The blowback from temporarily locking the practice is both amusing and pestering. But it must be done. Because he has something more important to invest his resources into.

Victor’s voice slides off his tongue in waves of feigned sympathy. “That does sound terrible indeed, Mrs. Goldman.”

Terrible, indeed. Poor, poor mother. All the money in the world and she can’t buy her son a cure. It’s too bad you can’t buy what doesn’t exist. A terrible ailment. From the details he’s been given, her son has an estimated seven months to live as his organs shut down—curl and shrivel into brittle flesh, killing him from the inside out. A year at best, and that with a miracle.

Just not his miracle.

They had better make the most of it, damn fools, instead of spending their time and energy arguing with me.

And that’s all it really is, isn’t it—human life? Time and energy.

“Don’t you care about the masses, ol’ boy? Doesn’t your heart just swoon for the people? To be a devoted servant to your brethren?”

Oh, John. How Victor tires of his constant voice.

We both loved the money—this is very true. But, ahhh, my dear, John. That’s the one thing you never understood. I have no brethren. And how could you have understood? You weren’t the one with the power.

Yes, the practice used to be for the masses, but since John and his interests of servitude have been fired from the business, he’s focused on the children of the masses—that is where true desperation lies. Where the thread of rationality can be so easily manipulated and the game of life and death becomes interesting. Because the younger players are so fresh, so new to the rules, which makes their lives more valuable to the preexisting. Which makes them all the more willing to play. And pay.

So he accepts all players’ places on his board and cycles them into the game. His game, where he is the merciless dealer. The sole permanent player. But the temporary players don’t see him. He isn’t the obstacle or the goal. He is just the invisible hand. The sublime giver of the potential goal. No, the masses don’t see him, because the masses only see the child. The most important piece. The key to perpetuating the game forever despite the deluded concept. And that is fine—the less they notice him, the more influence he has.

“Yes, Mrs. Goldman. I’ve already understood what you mean.”

The game perpetuates regardless of a player’s participation. That’s what egotism makes them blind to. As long as he exists, the game runs. And the players don’t have to be active for the game to keep going. But they want to be active for as long as they possibly can. And that’s how he’ll play. That’s the challenge for which they battle and he moderates. The goal to achieve at the end of an endless board.