“He’s lost his mind—” were the last words that came out of the incapacitated face of a woman named Isabelle before the match initiated.

“Then let us begin.” The portly man carefully aligned the gun intuitively with the head of the solemn deductionist. “You know, although this won’t immediately kill you, because of the 24-hour rule for you newcomers, the shock of the bullet round would definitely knock you out unconscious. And when it does…” He glanced over in the direction of the frail woman. “I’ll be sure to extract all the information I can from your friend over there...” he snarled in an almost inhumane snort of pride.

“Well if you win that is” reminded Edward.

The fat man’s smile deformed to a frown and he squeezed the trigger.

‘CLICK!’

The hammer of the magnum struck the empty barrel with a sharp sonority.

“Well, well, if it isn’t your lucky day?” The rotund man laid the gun down with no excess movements and slid it across the tree trunk.

“Indeed, my luck can be surprisingly uncanny at times” Edward slowly protruded towards the gun. The other tribal people kept a keen eye on him, their eyes meticulously tracking every one of Edward’s minute movements with their blades angled towards the defenseless girl.

As Edward finally touched the warm leather of the magnum grip, he realized just how contrary it felt to the cold dark floor of the factory.

He lifted the gun with extreme efficiency. His movements seemed rehearsed, almost naturally effortless. He gave it a quick glance and stared down the nozzle of the gun.

“She’s a beauty ain’t she?” The podgy man replied. “If you aren’t careful she bites too.”

With that Edward held out the gun in a manner similar to his opponent. He squeezed the trigger with a frown.

‘CLICK!’

“Hahaha!” The portly man let out a rancor laugh. “I live to see another day it seems, my friend.”

Edward slowly put the gun down on the hardwood and slid it back across the tree trunk.

The portly man picked up the gun confidently and aimed it right back at the detective.

“Round 2 my friend.” He squeezed the trigger quickly to be answered by this sound:

‘CLICK!’

“YES!” Isabelle jumped out of her delirium and quickly rushed to Edward’s side. ‘We might have a chance of winning!’ she clamored.

“You are indeed a very lucky man….” The rotund man laid the gun down slowly and pushed it back to Edward.

“This is your chance Edward! You can win!!” Isabelle shouted exuberantly from the sidelines.

Although spontaneous, and although her rancor drew the unneeded attention of the tribal people, she was talking some sense. With a barrel that holds six bullets, after the first three turns, the chance of Edward pulling a bullet this round was 1 in 3, or 33.33%. On a scale from 1 to 100, it might seem meager but as he had the last turn at his disposal, even if he pulled a dud, the chance of the portly man shooting a round in the next turn, was a 1 in 2 or 50%. Edward has a chance of winning either this turn or the last, because on the last turn he has a 100% chance of getting a shot.

“That’s right! Now’s your chance!” she repeated with the same vociferousness.

“That’s right Isabelle!” Edward displayed exhumed equal joy, “But it’s a shame that we can’t make this game of roulette any more interesting than it already is...” He slowly slid his hand onto Isabelle’s uniform.

The portly man’s grunt began to grow anxious. “Don't you agree gentlemen!—”

Almost unexpectedly Edward stripped Isabella’s clothing clear off.

“EEEEEEEE!!” Isabella turned red in embarrassment as her clear pearlescent skin was vulnerable to all the elements. “Edward! How could you—” She began to tear.

“HAHAHA” portly man exploded “I like you’re thinking my young man!” He eyed the defenseless lady top to bottom “Now that’s what I call a prize...”

The grunts showed equal fervor. “This one’s mine tonight” “No it’s my turn this time!” hollered the animalistic men.

They have no idea...’ thought the portly man with a malicious smile ‘No matter what games they play...’ He snorted ‘I have already won!’