lounge area, woke up the next morning.

"One thing though. I met this woman, on the balcony. She was wearing a dark red dress and white shoes, and a red and gold mask, brown hair and brown eyes?" I ask, looking at him.

"Can't help you, bud. Hey, but maybe next time." Drew presses an envelope into my hand and winks, turning away to speak to a cameraman.

Maybe.

Maybe.

A/N: not much. just enjoy.