Famer's Story-Writing Debate Round #1 Zaradi vs. Drafterman

Needless to say, while I escaped then, it didn't last for very long. I told Ryan that the Casino had suspected me of cheating and were going to come after me. She didn't believe me until I showed her the chip. I'm not sure if she thought I stole it or that I actually did cheat, but she decided it was likely that they were going to come after me. Between the antics of the weekend, and the fact that some mob group was going to be hunting me, we thought it'd be best if we broke up. It wasn't an altogether horrible adventure. It's not hard to get what you need to survive with my ability. You can always avoid the people you want to avoid, such as the police. You know when people are going to be gone and when they're going to be back. I basically just wandered around for the better part of a year. When I thought the coast was clear, I headed back to find Ryan. That was a mistake, of course. I never told them about Ryan, but I figured they would have learned about her anyway and keep an eye on her. I just didn't think they'd stick around for that long. I kept the idea of me getting recaptured in the back of my head. The numbers were pretty much random from day-to-day. One day it'd be ten years, another it'd be a month. Taking specific actions can drastically affect the ETA for any given event I'm trying to predict, especially if I'm trying to avoid that event. I stood in front of her door. The ETA to being recaptured was six weeks. I raised my hand. I knocked on the door. The ETA dropped to 30 seconds. By the time I consciously registered the sudden drop, the door open. It wasn't Ryan. -- The Present –- And now, here I am, getting beat to sh!t and back by some thugs. I told them everything I just told you. I'm not sure if they believe me. After I'm done my story, they leave. I hear muffled voices coming from the door behind me. The door opens and they return. I feel movement on the back of my chair and suddenly the belt around my chest is gone. The not-so-bright thug comes into view, wielding a knife. My heart starts beating faster as he bends over me, but he merely uses it to cut the rest of my bonds. He folds the knife back up and puts it into his pocket, stepping back to join his partner. "Mr. Miller, we finally meet again." The grey-suited man from the Casino comes into view, walking around to stand between me and his lackeys. He is dressed the same as he was that day, as if I never escaped and we were in the room he was trying to lead me to then. Hell, for all I knew, we were in that room. I groan. "Dude, what the hell do you want with me? A year? Really? You have nothing better to do than to chase me for a year, for what? I measly 10 grand?" He smirks. "This isn't about the money, Mr. Miller. This is about your ability." Having told them my story, I couldn't exactly deny it now. "So what? Who the hell cares?" "We care, Mr. Miller. You are a threat." "A threat? To who? Like I said, I used it to get some money. The Casino will make it up in no time." "You think we're doing this because of a mere 10 thousand dollars? Grow up, Mr. Miller. Let me tell you a story: There is no agreement today as to the exact causes of the Crash or the Depression, but a general assessment is that it was the due to social, economic, and political factors that came together at a time close enough together to trigger this effect. This is what your history books will tell you. This is not entirely true. "In response to the Crash, president Hoover commissioned the Treasury department to look into the causes covertly. Secretary Mills created an off-the-record group of agents to determine the cause. While investors come and go on the market, there was something about the exodus before the Crash that reached a tipping point, and they determined what it was. "As it turns out, it was a person with your ability. Just as you applied it to some petty gambling, he applied it to the stock market. He foresaw the Crash and the Great Depression and attempted to get out of the market while he could. His departure was accompanied with no small amount of doom saying, which triggered a chain of events that led to the mass exodus of a number of investors, contributing to the Crash. Without him, some sort of recession or depression might have happened, but it is clear that his actions resulted in it being a lot worse than it actually was. "The results of the Great Depression: Unemployment. Starvation. War. You have the ability to walk down Wall Street and disrupt the world's economy and pit entire nations against each other. Do you really think anyone gives a sh!t that you won at blackjack, Mr. Miller? "Your kind always attempts to exploit your ability for monetary gain. We watch certain economic sectors, including gambling, for tell tale fluctuations that identify the presence of your kind. And yes, before you ask, there are others like you. More than we would like. Our job is to find you before you can do any harm, and eliminate you as an unstable element." He turns his head to glance back at the thugs behind him and gives a nod. They disappear from my view and come back, carrying a small table and chair. They set the table down in front of me and the grey suit sits in the chair opposite me. "However, there really aren't that many of you to keep this game interesting. So I've decided to make it interesting. We know that you can't tell when someone is going to die." He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a revolver. He opens the cylinder and took out 5 bullets, then closes it and gave it a spin. I roll my eyes. "Seriously dude. Why don't you just shoot me? If you want me to die, just put a bullet in my head. This is cheesy movie stuff." He looks back at me and shrugs. "Like I said, I like to keep things interesting." He places the barrel of the gun to his temple and, staring straight at me, pulls the trigger. Click. He places the gun back down and slides it over to me. "Really? What's my incentive to do this? Do you really expect me to believe that you'll let me go if I ‘win'?" He shrugs again. "Clearly what you do after I am dead is none of my concern. Rest assured that while I am alive you are dead either way. This is your only chance." I pick up the gun. "And what stops me from just pulling the trigger enough times to kill you right now?" "The fact that you don't know what is going to happen. You rely on your ability so much that, even though the rational part of you knows that if you pull that trigger enough times a bullet will come out, your reliance on your ability and your inability to see my death prevents you from accepting that conclusion on an emotional level. You can't function unless you know what is going to happen. Your best assurance is to play the game until one of us is dead." I put the gun to my head. I pull the trigger. Click. I push the gun back over to him. He smiles as he picks the gun back up, places it to his head and puls the trigger again. Click. My turn again. I pick the gun up and look at it; I bring it up to my head again and wait. He just stares at me, waiting. Finally I drop the gun and point it at him. "You're not wrong about me; I do rely on my ability." "Then what do you think you're doing?" "Realizing that you are wrong about something." "What's that?" "I can't see death. Not directly. But I can see other things. I can see when this bullet will actually fire. I don't know if will kill you, but I think if I'm pointing the gun at your head when it happens I have a good chance." "Clever, but you're bluffing. I've seen this a hundred times. I know you better than you do." "Listen, I'm going to give you the option of just walking out of here and letting me go. It doesn't have to end like this." "I call your bluff." The numbers counted down before my eyes. 3… 2… 1… I pull the trigger.