"King-high diamond flush," I said boldly as I laid my cards out on the table.
Despite my strong hand, my heart still thumped in my chest as I waited for the only other player in the hand to reveal his cards. Although my odds of winning were good, I was nervous. If my opponent had the ace...
"Ace-high diamond flush," my train of thought was disrupted and heart my sank. My opponent had the goddamn ace.
Unlike any other time I had played Texas Hold 'Em at a casino, I had no idea what to expect. See, I wasn't at a normal casino. I was at the Holy Grail Casino, where one does not gamble with money.
My opponent had wagered a finger, and I thought that that had been some colloquial way of making a small bet. Just as we frequently say "an arm and a leg" figuratively for an exorbitant cost, I thought that 'finger' was being used in the same context. I was proven brutally wrong when the dealer, without a hint of emotion, pulled a large knife out from some concealed location and chopped my pinky finger off.
I screamed, both in pain and disbelief. I had been expecting the most intense gambling experience of a life time, but I hadn't imagined anything of this magnitude.
I had finally found a form of gambling even I balked at.
I'll come clean and say it, I'm a compulsive gambler. I've had an enduring fixation on Lady Luck as early as I can remember. As a child, I loved making bets - even small and petty ones - with my peers.
When I was eighteen, and had my first job, I squandered a bigger portion of my very first paycheck than I care to admit on scratch-off lottery tickets.
With my addictive proclivities, I ignored the glaring net financial loss that this incurred, instead gravitating to the mere twenty dollars I did win with those tickets.
Now you can tell me that my gambling winnings are heavily outweighed by my losses over the years, and you'd be right. It's a stubborn fact that cannot be truthfully denied.
But it didn't matter to me. I was addicted to gambling. I was always convinced that the big, life-changing win I needed was right around the corner. It is this lifelong habit that has not only brought about a life of financial strain, but which, I fear, has brought about my imminent appointment with my own mortality.
You see, my gambling problem reached its zenith last year after I cajoled one of my poker friends, Dallas, into taking me to a secretive and high-stakes casino that he frequently spoke of, and this is as good a place as any to begin telling what happened.
"So, is this the night you're finally going to accede and tell me more about the mythical 'high stakes venue' you claim to frequent, Mr. Big Shot?" I asked my friend Dallas.
Dallas was a pro at gambling. At least, he swept the floor with the competition nine times out of ten and the backroom card games we frequented.
Dallas groaned loudly in the passager seat.
"Come on bro," I said doggedly, "you can't just set something up on a pedestal like this and not expect someone to persist."
"I don't know man. This isn't kitty shit. This is the big leagues." Dallas answered.
"I'm not a lightweight." I objected.
"No...but this is way more than anything we'd ever bet back there," he said, referring to our backroom games, one of which we had just left.
"This is the real shit. Hard-fucking-core. This is the most hardcore gambling around." Dallas continued.
"Like what, Russian Roulette?" I joked.
"Nah man." Dallas said cryptically.
"Look man, I give you rides to these games every week. You owe me." I was getting seriously annoyed at his reticence.
"Fine," Dallas groaned, exasperated.
I couldn't believe it. I had actually worn him down!
"But I'm warning you. This is serious shit." Dallas said sternly.
"I want to go." I said firmly.
Dallas reached into his wallet and handed me a medallion.
Upon inspection, I saw one side was affixed with the design of an ornate, bejeweled chalice with the words 'Holy Grail Casino' written above it. On the other side, written in elegant calligraphy was the phrase 'omnem marmora' - "all the marbles" in Latin.
This certainly bore the look of a ritzy and exclusionary place. I had a feeling I'd either win the jackpot of jackpots or end up homeless on the street. The reality would prove much worse than the latter.
Dallas was looking at me oddly, almost as if he was worried. But he could tell he wasn't going to be able to talk me out of it. I still hate him for his acquiescence to my pestering.
"When can we go?" I asked excitedly.
"I was planning to go tomorrow-," Dallas started.
"When I should I pick you up?" I interrupted.
"That's...not how we get there." Dallas answered.
"What-," I started, but it was Dallas' turn to interrupt.
"When you go to bed tomorrow night, write your full name on a piece of paper, then put it and the medallion in your pocket when you go to sleep."
I looked at him incredulously. Had he been fucking with me this whole time?
"Look...just trust me. Either do it or don't, but that's how you get there." Dallas said matter-of-factly.
I looked silently at the road as we neared the place where Dallas lived. Dallas seemed to be pensively looking out the window, as if he was debating whether or not he should have give me the medallion.
I dropped Dallas off without a word and raced home. I don't know why I was such a hurry - I guess I wanted to start waiting for tomorrow night as soon as possible.
After a torturous day of waiting, the next night finally came. Remembering Dallas' instructions, I wrote my full name on a slip of paper and placed it, along with the medallion, in the pockets of my sweatpants that I was wearing to bed for that purpose.
I could have sworn that I had heard my name being chanted as I drifted off to sleep, but the authenticity of those sounds is still ambiguous. What is not ambiguous is the fact that, shortly after falling asleep, I found myself in an opulent red-carpeted casino.
I was in a lobby of sorts, at least I think that's what it was. I was in a large, marble room with Greco-Roman style columns flanking a plush red carpet that led to two magnificent ebony doors, which boasted intricately carved ivory handles.
As I was soaking in the amazing luxurious sight, a man in a suit briskly approached me.
"You can't go to the floor dressed like that!" He admonished me, pointing to my sweatpants and white t-shirt.
"I'm sorry-," I began sluggishly, a bit confused by everything. Was I honestly expected to go to bed in a suit in order to gamble here?
"No worries sir," the man had a rather upper class accent, "we will get you outfitted here free of charge."
A short while later I was sporting a fine burgundy suit, a white dress shirt, and black loafers, and being led by the casino worker back to those grandiose doors. He stopped in front of them, held one of the doors open, and ushered me in.
"Enjoy your stay sir," he said as he closed the door behind me.
I took in the even more impressive sight that was the gambling floor. I stood at the top of a red-carpeted staircase with gilded railing, looking down at a large room. On the far end, the words 'Holy Grail Casino' were displayed prominently on the wall, illuminated by spotlights.
Like the lobby, a red carpet ran through the center, bisecting the impressive layout of games and tables. Interestingly, there didn't appear to be any slot machines- there seemed to be exclusively traditional games. Poker tables, blackjack tables, roulette wheels, and craps tables I all recognized.
Finally, I descended the stairs. The patrons and staff paid me little attention as I set foot on the floor. I briefly scanned the floor for Dallas but saw no saw no sign of him.
I shrugged and decided to jump into the games. All around me, finely dressed patrons were engrossed in their games, and others stood to the side, nursing cocktail glasses or puffing on cigars.
I had never had much of an affinity for roulette or craps, and I avoided blackjack like the plague (it's definitely rigged for the house). Accordingly, I quickly settled on poker.
After eyeing several tables I settled on a table occupied by just one patron - an uninterested old man in a black suit.
"Can I join here?" I asked.
The dealer replied affirmatively.
I sat down and noticed there were no chips in sight. I thought it had been odd that I hadn't received any, but I had just figured they would be given at the table. Curious, I asked.
"First time?" The dealer raised an eyebrow.
"Yes."
The old man sighed, annoyed. What the hell? Shouldn't a patron at such a purportedly high-stakes venue be eager to have fresh meat?
"Well, the rules state that one's first game is one round of betting only." The dealer said in a monotone voice. No wonder old man was annoyed.
I nodded and sat down.
"But the chips-," I began to inquire.
"We don't use 'em here." The old man spoke for the first time.
Before I ask what we did use, the old man placed what would apparently be the sole bet of this hand: a finger.
Had I heard him right? He couldn't actually mean-
"Bet is one finger." The dealer said, interrupting my thoughts.
As I stated in the beginning, I assumed that 'a finger' was being used in the same figurative context that one often uses the term 'an arm and a leg.' I called the bet.
The cards were dealt, and I felt confident as I laid out the King-high flush I spoke of in the beginning. But then came the old man's ace-high flush, and then came the chop.
I screamed. To my shock, none of the other patrons even looked up from their games at the sound of my screams and the chop. Was this an ordinary occurrence?
Before I could get up from the table, the dealer also procured some sort of ointment and quickly dabbed some on the nub where my finger had been. The bleeding instantly stopped, and the pain eased, but I was having none of it. I got up from the table and began to run back to the doors. This was too much. I had to get out of here.
I heard a despaired howl coming from the direction of the roulette wheels as I made it back to the center of the floor, but didn't dare look back at the source. I stepped onto the carpet and set for the stairs when I nearly collided with Dallas.
"Hey you made it!" He said. "Oooh tough break with the finger," he indicated my hand.
"How have you never lost anything?!" I asked pointedly, barely resisting the urge to shake his shoulders.
"Well I have," Dallas smirked.
"You-you have all your digits." I sputtered.
"Well that's cause I won them back." He said.
"You can win them back?!" I was in disbelief.
"Of course, they'll reattach it if you win one."
I should have just cut my losses. I shouldn't have been swayed by temptation. But if you know the rabbit hole that is gambling, you'll know how much people put themselves in the hole vainly trying to win back a negligible loss, all the while turning that negligible loss into something substantial.
I was still weighing my options (stay or quit while still ahead) when a booming voice disrupted my deliberation.
"Attention floor! We have a class ten loser! Death!"
He couldn't actually mean-
Before I could make any kind of move, the patrons become a mob, and the wave people pushed Dallas and I to the center with them.
A man, who I noticed was already missing an arm, was on his knees sobbing. An emotionless casino dealer stood before him, holding a sword.
"Everyone c-cut y-your loss-losses," the man stuttered through sobs.
Before he could say anything else, the sobs were cut off by the slice of the sword, and the poor man's head hit the floor and tumbled, landing at my feet.

Continuing
“Hey, Viv!”, I say, as we’re all being shuttled onto the bus which will take us to our hotel, “Toss me one of those miniatures, if you please. Yeah. Of course, Vodka’ll do. It’s bloody dusty round these parts.”
Viv chuckles and asks if anyone else wants anything. He’s a consummate scrounger and somehow sweet-talked a demure and pulchritudinous female Air China cabin attendant out of her phone number, Email address, and a case of 100 airline liquor miniatures.
That he looks like a marginally graying version of Robert Mitchum in his heyday and speaks fluent Dutch, French, and Italian might explain his success. I mean, a guy with four ex-wives can’t be all wrong, right?
He’s a definite outlier in this crowd. We could be characterized as a batch of aging natural geoscientists who collectively, sans Viv, add up to an approximate eight on the “Looker” scale. Besides the years, the mileage, the climatic, and industrial ravages, it’s a good thing we all have expansive personalities, as most of us are dreadful enough to make a buzzard barf.
But, save for Viv, no one presently here is on the make. Oh, sure; we’ll all sweet talk some fair nubile into a free drink or a double when we really ordered a regular drink, but we’re all married, most terminally, that is, over 35 years and counting. The odd thing is that save and except for Viv, none of us married folk had ever been divorced.
That is strange, considering that the global divorce rate hovers around 50%, and we are often called to be apart from kith and kin for prolonged periods. However, we are always faithful and committed to our marital units and those vows we spoke all those many long decades ago.
But, hey, we’re all seriously male and not anywhere near dead; and there’s no penalty for just looking, right?
Continuing.
We’re all loaded on a pre-war, not certain which war, by the way, bus which stank of fish, kimchee, and diesel fuel. We really don’t care even a tiny, iotic amount. It’s free transport, we’re tired of traveling, and not keen on walking any further than we absolutely have to.
Viv has been passing out boozy little liquor miniatures, and I’ve been handing out cigars since I bought a metric shitload back in Dubai Duty-Free and somehow got them all through customs.
We didn’t light up, as there was neither a driver nor handler present. So, we figured we’d all just wait on the cigars, and concentrate on having a little ground-level “Welcome to Best Korea” party until the powers that be got their collective shit together and provided drivers, herders, and handlers.
We sat there for 15 long minutes. Being the international ambassadors of amity and insobriety, we started making noises like “Hey! Where’s our fucking driver?” and “I am Doctor Academician! Of All State Russian Geological Survey! How dare you make me wait? ”
Suddenly, a couple of characters in ill-fitting gray suits and fake Rays Bans are outside the bus having a collective meltdown. Somehow, someone fucked up and put us on a ‘regular’ bus and not the ‘VIP’ bus. In other words, we got to see what the locals really got to ride around Pyongyang on instead of our supposed to be impressed by the bus that wasn’t there; but was now just arriving.
A spanking new purple-and-chrome Mercedes long-haul bus shows up. It even has our group name emblazoned above the placard that normally tells where the bus is headed or who it is for: “’국제 석유 지질 과학 연합’ [Gugje Seog-yu Jijil Gwahag Yeonhab] or ‘International Union of Petroleum Geological Sciences’”.
We are brusquely ordered off our present bus and into the opulent, obviously bespoke, bright yellow faux-leather interior Mercedes-Benz Tourismo RH M. It’s so new and so obviously a ploy to get us to think that all things here are so new and opulent, it even smells of that new car, ah, bus, aroma.
“Well, we’ll take care of that soon enough”, I muse, as the bus is equipped with ashtrays and we’re going on the scenic route to our hotel, which is only 25 or so kilometers from the airport. However, it was announced that it’ll take us about 2 hours to get to our hotel since we need to see the city in its best light and get a feeling for the town if we should ever find ourselves lost and alone.
We all know what’s going on. They’re getting our rooms ‘ready’ for our arrival and need some extra time to make sure everything’s all wired in and transmitting properly.
“Guys”, I muse to our new handlers, “I’ve been to the Soviet Union, pre-wall fall. I stayed in places where I was definitely among the first westerners ever to grace their porticos. We’re a busload of natural scientists, of eight different nationalities, covering the economic spectrum from staunch capitalism to sociable socialism to hard-core communism. You even think for a second we’re going to spill any beans about anything you’d find interesting or useful? Think again.”
In fact, it would become a running joke between us all to see what sort of fake bombshells we could drop into the normal conversation what would give the listener’s the greatest case of the jibblies.
But for now, our bags were all loaded into the cargo compartment of this very, very nice, I must admit, mode of conveyance. Our handlers: ‘Yuk’, ‘No’, ‘Man’, and ‘Kong’, are all seated upfront and please with their latest tally of bodies. We have a couple of shady fellow travelers with the knock-off Ray-Bans and shiny gray suits that just appeared out of the woodwork in the back, seated by the loo, watching over all of us, and we’re going on a fucking city tour, whether we like it or not.
We’re all present and accounted for. Let’s keep our camera in our bags for the time being as the drinking and smoking lights had just been lit as the bus fired up its new German-engineered and machined precision diesel engine.
The bus rumbled to life and after a moment or two of checking that all dials, gauges, and indicators were where they were supposed to be; without so much as a cursory glance, we pulled out into traffic.
Except there was none.
Not another bus, pushbike, tap-tap, scooter, car, truck, hover-board, or motorcycle in sight.
Nothing.
Seems we were a big deal. They shut down the main drag so we wouldn’t be encumbered by such proletariat things like traffic jams or people-things cluttering the roadway, clambering for a look at the Western scientific cadre.
So, away we whizzed, sans traffic and into the very belly of the beast, and onward; eventually, towards our hotel.
Our handlers were very kind to point out passing scenes of interest.
“Look, look! There’s the Potong River. Notice all the lovely birds, ‘eh what? See the Norwegian Blue? Beautiful plumage!”
“See here, look. Here’s the Taedong River. Many forms of fish in the river. Maybe we’ll see some fishermen. If you like, we can stop, and ask them about today’s catch.”
We all declined, as we were certain that the fish the ‘random fisherman’ we’d talk to was flown in fresh from elsewhere earlier in the day.
Besides, we were comfortable. We had our drinks, our cigars, and we were leaving the driving to someone else.
After being driven around the city and seeing all the wonderful monuments, like the faux Arch of Triumph, which looks exactly unlike its namesake Arc de Triomphe de l'Étoile in Paris.
The Arch of Reunification, a monument to the goal of a reunified Korea, which, by necessity, is unfinished. Then there’s the Tomb of King Tongmyŏng, where people are lining up, just dying’ to get in.
Finally, we all called for our hotel, the Yanggakdo, after yet another mausoleum, the Kumsusan Memorial Palace of the Sun.
Arches or tombs. Such a stunning array of monuments and places of less than moderate interest.
We were interested in Mirae Scientists street (Future Scientists street). It is a street in a newly developed area in Pyongyang to house scientific institutions of the Kim Chaek University of Technology and its employees. But we were told that it was too late, there was not much there to see, we needed to express written permission to visit, and we’d be going there tomorrow or next week.
We wheel into the parking lot of the Yanggakdo Hotel and are immediately unimpressed by the pseudo-Baroque concrete fiasco that appears to stand, wobbly, before us. It’s a page right out of the Soviet Construction-For-The-Masses Handbook. A cold, gray concrete edifice with multitudes of seemingly little, tiny windows. A perfect metaphor for our travels thus far; look at the expansiveness of Best Korean wonders, through this pinhole.
However, we judged too soon. We were told to go inside and check-in, whilst our luggage would be de-bussed for us and handled by the expertly efficient hotel staff. The lobby was opulent, tastefully laid out in earth tones of facades of veneers of marble, granite, some garnet-mica schist, if my hand lens doesn’t lie, some Prepaleozoic anatectic migmatite, displaying intricate and intense plication, xenoliths, and graphic delineation of minerals by segregation through melting points. There was a gigantic well-appointed and well kept up aquarium, complete with snuffling sharks and nuclear-submarine sized groupers.
Very handsome indeed. Impressions increasing slightly.
Then we see that there’s a bloody casino on the bottom floor of the hotel, several bars interspersed throughout the hotel, and karaoke, of which I’m not terribly fond, but some of my European counterparts almost swooned at the prospect. There are a large pool and weight rooms/gymnasia, saunas and places to relax outside of one’s room, but still under the watchful eye of the thousands of ill-concealed video cameras at every turn.
“Covert surveillance” may be a thing in Best Korea, but it’s a practice still leaves a lot to be desired. The Eastern Siberian Russians back before the wall fell were more covert with their obvious button audio microphones woven into the fabric covering the headboard of your Intourist bed than the Best Koreans here. Their cameras were ‘disguised’ as flower arrangements, overhead lights, and speakers inexplicably placed into things like standing ashtrays, refuse bins, and randomly placed holes in the wall.
The floors were all covered with exquisite what looked to be hand-woven rugs of most vibrant crimson and gold; the usual Communistic colors. Always with some sort of floral pattern or pattern that’s supposed to be reflective of nature, as I was told. Evidently, for workers to remember what nature was as they don’t get out much with 14 to 16 hours workdays here in the Worker’s Paradise.
Enough of the travelogue; we all wander up to the front desk, and each with their own passport in hand, request our reserved rooms. We supposed that we would all have rooms on different floors as the reservations were made, expired, re-made, juggled, rebooked, allowed to expire, re-jiggered, and finally formalized a scant week before we left the UK.
Nope. No such luck. We were all on the 39th floor. The place boasts 47 floors, of which, the top floor is a revolving restaurant. Evidently, food tastes better when you’re rotating.
However, it won’t spin unless you first buy a drink.
We had that thing whirling like a NASA centrifuge after its discovery the second night.
Yeah, all 12 of us are bivouacked on the 39th floor. A floor with approximately 30 rooms.
I guess we could have played “Room Roulette” and see who got which room and who’s luggage. Or we could switch every day or two to drive our handlers nuts. Or, we could just take our assigned rooms, which were conveniently located one empty room apart.
Meaning, no one had adjoining rooms. Why? Fuck if I know. We didn’t spend much time in our rooms, and that time was either sleeping or showering. We’d all meet at the bar, casino, restaurant, karaoke, bowling alley (all three lanes) or actual meeting rooms every once in a while when we thought we should get together and compare notes. It was the most inexplicable situation.
Plus, we spent an inordinate amount of time waiting on the fucking elevators to take us to our room. These elevators, and if you think you’re going to get a batch of aging senior scientists to schlep it up 39 floor’s worth of stairs, think again; are the slowest elevators in the civilized world. And that was the consensus of scientists representing not only Europe and North America, but Russia as well. 15-25 minutes added to each journey, up or down; stopping on every floor, except 5, on the way down..
Jesus Q. Fuck, dudes. If you can’t construct a bleedin’ elevator that works better than those at the Sozvezdie Medveditsy Guest House in Lesosibirsk, Eastern Siberia; then I suggest you seriously rethink your plans for world domination and new world order.
Grako and Erwin once, while waiting for the fucking elevator, figured out that we were earning some US$25 each just to wait for the lift to arrive and take us to our rooms. Every day. Sometimes several times per day.
With that, we all agreed to toss our “waiting time” funds into a kitty and on our last day of captivity here, blow it all in the hotel casino. Whatever became of that would be donated to the Koreans we thought most deserving of our largesse.
Would it be our handlers? How about the Korean Scientists we’d be meeting? The affable and most accommodating concierge? Or that plucky little Korean charwoman who was always on our floor and kept everything spotless, right down to our freshly laundered and pressed field clothes and newly polished field boots; done without our requesting or knowledge?
Only time would tell.
It could be a fortune or it could be bupkiss. Just like our expectations of the Heavenly Kingdom where we were currently sequestered.
As it was, with our official protestations, they kept only photocopies of our passports as we roundly refused and threatened a full-scale karaoke battle right here in the lobby if they didn’t relinquish our passports immediately. I had broken out my nastiest cigar and was primed to offend.
With that, we all had our keys and trooped over to the elevators for our first, of many, inexplicable waits. We made many uncharitable and potentially nasty remarks about the Anti-Western posters that made up some of the wall décor. Once we finally made it to our floor, we all fanned out to find our rooms. Viv found his first and was quite pleased to report to the rest of us that there was a “Welcome” basket in his room.
We all hoped that we would be receiving one a well.
I was in room 3914; which I considered a close call, but later only wondered as there was no 3913. Upon entering, I saw it was 1980s Hotel 6 opulent, but with an excellent over-city view. True it was late, dark, and the city was only somewhat lit up; I was looking forward to the view of the town in full daylight.
The room had a ‘king’ bed; that is if the king in question was Tutankhamen, the stubby, Egyptian boy king. The bed had no mattress pad and no box spring but it was hard enough for my liking. Many of my compatriots didn’t agree and complained bitterly. They eventually received thin mattress pads for all their kvetching.
There was an ancient Japanese color television, which only had 2 English language channels - Al Jazeera and the BBC, which was on a dated news loop. Watching the local channel is amusing though; the ads for ‘personal enhancements’ were hilarious, even without understanding a word of the language.
There were a couple of chairs and a low table, built-in dresser drawers for our clothes, a rusty and probably unusable room safe with corroded batteries, a small table built out of the wall that would serve as my travel office, and would-you-believe, a rotary telephone; how’s that for nostalgia?
There was an old-model radio built into the nightstand next to the bed. I was very surprised to find it not only received AM, FM but shortwave as well. I had brought along a pair of Bose headphones and during some rainy down days, spent many fun-filled, and I mean that sincerely, hours DXing from the comfort of my ‘enormous’ king bed.
Beyond that, the room was very nondescript. Like any other of the millions of rooms in hotels around the world that unlike here, aren’t claiming a 5-star rating. I mean, it was clean, if not a little long in the tooth. But didn’t smell too terrible, even after I took care of that with my Camacho offerings. It was utilitarian, everything worked, even the water pressure, which surprisingly could strip off layers of one’s skin if you weren’t careful.
The bathroom, though no Jacuzzi, had a large enough bathtub for the occasional soaking period. Western accouterments in the bathroom were also welcome additions. My knees can’t handle the traditional squat-holes any longer.
There were an electric teapot and several brands of tea, but no coffee. A quick “Gee! I sure wish I had some coffee!” to the four walls and damned if 30 minutes later, a porter didn’t arrive to replenish my tea and courtesy in-room coffee…
There was a small Japanese brand in-room refrigerator which I thought might house a mini-bar. Oh, no! It was actually a complimentary larder stocked with all sorts of Best Korean goodies. Multiple cans of Taedonggang beer. Several bottles of Pyongyang Soju, in various flavors ranging anywhere from 16.8 to 53 percent alcohol by volume. My fridge was skewed towards the right-hand side of the bell curve; the more heavy-duty boozy side.
Evidently, my reputation had preceded me again.
There was a selection of German-style wheat beers from the Taedonggang Brewery and the more familiar ales, steam beers, and lagers. There were some imported beers like Heineken, Bavaria, Pils, a couple of Japanese brands: Asahi and Kirin, and something called ‘Hello Beer’ from Singapore.
There were also ‘sampler’ bottles of Apricot Pit wine, and a couple of high-alcohol fruity liquors made from constituents such as apple or pear, and mushrooms. There were also special medicinal liquors like ‘Rason’s Seal Penis Liquor’.
That is going home with me unopened.
There were a couple of bottles of local sake, called Chonju. Finally, there was a couple ‘samplers’ of homemade alcohol known as Makkoli. Plus there was something called ‘Corn Grotto’, which for the life of me, looks and tastes much like a very passable Kentucky Sippin’ Bourbon.
I put our concierge on instant danger money the very next day. He’s yet to source me more than a fifth of the stuff so far.
I found that there is a popular drink here which mirrors the Yorsch of Mother Russia. Beer and soju can be mixed to create *somaek’; a foamy, frothy, funky drink of many flavors, depending on the soju chosen.
Is ethnoimbibology at thing? The science of how different cultures drink and the effects of drinking culture on different societies. If not, now I have another Ph.D. to pursue after I endow a chair at some likely Asian university.
Anyways, in everyone’s room was a “welcome” basket, just chock full of Best Korean goodies. Postcards, stamps, ads for coin sets, stamp proofs and other goodies that could be purchased at the hotel. There was a field notebook, which I thought was a very nice addition, newspapers, cookies, crackers, biscuits, candies, fruit drinks, and some fresh fruit; although tamarind chewies and durian chips aren’t on my list of personal favorites.
There were a couple of tour books, just chock full of staged photos. These were very nice as well, as so far, we haven’t had much time for shopping outside of government stores or smaller family-run shops in town or out in the boonies.
A few of us were hungry and decided to see what the hotel had to offer room service-wise.
Bupkiss.
But, they did have a selection of restaurants. There is a Chinese restaurant, a European restaurant, and a Korean restaurant on site but they all serve the same food...a Best Korean attempt at western food. And it was weird being the only ones in the restaurant even though it was fully staffed.
We grazed lightly and decided to do some late-night perambulations around our hotel. Our handlers admonished us to stay within the confines of the hotel, or see them if it was absolutely necessary to go walkabout. In the hotel, we were on our own.
We found that there were tunnels in the hotel’s basement. The basement tunnels were a real bonus. There’s a bar with pool tables, a karaoke room, bowling, and a massage parlor, where I was beaten and pummeled into submission by tiny, diminutive, little Korean lassies fully 1/5th my size.
It was wonderful.
There was a hairdresser’s, who were completely befuddled by my shoulder-length silver-gray locks and full gray Grizzly Adams beard. They did provide a lovely shampoo/cranial massage though for the equivalent of US$2.
There were a couple of shops selling Chinese goods rather than local stuff, which was sort of disappointing, a cold noodle bar, and another casino. No shops selling Korean Communist propaganda posters, as I wanted to augment my Soviet-era collection. Perhaps I’ll find something in-country later on.
We were shocked to find that the casino had WiFi that was uncensored and we were able to access; after a fee of liquor miniatures and a cigar or two. We were supposed to have access to the global internet, not local intranet, from the universities that we would be visiting. However, all of that was under the heavily squinting eyes of handlers and guys in shiny suits wearing fake Ray-Bans.
I still had my secret satellite internet lash-up available, but that was iffy, a pain in the ass to set up, and ridiculously expensive. However, it did work on the 39th floor and the times I used it instead of wandering down to the tunnels, no one appeared to be the wiser. Thus far.
So typically, we’d just head to the basement casino with our laptops, iPads, and phones. Bam! Robert’s your Sister’s Husband, we could connect more-or-less free with the outside world; hence how you are reading this now.
Herro! “Yes, I’d sure like another beer. This time a porter, if you please.”
The more they overthink the plumbing, the easier it is to stop up the drain. Or the more they put into locks, the easier they are to pick.
Besides, we were told we’d have access to unfettered and free internet. OK, so we just found it for ourselves. Whaddya expect? We’re scientists, motherfucker, back off.
Ahem.
Back to reality.
The breakfast buffet the next morning had a wide choice of Asian and Western food, although the choices seemed to be the same every day. The main event was to beat the Chinese tourists to the egg station every morning. Breakfast always included fried eggs, a limited selection of pork, kippered fish, potatoes, rice, fruit, and a very Titanium-dioxide-white white bread
After a while, I took to going to the small market behind the lobby, buying some imported Chinese or Japanese nibbly bits and heading to the tunnels for a few breakfast beers before the long hard day’s work. It took almost a week, but I gained the trust of some of the workers in the tunnels and they showed me the on-site microbrewery at the hotel. It produced very passable, and very, very cheap beers of several varieties.
Liquid bread. Beer. Is there nothing it can’t do?
After breakfast our first day at the hotel, we were told to meet in the Conference Room “Il-sung” as we were going to have a ‘Welcome foreign imperialist scientists’ introduction and indoctrination.
Besides our handlers and the shiny-suit squad, there were several Korean folks we didn’t recognize. These were students, scientists, and scholars from the Kim Chaek University of Technology, Kim Il-sung University, the Pyongyang University of Science and Technology; all hailing from Pyongyang, and the University of Geology from North Hwanghae Province.
“Oh, marvelous”, Erlen remarked, “It’s going to be a bloody Chautauqua. We’ll be here all day.”
“Well”, I replied, “It could be worse. We could be on a bus headed off on another unscheduled road trip.”
As we found our seats, our Korean counterparts were busily setting up portable screens, like the ones your grandfather had for showing his 2.1 Googleplex worth of travel slides every Christmas or Thanksgiving get-together. They had a couple of ancient Chinese brand laptops that could have doubled for body armor, they were so thick and heavy.
While they fiddled with running cords for the overhead projectors and 16mm film projector; yes, it was going to be movie time as well, the hotel’s restaurant folks wheeled in carts laden with scones, cupcakes, and other sweet sorts of bakery. Another cart was wheeled in with pump-pots of hot water, tea, and coffee. Usual scientific meeting fare.
There was one final cart that made the day bearable. It held a pony keg of hotel micro-brewed beer on ice, with several dozen frosty mugs available for all who wanted to partake.
There were instantly 12 mugs that were spoken for.
I grabbed a cold beer and wandered around the conference room, sipping beer, chewing on an unlit cigar, and just trying to be pleasant to our hosts and their scientific guests. I was surprised when one North Korean professor, who spoke amazingly British-tinged English, offered me a light for my cigar.
“Is smoking allowed here?” I asked.
“Allowed?” he laughed heartily, “My good man, it’s practically a prerequisite.”
“Here then”, I said, offering him a nice, unctuous Camacho, “Try one of mine.”
Dr. P'ung Kwang-Seon of the North Korean University of Geology became my instant and lifelong friend at that moment.
We had a very nice chat, much to the chagrin of the gray suit cadre, who could hear what we were talking about, but probably didn’t understand anything beyond every 8th word.
After a while, we were asked to take our seats, after refreshing our drinks, and introduced to the group of Korean geoscientists we’d be interacting with during our stay here in Best Korea.
I tried to record every name, but between the students, other scholars, and professors from the various universities, I decided I’d ask for a list of participants once the day had worn on. After all, they had all our names, references, and resumes if the thick folio they kept referring to was any indication.
There were a couple of hours of introductions, as every one of the Korean geoscientists there introduced themselves, mostly through translators, told of their personal area of specialty, and their latest work.
Most were what would be considered geoscientists, but oddly enough, not one that you would consider a petroleum geoscientist, however tangentially.
There were geomorphologists, structural geologists, petrologists, mineralogists, marine geologists, engineering geologists, and seismologists. However, there were no stratigraphers, sedimentologists, paleontologists, or geochemists. We were all geoscientists, but apart from the obvious Korean:English disparity, it was as if we spoke different scientific languages as well.
That would be our first hurdle to overcome.
They had no oil industry here; none whatsoever, therefore why one would bother with the geosciences that fed directly into petroleum? That, in and of itself, would make it difficult to explore for oil in the country. Couple that with the fact that they’re so insular, think their version of ‘science’ is the best, at least that’s the official line, and think all other’s ‘science’ is capitalistic, substandard, and inferior doesn’t bode well for your country discovering anything either oily or gassy.
We were having another conclave around the beer keg, ack, err…a ‘coffee break’ and I mentioned this fact to my scientific colleagues.
“Guys”, I need input here, “We’re going to get precisely nowhere if they won’t even acknowledge that they have major problems from the start.”
Ivan replies, “Very true. I’ve seen this before back home. You get a group so entrenched in their own little corner of science, they can’t even accept or acknowledge that others exist. Not only exist but actually know more about a certain problem than do you.”
Dax joins the fray, “Sure, that’s very true, but who’s going to tell them this unfortunate fact? They could take that as a personal, national, and global insult. Imagine you’re at an international conference and a bunch of foreigners walk in just to tell you you’ve been doing it all wrong for the last 75 years.”
I add, “Remember, though. These characters are scientists as well. I think it’ll be a good measure of seeing what sort of science and scientist we’re dealing with here. If they are truly researchers, they’ll listen to and evaluate what we say as for veracity and accuracy. If they’re just a bunch of Commie goons; no offense, Comrade Academician Ivan, they’ll get all pissed off, kick us out, and we get to go home and enjoy our triple Force Majeure pay.”
Ivan walks over and deliberately steps on the toes of my newly polished field boots.
“In Soviet Russia, field boots walk on YOU.” He laughs in his heavily inflected, and scary, Soviet-era speech…
“Yes, I agree”, Joon adds, “But who is going to address this issue with our hosts? Perhaps one of our Russian comrades, as they are, or were, more politically aligned with our Korean friends and perhaps best understand the issue?”
Ack speaks up, grinning maniacally, “No, I disagree. We should have the one person here who so encapsulates the ideologies and political leanings that they love to hate here so much. You know; the quiet, diminutive, and soft-spoken North American…”
Dax recoils, “Oh, no! I’m not going out in front of this mob of ornery Orientals…”
I smile wanly and tell Dax to cool out.
“Relax, Dax. They’re talking about me.”
“Oh, yes”, a collective group of voices replies, “Yes. Let out fearless Team Leader break the bad news to our Eastern Colleagues. That way we can gauge their reactions to being bounced around scientifically by a member of the Evil Capitalist Cartel.”
“OK”, I reply, “I’ll do it. But be forewarned, my fine feathered fiends. I get stuck on a topic that’s not precisely my bailiwick, I’m going to throw your ass to the wolves. Remember, we’re all in this together.”
Whoops, and catcalls were reduced to mumbles and ‘Aw, fucks.’.
Chautauqua resumption was called and I asked for the floor.
It was a bit off the agenda, but since they’ve been chewing the air for the last several hours, they understood it would be appropriate for us to at least try and get a word in edgewise.
I downed my beer, and grabbed a fresh one as what I was going to say was going to be harsh, cut-and-dried, and rather pointed. But delivered in a pleasant manner.
I hoped.
This all had to be filtered through a series of translators, one for general conversational Korean and another for the more technical and scientific transliterations. I realized I was going to be up here for a while. So, I brought a cigar.
One way or another, I was going to deliver our pronouncements and hell, I may as well be comfortable while doing it.
.
“Greetings and felicitations, my Eastern Colleagues. Let me first say how nice it is to be here in the Democratic People's Republic of Korea as part of the ….”
I’m going to fast-forward through all the flowery bullshit and introductory happiness; I’ll going to just cut to the guts of the matter.
“…Now, you do know why there has been virtually no oil, gas nor any other hydrocarbon related deposit discovered here in the Democratic People's Republic of Korea?” I asked by way of a rhetorical question.
I sipped my beer and lit my cigar. In for a chon, in for a won.
I let the buzzing subside on the side of our eastern counterparts.
“Because, and please do not take this as insulting or derogatory, but as a statement of irrefutable fact, no one with the proper training nor experience has been looking. You’re historically guilty of applying the science incorrectly and letting dogma and politics guide your search, instead of the scientific method and the facts. Geology, like all natural science, is just as truth based on the facts for a capitalist as it is for a communist. Reality is not influenced by your beliefs, be they scientific or political, secular or spiritual, ‘trusted’ rather than ‘thought’; any more than by your wish that it wouldn’t rain today during a raging thunderstorm.”
Little Boy over Hiroshima was dropped with less effect.
Our Democratic People's Republic of Korea colleagues erupted into a chaotic mixture of stuttering, internecine yelling, accusations, and sputtering.
Calling for decorum, I figured that since I was this far gone, I may as well push the plunger all the way to the bottom.
“Gentlemen, I do not denigrate the science of geology as taught and practiced here in Best Korea.” I actually said that, sort of a slip of the tongue. Continuing, “However, one would not fish for Bluefin tuna from a rowboat in a pond with a fly rod. One does not hunt bear in the city with a slingshot. Just as one doesn’t search for oil and gas with mining engineers, geomorphologists, and seismologists.”
I let that sink in and after the translation, they calmed a bit and wanted to hear the rest of what I had to say. I could sense a couple was less than thrilled with what I had to say, but forging onward…
“One fishes for Bluefin tuna in the deep ocean with huge rods, reels and a specialist boat captained by someone with deep experience in hunting the elusive fish. One hunts bear in the proper environment, the taiga or forest, with the proper tools and guided by one with the education, learnedness, and experience to know how to make the hunt come out successful.”
Hit them with some analogies they can relate to and digest. Now, go for the carotid.
“Just like one does not hunt oil and gas without stratigraphers, sedimentologists, geophysicists, petrophysicists, and other oil and gas experts who have the education, experience, and knowledge to know where to look. Knowing which environment looks most conductive to hide your quarry, if you’ll pardon the pun, and how best to find them, the guys who know how to corral and de-risk them once you find them, and the engineers and technologists who know how to bring them to the surface so they can be utilized.”
They had stopped being irritated and were listening in rapt attention.
“My colleagues and I have spent the last few days going over, in detail the geology of your country. There is nothing we can see that would preclude the development, entrapment, and preservation of economic quantities of oil and gas. Ture, the geology is quite complex as is the structural history of the entire peninsula. That’s one other thing you will have to accept. Geology doesn’t give the tiniest shit about political boundaries. One must look at the big picture, and that doesn’t stop at some man-made borders. Ignore that fact at your peril, because if you continue to view the geology here as not existing across political boundaries, you are preadapting yourself for failure.”
Drs. Ivan, Volna, and Morse make certain that everyone sees the ex-Soviets agreeing with the bushy-bearded, cigar-chomping American capitalist.
“So,” I said, hoping to bring this little spit-balling session to a fortuitous close, “If we can have an agreement; scientific agreement, on these points, then I am certain we can find a way forward with not only this discussion but the program we can devise for the best Korean (notice phase shift?) geologists to take the project forward both scientifically soundly and economically successful.”
My North Korean counterpart gets up from his seat in the conference room, goes to the keg, taps a couple of beers and walks up to the podium where I was standing.
“Thank you, Dr. Rocknocker, for saying what needed to be said”, he spoke in perfect English as he handed me a beer.
I grinned and gratefully accepted the beer.
“Why, Dr. Chang Kwang-Su”, I said, as that was his name, “You old fraud. You do speak English; and very well, I must add.”
“Yes, almost all of us do”, he relayed, “But, as you said, we are most reserved. We were more or less under orders of the ‘most illustrious’, to play coy, and act as if we spoke no English.”
“I see.” I said, “I’ve worked in several FSU countries as well as Russia and saw that there as well. I guess old habits die hard.”
“That they do, Doctor.”, he replied, “But, we must now tell you the truth. We knew exactly what you said is true, and we agree. We are not as totally insulated from the outside world as some suspect.”
“Well, I was going on what your superiors related to us. Like the police that had all their toilets stolen, I had nothing else to go on.” I replied.
“Ah, ha! Quite!”, he chuckled, “We had long suspected that we were lacking in certain areas of scholarship. What you said cements that fact as it was an independent conclusion. We can now present that to our superiors with the caveat that unless we bolster work and training in these areas, the hunt of hydrocarbon resources here will be for naught.”
“I am relieved”, I said, truthfully. “I was slightly concerned that some might take umbrage to being told their science is not up to specifications. I tried to be the bearer of that bad news but deliver it gently. Here, I find you need that to use that as a truncheon to smack one’s boss upside the head and tell him that an upgrade is required. And fast.”
“Ah, so”, he replies, “We are in total agreement. Now that is out of the way, we would appreciate it if you’d help in designing a course of study for up and coming local geoscientists. Then, we can go forward with a great plan to search for oil and gas here in…Korea. Correct?”
“Absolutely”, I remarked, “You’ve got over 400 man-years of science and exploration expertise here in this room alone. Let’s shoot for the moon, so to speak. Let’s get you up to speed on scientific journals and articles that are available out there in all of academia and industry. Let’s get you communicating on a global basis. Let’s prove that you can talk science with global scientists and still not have it affect your political or nationalistic aspirations one little bit. Let’s see if we can drag you, figuratively speaking, kicking and screaming, into the 21st century.”
“Doctor”, Dr. Chang remarked, “You are the embodiment of what we were always told what Americans are. Brash, loud, confident, and evil. Except for evil, you are American as we were led to believe.”
“Hey, I take that as a compliment”, I exclaim. “You think that’s bad, I’ve got a bunch of earnest Europeans, raucous Russians, and a couple of cagey Canadians on my side as well. Before we’re finished here, we’ll have you ordering hachee, dining on Caldo Verde, snacking on salmiakki, drinking Russkaya vodka with Pabst Blue Ribbon beer, eating poutine, and rooting for the Packers.”
“Doctor, I don’t know what half of that means, but I hope it comes to pass. It sounds most fascinating.” Dr. Chang chuckles.
The rest of the day was spent with various groups crystallizing and breaking off from the main crowd; then reforming as different groups. This was good, as it showed an interest across not only national borders but across ideologies and scientific specialties.
Most everyone here spoke English with some degree of fluency, so the translators were called in only occasionally.
I made certain they were included in everything that transpired that day. I want everyone to feel ‘part of the team’. How better to show the classlessness of Western science to include everyone in on both sides of every discussion and activity?
To be continued…

I present you the Hellcoin (HELL). What is Hellcoin you may ask? Well the idea is extremely simple yet innovative. It’s a reverse Ponzi scheme. It rewards latecomers (instead of early investors and founder like in regular Ponzi schemes) and does not collapse from unsustainable growth but instead snowballs into an ever growing black hole indefinitely. It’s like a chicken game on the blockchain. Don’t believe me? Here are the parameters:
The founder stars by depositing crypto in a smart contract. Let’s say he starts by depositing $100 worth of ETH into HELL. This is the initial prize. New investors can start to put their money in now. After new investor puts their money in the timer is set to 72 hours. If no one puts any new money in that timeframe the last 100 contributors (not counting founder) get all the money from the contract proportionally to their contribution. In theory it takes one daring guy to put a single cent (minimal contribution) to get the whole 100 bucks for free. Of course if the system has any money in it there will always be another smartass that will put 1 cent too just to get a part of that cake. If someone new enters the timer is reset again to 72 hours. So in this example we have 2 smartasses who paid 1 cent to get about 50 bucks or more specifically 100.02/2 so 50 dollars and 1 cent. Nice gains. Obviously more will follow (share this on /biz/ and you will have as many “investors” as ponzicoin easily).
Nothing stops you from putting more than 1 cent of course. Like 1 dollar or 10 dollars. You will always be rewarded accordingly for your contribution counting the total pool provided by the last 100 investors. You can compete with others. You can also outsmart them and create 100 orders for 1 cent. Of course other investors may try the same strategy as well. Timer resets every time new money enters the game. Fun times.

Example 1: There are already total 10k dollars in the system (crazy, I know) provided by investors. Let’s say the last 100 contributors are 99 Average Joes that put 1 dollar in and Mr. Whale who put 101 dollars in. So the last 100 contributors’ pool is 199 dollars. After calculating the percentage of shares Joes get 49,5% of 10k to divide among themselves so 4950/99 equals 50 bucks for each. Pretty neat ROI right? Mr. Whale was a strong hand though and his ballsy move got him a nice bag of 5050 dollars.
Example 2: There are 100k dollars in the system provided by previous investors who did not win for some reason. The last 100 contributors are Cheap Joes who only put $0.01 in. Let’s say that conveniently ISIS sabotaged internet or Tether exploded or something and nobody managed to outbid that because they were too busy panicking. You know what this means right? Cheap Joes get 1k each for the measly 1 cent investment. How can you not like these gainz? It’s basically free money! You get the idea. Praise Hell.
Example 3: (in case you still don’t get it): There are 10 dollars in the system because the founder is a cheapskate. Let’s say the first 99 contributors are again Cheap Joes that pay 1 cent because they do not believe in the glorious idea of Hell but hey, they FOMO’ed anyway. The last contributor is Mr Moron who put in 1000 dollars because he is a fat fingered whale. Now let’s say Mr Moron’s incredibly strong hand intimidated every other player and he was the last one (dream on). The total pool is $1010.99. After calculating shares Cheap Joes get only roughly one cent (my math may be off, too lazy to double check). Also we will always conveniently round up gains to at least 1 cent automatically because no bad deed should go unrewarded. This means Mr Moron won $9.01 off his $1000 investment. Not the best ROI ever but still better than average Ponzi. You know you’d play. Hell is fun.

Pros and Cons of Hell
Pros:

• Founder doesn’t go to jail.
  
• You don’t need to shill like a sociopath. In fact it is in your best interest to warn everyone that this is a scam and they should stay away from crypto space as far as possible. (You don’t want those noobs to get in and ruin your gains, right?). This is the first HYIP that relies on you discouraging potential suckers from going in. It’s the first scam that is net positive to society!
  
• If this catches on we will preserve incredible value for future generations by sucking out money out of stupid individuals belonging to current generation.
  
• You don’t need to contribute much. Even 1 cent can net you possibly near infinite gains.
  
• You can get in anytime you want! Being late does not punish you! Being early does not net unfair advantage. Your contributions are rewarded accordingly, it’s FAIR! It’s like lottery but even better!
  
• You can get in multiple times and your chance is always the same (I guarantee it’s at least non-zero, okay?). You count on reverse greater fool theory/lesser fool theory (is there a professional term for that? Does anyone know?) that no one will be stupid enough to invest/speculate/gamble/lose money/fat finger after you. Good luck with that.
  
• It’s the only crypto that will not fund criminal enterprises/terrorists/fraudsters. If no one can get out, bag holders’ money will stay in the system forever therefore the whole society profits because the same money could be used for regular scams instead and therefore fuel more crime. See? Hell is honest, transparent, fair and morally pure. It is superior to every other shady investment program out there. Hell is the future. Hell is real.
  
• As transparent as Tether. No exit scam. Everyone HODLs.
  
• Infinite fun for barely 100 dollars of initial investment. Powered by blockchain and human stupidity.
  

Cons:

• Someone has to go to Hell first. Presumably the founder. I suspect 100 bucks of initial investment is enough of an incentive to start the Hell engine and encourage the first potential investors (greedy, neckbeard, libertarian assholes) who will put some pennies in and progressively kickstart this machine into the moon.
  
• It’s a scam. Remember?
  
• Some idiots may begin to bet how long this thing may go on or how much money it will gobble and therefore create a new type of financial instrument, maybe some sort of Hell futures for example which will inevitably lead to a sad conclusion that as long as there is some kind of uncertainty mankind will want to create a derivative of it.
  
• Have you heard of sunk cost fallacy? You will.
  
• You lose your money and your sanity. Also your friends, girlfriend, family and that funny coworker that you convinced to go in so that you are all guaranteed to be in the last 100 winners pool hate you for the rest of your life.
  
• You still bet on it from time to time even after you quit. It’s too strong.
  
• You regret you quit pachinko/slot machines.
  
• You regret you quit alcohol/drugs too.
  
• You regret everything.
  
• You borrow money to play. You have to. You’re almost there. The other idiots will be out of money soon.
  
• Your therapist recommends you switch to hard drugs or Russian roulette instead.
  
• You write in your will that your offspring must double down and recoup your losses. They write the same in theirs.
  
• This is the new, 10th circle of Dante’s hell. Only crypto investors and crazy gamblers go in so beware, it’s worse than all previous ones. There is no torture or pain other than a smug smart contract with huge unrealized gains taunting you for eternity on the blockchain and the fact that it is inhabited mostly by insufferable, neckbeard, libertarian assholes.
  
• Arguably worse than Roko’s basilisk (don’t you dare google this, you have been warned).
  

Conclusion
Because Hell relies on being as secretive and repelling as possible at some point obviously it will spread like plague due to reverse psychology and eat incredible amounts of stupid money. And it will never, ever stop. Hell will continue to eat small increments of money indefinitely because as time passes the stake will only increase and incentivize everyone to put just a tiny bit more because there is a non-zero chance they will be the last to bet on this scam and win glorious prize. Obviously spammers will set up bots to always be on the bottom of this pyramid so we must spice things up because wasting someone else’s money once every 72 hours would be too boring and spammers need to be taught a lesson as well.
Therefore every time the initial investment rises by an order of magnitude the time frame would shrink by 20%. So lets say initial 100 bucks goes to 1000 then to 10000. The time frame will shrink from 72h -> 57.6h -> 46.08h and so on. Because I’m not a sadist it will not decrease indefinitely (otherwise at some point people would use high frequency spambots to win billions, it could really get out of hand during the last stage of this scam if the time frame got to seconds, not hours) and because I want to give honest bag holders without bots and scripts a chance as well the lowest hard limit would be 10 hours. People need to sleep you know? Have fun. In Hell. Muahahahahhaa!
Unfortunately I’m just the ideas guy^TM so I must count on some tech savvy person to create Hell on the blockchain on their own and ^{puttheir100bucksin.} But you know you want to. You will share your eternal fame with me. The urge to give birth to this meme is too strong. It’s pulling you in. We will be remembered by entire generations as the creators of Hell on Earth. How cool is that? Cmon Robin, I’m offering you a practically free (okay 100 bucks and some effort but you get the idea) batmobile ride. Get in. We’re going to Hell.
HELLcoin – We’re in this together :)
FAQ
Q: Why would this work?
A: Human nature. More secure and predictable than blockchain. You can always count on it.
Q: It won’t work.
A: You don’t like practically free 100 bucks? Okay then. Actually I meant 200 bucks. Well, if you want to miss out those sweet 500 bucks it’s your decision. Someone else will win those 2000 bucks instead. Your loss. Just don’t blame me when your wife files for divorce after she learns you missed out 50k like a no coiner beta noob. Cmon man. I’m practically giving you a fortune for free. Just invest 1 fucking penny and see for yourself, how hard is that? Just try it out, you can stop anytime you want.
Q: What do you get out of this?
A: Mad laughs. Eternal glory. Memes.
Q: You know this may eventually get out of hand?
A: I’m counting on it.
Q: You’re insane.
A: It’s not a question.
Q: I’m serious.
A: Okay, I am, so what?
Q: Is there no upper limit to this madness?
A: Of course there is. People will eventually become bored with it once it stops being funny and this will be the perfect time for you to get in. Trust me.
Q: There must be some kind of law against it.
A: I bet there is. But until the scheme is over who will you blame for scamming you? Technically you’re not scammed until this is over and someone takes your money. Brilliant isn’t it? It’s basically a pool of idiots throwing bunch of money into a black hole and expecting they may come out one day in the future. Sue me in the afterlife suckeeeeeeeer, hahahahahaha!
Q: Future generations will hate you, you know?
A: I don’t think I can beat Hitler, but second place is good enough for me. I’m not ambitious. Also, slow and steady wins the race if you catch my drift.
Q: Isn’t this worse than regular casino?
A: So is a big chunk of crypto space. Wake up.
Q: I lost a fortune. It’s your fault. Give me my money back or you’re fucked. I have a very particular set of skills.
A: I graduated top of my class. Come at me bro.
Q: Is your username relevant somehow?
A: Absolutely not.
Q: So how do I get in early?
A: You’re serious?
Edit: formatting.
Edit2: Someone gilded this post, thank you. I appreciate your feedback everyone. I hope I gave you some good laughs and some food for thought (and possibly a blueprint for a doomsday machine to some mad scientist...).
Edit3: This idea is obviously unrefined and there are a lot of arbitrary values in in that could be easily adjusted or replaced by something else (for example the pool of winners is 100, but after thinking a bit about it I'm more inclined to believe 10 is better number to increase competition). I encourage everyone to read the comments in this thread for additional insight, we did quite a lot of brainstorming.

Myra Kindle is an independent investigative reporter.
Her other reports:

• What does Google want with male sex workers?
  
• A Tyson Foods board member was held ransom for $87,250 in December, 2018. Now released, he says Tyson is suppressing police investigations into finding his captors and threatening legal action if he speaks about his abduction.
  
• Google’s Algorithmic Decay - A Report on the Lenoir, North Carolina Bombing
  
• In 1979, the U.S. Embassy in Moscow was losing more than 120 informants a year to Russian KGB. by 1981, that number had dropped to just 10. Now, a former intelligence agent is raising alarm that the wildly unorthodox methods once used to protect Russian sources could pose a devastating new threat
  
• For Two Years a Former University Student Has Set-Up Unusual Protest Demonstrations in Buffalo, New York - No One Is Still Quite Sure What He’s Protesting
  
• Nearly Two Months After a Terrorist Attack in China Killed 337 People, Investigators Have Gotten No Closer to Determining How the Attack Was Carried Out
  
• A Report on the Grey Men of 327 Cedar Lane -- This was part of a collaborative project with nslewis, who wrote the incident that takes place prior, "The grey men of 327 Cedar Lane"
  

Boardwalk Attraction

What drives a person to cover themselves in gasoline and drop a match by their feet?
That was the question that ran through the minds of many in a crowd outside the Borgata Hotel and Casino in Atlantic City, New Jersey on March 23rd, 2019.
At approximately 7:45PM on that cold spring eve, a Mr. James Ferdini, age 47, covered himself in gasoline and was prepared to drop a match in the fuel.
As the crowd shouted for him to stop and several witnesses called the police, Mr. Ferdini reportedly stood unfazed, simply grinning and appearing to revel in the crowd’s shock.
“It was a suicidal action but it didn’t look like a suicidal person,” says Sam Kenset, an eyewitness to the incident. “I guess I don’t really know what a suicidal person looks like, but his movements and the way he was talking -- he just didn’t seem like a man down on his luck.”
Ms. Kenset is quite astute in her observation -- Mr. Feredini was certainly not down on his luck. In fact only moments before covering himself in gasoline, Mr. Ferdini had cashed out more than $1.3 million in winnings from the Borgata Hotel and Casino, making his suicidal action all the more puzzling.
However dangerous, Mr. Ferdini’s gasoline soaked stunt would not lead to his death on March 23rd, but his life was not long for this world either. Three days later on March 26th he would be found dead from an entirely different cause.
In Mr. Ferdini’s incredible winnings and suicidal tendencies leading up to his unusual and grizzly death on March 26th, many questions remain. Who was James Ferdini? What happened to his more than million dollars in winnings? And what was the lead up of events that caused his demise?
Based on interviews with management at the Borgata Hotel and Casino, local police and investigators, and corroborated with eyewitness accounts, independent investigative reporter Myra Kindle, for the first time, brings you a report on the man who nearly bankrupted a casino, and whose luck seemed to make him invincible until his highly improbable death.

What are the Odds?

As the match fell to James Ferdini’s feet outside the Borgata Hotel and Casino, the crowd stood agasp as they waited for the inevitable fire and horrible death of a gas soaked man. This moment would never come however, and the match reportedly landed in the puddle of gasoline meeting it as though it were water.
“The crowd started to look away the moment he dropped the match,” says Matthew Gershowitz, a witness to the event. “I couldn’t though -- I needed to see what would happen. I mean we all thought we were witnessing a suicide or something, but the guy was jovial, happy, making jokes with the crowd before he lit the match. And then when it hit the gas, it just burned out, and the man started laughing. We were all amazed. It was like a miracle -- we thought he’d die for sure.”
While it’s quite understandable that the crowd believed they had witnessed a miracle when James did not burst into flames, professor of organic chemistry at Villanova University, Marcy Li, says the odds of Mr. Ferdini’s death were far less than certain.
“Gasoline is certainly flammable, but not like in the way shown in movies and TV,” says professor Li. “It’s the layer of vapor above that gasoline that is most likely to combust. There could be a number of factors like wind, humidity and temperature that improved Mr. Ferdini’s chance of avoiding being burned alive. I would certainly say he’s lucky, but I wouldn’t say it’s a miracle he didn’t burst into flames.”
If Mr. Ferdini relied on luck that day to survive, it would appear to have been with him in spades for quite some time.
Having just come from the Borgata casino floor, James was reportedly on a ‘hot-streak’, winning tens of thousands of dollars an hour over the preceding two days.
“You have to imagine we were pretty happy when he left the casino,” says Richard Markelson, a floor manager at the Borgata. “Normally we want customers to stay as long as possible so the house can win our money back, but Mr. Ferdini never had a bad roll, spin, or lever pull the whole 40 consecutive hours he was gambling at the Borgata. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Mr. Markelson was able to confirm through cash-logs and casino surveillance that Mr. Ferdini had indeed won big at the Borgata, and records show his total winnings amounted to $1,348,427.
Mr. Markelson said of the winnings: “It was enough of a loss over a short period of time that the owners of the casino were worried our insurance premiums were gonna jump. A casino in Atlantic City simply doesn’t lose that much money in such a short time, at least not to a nobody, and Mr. Ferdini was certainly a nobody.”

A Career Loser

While management at the Borgata Hotel and Casino did not know Mr. Ferdini prior to his 40 hour lucrative gambling binge, many on Atlantic City’s boardwalk have been acutely aware of James for years.
For example after James’s stunt with the gasoline, he was arrested and taken to the Atlantic City jail and held on the possible charge of disorderly conduct, but was released after the charges were dropped. The reason? The police had a long record of interactions with Mr. Ferdini and thought of him only as a minor risk.
“We were more worried about the guy’s mental health than him causing a scene on the boardwalk,” says Atlantic City officer Paul Stevenson. “We’ve known James for years -- I mean he’s a loser. Is it a shock to me that he would try and commit suicide like that? Absolutely not.”
When asked why the police did not opt to commit Mr. Ferdini to a hospital on a psychological evaluation, officer Stevenson replied: “The plan was to have him committed, but some lawyer showed up and we didn’t want a legal fight, so we decided to release him instead. I felt a bit mixed about it. I mean the guy was clearly suicidal -- why else would you douse yourself in gasoline?”
When told that Mr. Ferdini was reportedly jovial and happy during the gasoline incident, and that he had in fact won more than a million dollars immediately prior to the event, officer Stevenson struggled with the narrative: “That doesn’t sound like the James Ferdini I know. He’s always been a depressed gambler, and never won a game in his life as far as I know. He couldn’t win a hundred bucks, let alone a million. I can’t even believe they let him into the Borgata in the first place, but I guess the cash winnings explains the lawyer.”
Officer Stevenson asked if I could confirm the details of the winnings and that Mr. Ferdini was in a jovial mood during the gasoline incident. When I showed documentation of Mr. Ferdini’s winnings provided by Mr. Markelson and relayed several eyewitness accounts as to his temperament, officer Stevenson replied: “I don’t get it. So, why’d he try to burn himself alive?”

The ‘Cooler’

Perhaps no individual has a better sense of who Mr. Ferdini is and what happened to him than the floor manager at the Borgata, Mr. Markelson.
For 40 hours prior to the gasoline incident, Mr. Ferdini bet heavily at the Borgata casino, and Mr. Markelson was in close proximity for much of his hot-streak.
“I was actually supposed to be on vacation that week,” says Mr. Markelson, “but I got called in because the other cooler was sick.”
A ‘cooler’ as Mr. Markelson explained, is a relic of old casinos that today is rarely used, however some establishments still invest in what could be called ‘charms’ to bring bad luck to high rollers.
“I got hired because I’m unlucky,” explains Mr. Markelson. “I can do the job of floor manager just fine -- don't get me wrong -- but it was my knack for bad luck that got me the job for sure.”
A cooler operates by simply being present around those that are on a run of good luck. In Mr. Markelson’s account, he says that being around him will bring such bad luck to any gambler that their cards will go cold, their lever pulls result in no winnings, and their wheel spins doomed to lose money.
“It’s a talent I’ve had since, well, forever,” says Mr. Markelson. “If I just stand near someone, they’ll start to have bad luck like me. I know it sounds crazy, and sometimes I don’t believe it myself, but it’s true. I mean, like I said, I think that’s why the casino hired me. They could count on me to go onto the casino floor and bring bad luck to anyone that’s winning a bit too much. Best part, since it’s based on superstition, it’s completely above board.”
With James Ferdini, Richard Markelson found that his power did not work however.
“I don’t know about before I showed up, but for when I was watching him, that man could not lose. The casino made me stay multiple shifts, I’m talking nearly 40 hours to watch him and were hoping I’d bring him bad luck, but it never happened. He just kept on winning no matter what game he played.”

An Escalation of Bets

In attempting to find James Ferdini’s state of mind prior to the gasoline incident, floor manager Richard Markelson provided unfettered access to video of the casino floor, even though he realized he could be breaking several state gambling commission laws by allowing a reporter to look at such surveillance. In fact, more than taking the risk, it was Mr. Markelson that called me and led me to this story in the first place.
“The police didn’t send him to the hospital after the gas thing I’ve been told. I figured the truth has to be somewhere and when police won’t do their job, I guess it’s reporters that have to step in,” says Mr. Markelson. “The most important thing to be me personally is finding out why he died just a few days later in that horrible freak accident -- the one on March 26th.”
When asked if Mr. Markelson had any interest in finding Mr. Ferdini’s still missing $1.3 million, he replied: “Of course, but that’s not my primary concern here. I just want to know what the fuck happened. How does a guy who should have felt on top of the world go to dousing himself in gasoline, and then ends up dead a few days later? I really want to know.”
In the video access provided by Mr. Markelson, I managed to find new clues that might be able to explain Mr. Ferdini’s downward spiral.
It could best be described as an escalation of bets that appeared to take place soon after Mr. Ferdini began his run of good luck. According to video of the casino floor, around the time manager Richard Markelson appeared, Mr. Ferdini started his miraculous winning streak.
The video shows Mr. Ferdini starting with craps, moving to baccarat, then slot machines, and followed by a long run at twenty-one. He continues to gamble for 40 straight hours, much of it with Mr. Markelson in close proximity.
“I was the only cooler around, so the higher ups at the Borgata made me stay the whole time. I got a lot of overtime that week,” says Mr. Markelson.
Curiously, the video shows that at around the 25 hour mark Mr. Ferdini attracts something of a crowd. While the video offers no sound, it appears as though Mr. Ferdini is making several wagers with his new found groupies.
At first a few in his new entourage gamble him directly in casino floor games like Texas Holdem, but it appears as though they make several bets outside of the casino games as well.
In one instance Mr. Ferdini appears to bet that he can drink boiling hot water. The video shows him drinking a scalding hot cup and immediately receiving a small payout from several people he was talking to before beginning the stunt.
It became clear to me after reviewing the video surveillance that for this story, I would need to speak to at least one of the people who witnessed Mr. Ferdini taking on these non-casino game bets. Thankfully, with Mr. Markelson’s help I was able to track down Maria Nowak, who in the video appears to spend several hours with Mr. Ferdini.
A resident of Atlantic City, Ms. Nowak was able to confirm that Mr. Ferdini was taking part in what she describes as “extreme behavior”, and that he was seemingly willing to bet on anything and everything. Even games that were clearly not of chance, like drinking boiling hot water.

”For $500, Right?”

Why did Mr. Ferdini cover himself in gasoline and drop a match? It’s a question essential to understanding his mindset, and one for which the answer appears to be quite simple.
After tracking down Ms. Nowak, a long time resident who often partakes in long gambling binges herself, she claims Mr. Ferdini covered himself in gasoline and dropped a match in the fuel simply because of a wager.
“We had been doing side bets for hours,” says Ms. Nowak, who agreed to meet me at Hayday Cafe, a local coffee shop. “I was with a group of friends and we noticed that this guy [Mr. Ferdini] had not been losing any bets for hours. The guy was pretty much throwing money around and that type of attitude attracts the crowd I was with. So, we started making small talk and then made a few bets, dumb, small ones to start.”
When asked what bets her group made with Mr. Ferdini, Ms. Nowak replies: “At first it was things like, how many casino chips he could fit into his mouth. But then it escalated pretty quickly, like soon we were betting on how much money he could win in an hour. Then a bit after that he did this really stupid boiling hot water challenge -- he simply bet he could drink boiling hot water without having to go to the hospital. The bet didn’t make any sense, but like everything else, he won.”
“The gasoline challenge was the craziest though,” she continues. “It was clearly a joke when my friend suggested it, but James took him up on it right away. The challenge was, like, ‘can you cover yourself in gasoline, drop a match, and survive?’ James said he would do it for $500, and we just assumed he was kidding, but sure enough he was dead serious.”
Ms. Nowak claims that she too was present in the crowd outside the Borgata when Mr. Ferdini made good on the gasoline bet, and that immediately prior to him dropping the match, he said to her and the rest of the gambling entourage, “This is for $500, right?”
“He said it but I’m not too sure how many people heard it,” Ms. Nowak says. “I mean the whole crowd was screaming for him to stop. They all thought the guy wanted to kill himself. I guess one of us nodded our heads to James’s question, and then he dropped the match. I’ll be damned, but he won that bet too. We gave him $500 alright, not that he needed it after making all that money at the Borgata.”
When asked if Ms. Nowak saw Mr. Ferdini after he was released from the police station, she responds: “Yea, we hung out for the next two or three days -- all of us -- the gambling group that had formed at the casino, James Ferdini, and then, oh yea, that guy Richard Makel-something. I think he worked at the Borgata but he hung around with us for a couple days while we partied at a different hotel. It was around the time Richard and the rest of us left that James was in that freak accident.”

Richard Markelson

The details of Ms. Nowak’s account have confirmed two things to this reporter.
One, Mr. Ferdini’s suicidal gesture to cover himself in gasoline was nothing more than a bet to earn more money. Feeling high from his good luck at the casino, it would appear Mr. Ferdini thought himself invincible and was willing to take on any challenge, even if it put his life on the line.
Two, Borgata floor manager and ‘cooler’ Richard Markelson has not been fully forthcoming in his account of what happened. For example, he never mentioned spending time with Mr. Ferdini after leaving the Borgata.
Confronting Mr. Markelson, I ask him for a more accurate account of what happened after Mr. Ferdini’s gasoline soaked stunt. Mr. Markelson is nervous in his reply, realizing he’s been caught withholding valuable information.
“You have to understand that James is not particularly good with money,” starts Mr. Markelson. “I know I’m saying that having really only met the guy at the Borgata casino, but you could just tell he was something of a loser. Maybe other people told you that too, I don’t know. My point is James was destined to spend that money on drugs and alcohol, and well, we all kind of just tagged along for the ride.”
Mr. Markelson goes on to describe a drug fueled binge that lasted from Saturday March 23rd until sometime before Mr. Ferdini’s death on Tuesday, March 26th.
“James and I had been awake for more than 40 hours when he left the casino, and I was going to go to bed, but somehow I got roped into his entourage he found at the Borgata when he was raking in cash. I would’ve gone home, but free cocaine is free cocaine. I’m not particularly proud of saying that, but it’s true -- I really like the drug.”
Richard Markelson says that in addition to drugs, Mr. Ferdini hired prostitutes and strippers for the group’s amusement.
“I’m not into all the seedy stuff, but we had been awake for a long long time and on so much shit. I mean we were taking meth rips and stuff. Yea, it’s weird now that I look back on it, but a binge can be like that sometimes.”
The most important question to this reporter is what happened in the final hours of Mr. Ferdini’s life. In this respect, Mr. Markelson claims to know nothing.
“I left before he died on Tuesday,” says Mr. Markelson. “It doesn’t surprise me that he died though. The gasoline bet was just the beginning of it. That girl, Maria Nowak, the one that told you I was hanging out with the impromptu entourage -- it was her boyfriend that really stepped things up in a pretty violent way in terms of betting.”
When asked what he means by “violent”, Mr. Markelson responds: “I mean they were actually gambling on Russian roulette in the hotel room when I left.”

That Other Roulette

Once again reaching out to Ms. Nowak, I ask her about Mr. Markelson’s description of partying and gambling in a hotel with Mr. Ferdini.
It was at this point that Ms. Nowak declined any further questions, only providing the statement: “I’ve said everything I’m going to say.”
While this seemed like a certain dead end to discovering what happened in the final hours of Mr. Ferdini’s life and also possibly to tracking down what happened to his $1.3 million in winnings, I by luck received a phone call shortly before I was ready to call it quits on this investigation.
The phone call was from one Mr. Samuel Howlser, boyfriend to Ms. Maria Nowak.
Mr. Howlser said he wished to speak with me to clarify a few details that Ms. Nowak had shared with me and to dispute any “lies” stated by Mr. Markelson.
“Me and Maria didn’t steal nobody’s money and we’re not gonna get in trouble for what Richard Markelson or anyone in that entourage might be telling you,” Mr. Howsler said to me in a phone interview.
When asked about details of the drug fueled gambling binge shared by Mr. Markelson and Ms. Nowak, Mr. Howsler mostly confirms their accounts, however his description of floor manager Makelson is less favorable than what Mr. Markelson told me himself.
“He was the craziest fucker of the bunch, definitely,” says Mr. Howlser. “He knew the hookups for the crystal and coke, got us ketamine too. But the nuttiest thing about him is what the fuck he’d bet on. Like if Ferdini thought he was invincible, doubly so for that manger from the Borgata. Markelson was the one that brought out a revolver for Russian roulette too, and they played like dozens of games.”
Russian roulette, a lethal game of chance that has the player hold a loaded pistol to their head and fire, is an extremely dangerous game that has been popularized in media and fiction for decades. The game requires a loaded revolver to have at least one bullet chambered before firing, with the odds of death usually being one in six.
“It was fucking crazy when Markelson said he’d play it, but the dude was having as good luck as Ferdini so he thought he could do it,” says Mr. Howlser. “So they load a pistol with a bullet and start playing each other cause they were the only two fuckers crazy enough to do it. They play one round, but no winner so they go again. Second round, no winner so a third. Eventually they play enough rounds where they figure they gotta up the odds. So instead of loading one bullet, they load two. They play round after round with two out of six chambers loaded with bullets, spinning the revolver cylinder each time before they pull the trigger. This goes on for a while right, and then they load another fucking bullet. Each round now these guys have a one-in-two chance of blowing their brains out, but they keep playing.”
In Mr. Howlser’s recounting over the phone, I hear he is deeply disturbed by this story and ask why him and everyone in the gambling entourage continued to sit in the hotel room. In response he says, “We had been up for days smoking crystal and doing other shit. We were fuckng zombies. It’s only looking back now, sober, that I can see how crazy it was.”
But the game of lethal roulette was not over yet. Mr. Howlser claims that Mr. Ferdini and Mr. Makelson continued to play round after round, occasionally loading another bullet until finally the revolver was fully loaded.
“With six out of six chambers loaded, the odds of them dying on the next trigger pull was 100%,” says Mr. Howsler. “And I’ll damned, but they both went, and they both fucking lived. Somehow, they both got dud cartridges. After that, they both just had huge laugh for a while. A little bit later, Richard Markelson leaves and James Ferdini and the rest of us stay doing drugs for a bit until the rest of us guests leave too.”
Before Mr. Howlser ends the phone call, he stresses again the reason for contacting me.
“What happened is a messed up story, I know, but the point is that me and Maria don’t know anything about James Ferdini’s death or where his money is. Once we were sober enough to leave that seedy hotel outside Atlantic City, we left along with the rest of the people that were following James. And when we left, he was alive, and he had his money.”

Bad Luck

While Mr. Markelson, Mr. Howlser, and Ms. Nowak all say they only know the most basic details of how James Ferdini died, his death has actually been well documented by investigators and the coroner's office for Atlantic City.
Prior to this report, it was the mindset of Mr. Ferdini that was previously unknown. Sill up in the air is the whereabouts of his $1.3 million. But from what I've found, the report on his death is fully accurate, and even clears any of the entourage that was following him from being involved in any possible wrongdoing related to James Ferdini’s death.
On Tuesday March 26th at approximately 4:30AM, it would appear Mr. Ferdini’s luck simply ran out.
In that early morning hour, someone on Mr. Ferdini’s floor had ordered room service. As the porter was delivering the food, he slipped and fell outside of Mr. Ferdini’s room.
The noise from the fall awoke Mr. Ferdini who opened his door to find the porter picking up a tray of food in the hallway.
Upset at the disruption and the clanging of silverware outside his room, Mr. Ferdini proceeded to yell at the porter, pushing him against the wall in the hallway.
The confrontation ended when Mr. Ferdini told the porter that he was so upset that he was going to go down to the lobby and speak to management about the disruption.
Heading to the elevator, the porter told Mr. Ferdini that it was out of service. Frustrated, he turned to the stairwell and began walking downstairs.
Mr. Ferdini would never make it to the lobby however.
What Mr. Ferdini didn’t know was that the porter had also used the stairs to walk up to his floor, and that along the way he had spilled a small dish of ketchup.
When Mr. Ferdini walked across the spot where the porter had dropped the ketchup, he slipped and fell, falling down the stairs and knocking himself unconscious on the ground floor.
While in bad shape, investigators say that Mr. Ferdini was still alive at this moment, but what came next would be the fatal blow, or series of blows.
With the elevator out, the stairwell was the only way up and down the hotel floors. While Mr. Ferdini was unconscious on the ground, he blocked the entryway to the stairwell from the ground floor. A guest a moment later would attempt to open the door to the stairwell, but found that it was blocked by some obstruction that he could not see. Bothered and wanting to get to his room, the guest then started slamming on the door, thrusting it open with all his energy. He did not realize it, but the door he was thrusting over and over was slamming into the left side of Mr. Ferdini’s temple. The heavy metal door banged away over and over again, causing Mr. Ferdini’s brain to hemorrhage, and eventually doing enough damage that it would kill him fully.
The guest only stopped thrusting as the porter came back down the stairs to see Mr. Ferdini with his head being repeatedly bashed in by the door.
The porter screamed and soon the guest was made aware that he had accidentally killed Mr. Ferdini.
In this unusual and grizzly death, a confluence of bad luck came together to end Mr. Ferdini’s life.
If the elevator had not been out. If a guest on Mr. Ferdini’s floor had not ordered room service. If the guest had not ordered a dish that came with ketchup. If the porter had not spilled ketchup in the stairwell or dropped plates outside Mr. Ferdini’s room. If Mr. Ferdini had not waken up. If he had not confronted the porter and decided to go down to the lobby. If he had not slipped in the stairwell. If a guest on the ground floor did not repeatedly try to enter the stairwell. If any of these things had gone slightly differently, Mr. Ferdini would still be alive.
It could be said that Mr. Ferdini had finally found a run of bad luck, and incredible bad luck at that.

Double Negative

I cannot speak to Mr. Ferdini. He died long before I came to Atlantic City. For this story I’ve had to rely on the video surveillance from the Borgata casino and several eyewitness accounts of the drug fueled binge at the seedy hotel outside Atlantic City.
In those accounts from Mr. Ferdini’s hotel room, I’m left with conflicting views and shattered narratives.
It is clear to me that Ms. Nowak, Mr. Howlser, and Mr. Markelson cannot be trusted to give a full accounting of what happened. In my mind, the clearest liar of them is Mr. Markelson, who both omitted his story of seeing James after the gasoline incident, and also whose story is in direct conflict with Mr. Howsler and Ms. Nowak. While Mr. Markelson claims it was Mr. Howlser that had a revolver to play roulette, Mr. Howlser and Ms. Nowak both say it was Mr. Markelson.
Embedded in these lies and less than full accounts is a still missing $1.3 million. Something I believe Mr. Markelson is desperate to try and find, and for which was his original impulse to contact this reporter.
Now with an understanding of James Ferdini’s mindset leading up to his death, I am left with the unanswered question of what happened to Mr. Ferdini’s missing money.
I head back to where this story started, the Borgata where the gambling binge took fold. I seek an interview with Bill Hornbuckle, President of MGM resorts and a majority stakeholder in the Borgata Hotel and Casino. He agrees to speak with me and provides a full record on floor manger Richard Markelson.
I start the interview by asking if he’s aware if Richard Markelson owns a handgun, and in particular a revolver. In response, he says: “Our records indicate Mr. Markelson has a concealed carry license from the state of New Jersey for a Ruger LCR Six-Shot revolver. We have this in our records because Mr. Markelson is authorized to carry the weapon on the premises.”
Mr. Hornbuckle asks if I believe Mr. Markelson was involved in Mr. Ferdini’s death, to which I tell him I do not believe he is. I give the accounts of Mr. Markelson, Mr. Howlser, and Ms. Nowak, and while Mr. Hornbuckle is disturbed by the story, he agrees that Mr. Markelson has done nothing strictly illegal outside of drug use. He does add however: “The story with Russian roulette, if true, would certainly make us reconsider allowing Mr. Markelson to carry a weapon in the casino.”
Confirming that Mr. Markelson was the owner of the revolver has led me to believe Mr. Howlser and Ms. Nowak’s account over Markelson’s. It seems likely now that like Mr. Markelson did indeed play a dangerous game of Russian roulette with Mr. Ferdini, and that it was he who provided the gun to use.
Before I leave the Borgata, I ask Mr. Hornbuckle about another detail Mr. Markelson told me that I am no longer sure is true. I ask if a ‘cooler’ is something casinos really use, and if specifically Mr. Markelson is designated as one at the Borgata.
His response is to laugh at first, but he goes on to say: “Yes, a cooler is a real term. I actually believe in them myself. Luck is real. It’s a tangible thing that follows people around -- good luck and bad luck. I believe coolers have saved my casinos a lot of money over the years, and Mr. Markelson certainly fits that role at the Borgata. He's terribly unlucky, couldn't win a game of cards if his life depended on it. Still, he's invaluable at cutting the luck high rollers short."
He pauses before continuing: “There is of course the problem of the double negative, or when two coolers are together. It happens when a cooler is around someone who has luck just as bad as him or her. Like two positive or negative charges on a magnet, they repel each other, and the cooler’s effect instead of bad luck is one of incredible good luck. I’ve never seen it myself, but I’ve heard that even the most unlikely people on earth can have incredible runs of good luck if someone as equally unlucky as them is near.”
I propose the idea that maybe Mr. Ferdini was as unlucky as Mr. Markelson, and that together they achieved this ‘double negative,’ bringing them good luck while they were together.
“Yes,” Mr. Hornbuckle says. “I suppose that’s possible. It’s a very dangerous situation though for an unlucky person to suddenly be met with non-stop good luck. It could make you think yourself invincible, unable to be defeated in any challenge. You might even start to take on bets on things that aren’t real games of chance, like harming yourself by drinking boiling water. There’s also the danger of what happens when the double negative effect is over. One cooler parts ways, then each would fall into their own run of terrible luck, not realizing that their hot-streak has ended.”
As the interview concludes and I leave the Borgata, I think about the good luck Mr. Ferdini and Mr. Markelson had. I consider the incredible odds that both survived firing a loaded gun to their temples only for each to find a dud cartridge. I ponder the unfortunate series of events that would kill Mr. Ferdini after Mr. Markelson left his hotel room.
Lastly, I think about Mr. Markelson’s own luck since March 26th. Maybe it hasn’t been as bad as Mr. Ferdini's, but I know he contacted a reporter and as a result management at his casino will be looking into his behavior. I consider and think, that is not too lucky.

Porter

What was meant to be a short report about an unusual death in Atlantic City has grown into something longer. This is now a meandering investigation with unreliable characters, newly discovered details, and a still missing $1.3 million.
Before I leave New Jersey and return to New York, I go to the seedy hotel where Mr. Ferdini and his entourage consumed drugs and played Russian roulette, and where he would eventually die. It is my hope that I can speak to the porter -- the last person to ever see Mr. Ferdini alive.
At the hotel I speak to the manager and ask her who was the porter in the early morning hours of March 26th. The manager tells me that the porter no longer works for the hotel, and that in fact he had quit the very same day Mr. Ferdini died.
“After the police left, he flipped us all off,” the manager says. “That son of a bitch quit in style, telling us he didn’t need to work here no more. He said he was set and that we can kiss his ass goodbye.”
I ask the manager if they knew where the porter could have gone, to which she replies: “No idea. After he was done talking to the police about the death in the stairwell, I think he was out of New Jersey for good. He used to live nearby so I saw him when he left. He was fully packed. Had all of his stuff with him and three really full duffel bags I’d never seen before. He really didn’t seem like he was coming back -- had everything with him.”
Like the porter, I load my bags and finally prepare to leave New Jersey. As I do a thought pops into my mind: Could the porter that night have discovered Mr. Ferdini’s $1.3 million in three duffel bags in his room? I consider and think, maybe, and if he did, maybe this porter is the luckiest man in Atlantic City.
Myra Kindle is an independent investigative reporter. She covers tech, law, politics, and other stories that would be impossible to write about in more traditional outlets.

This is a sequence of this thread about the V3 Chapter 2 (Trial/Post Trial)
PLEASE DON'T GIVE ME SPOILERS YET!! Don't give me the actual information I haven't seen yet and neither if something matches the game or not, just give me an overall impression of my thoughts, please! Thank you!
The tier list so far
WARNING: this post will probably be longest one among all the whole DRV3 posts. If you can actually handle this bible and read everything, consider yourself a proud owner of an achievement. Also, there is a hidden message lying somewhere in this post. The one they call the Ultimate Message. Watch out for it.
Incoming: meteorite shower! So that was what Monokuma was talking about in Kirumi's video. I wonder if the Ultimate Maid could stop it? I don't doubt it really.
My God, I can't believe this! That was actually one of my fanfic ideas: a transfer student! This last part makes me even more curious: from the grave. Don't tell me you're bringing someone from DR1 here. Maybe Sayaka? Probably Chihiro? Mondo, why not? as we seen in the prologue he was involved with the Ex⁵ isals Celestia as a fierce lying competitor to Kokichi? (that would be very interesting, really!) Taka to give this school a proper school environment? Sakura! Tenko and Sakura training would be awesome! Mukuro!! Give her a chance to shine! Okay, what about Junko Enoshima-chan herself?! What a twist! if that's the case PLEASE don't be the mastermind again And even more shocking: Chiaki! Third time is the charm, isn't it? I'm so excited, every single choice would be fantastic, I wonder who will be the unlucky one!
Given that the owners of those kind of talent usually dies early in the game, it is safe to assume something is going to happen to Maki. Also, I do recall you recommending torture to get information, you're not that far from her, you know.
Um... like... in a old building where you just threw a party and someone died there? Although there's no Usami to free her, Monophanie would be an acceptable replacement.
Relying on a sneak attack on someone whose talent is basically sneak killing. Are you sure, Tenko? I mean, sure, a fight between you and Maki would be interesting to watch, but trying to give a preemptive strike on the preemptive striker doesn't seem to be a good idea.
Ah, yeah. Right. So you think you can just defy Monokuma and get away with that? That phrase you just said will be your doom, Monoda-- N-Nothing! Absolutely nothing! Monodam is the new mastermind, all hail Monodam!
Alright, so these are the three new jun.. I mean, items, that we will be receiving. The ninja scroll is the easiest one, it is linked to the ninja statue next to the shrine of judgement door. That magic key I think it can be placed on that magic door, although Shuichi said it was just art. I have no idea about that golden hammer, though. I thought on that indentation next to the Ultimate Inventor Research Lab, but it doesn't match. Well, let's find them.
Come on, that is Hiyoko-level of bullying! You can't be hearing that and do nothing! You need to help Keebo, he is finally confronting it! There's finally the chance of someone calling Kokichi on! Who will it be?! Shuichi? Kaito?? Tenko?! No, of course not. None of those boring characters. The only one who could do that is the supreme and almighty Monodam!! Monodam marks history in the DR universe as the one and only character who ever protested against bullying! All hail Monodam!!
You said it, Kokichi. But you know, I'm kinda getting used to them... I think.
Remember Monokuma? That's him now. Feeling old yet?
Even if Kirumi had those kind of weapons I don't think she would pass through the Exisals. She would have been executed anyway.
See that on the right corner? Yes, there's a gun missing. I'd say Maki, but there's also the chance someone went there still in the night of her talent revelation to get something. That means trouble. Big trouble!
He really was, Shuichi. And the reason is that because Maki is his girlfriend. He believed in her, remember? It's difficult for him to accept she is actually an assassin.
Well, if you take in account all the skills it takes to be a cosplayer she is supposed to have a good Ultimate talent. She is a very "plain person" by nature, though. Or at least she is acting like one. She is also your current girlfriend, take care of her
You did that because you wanted to put everyone against Maki, didn't you? Not only you put a threat to you in check but that also contributes to the killing game tension. You evil you!
Yes, that's what we wanted!! I didn't say that before, but why didn't anyone tried to talk with Ryoma about his feelings? I don't know how you all feel about this, but if someone says to me they're not willing to live anymore I'd try to do everything I can to help this person. It's just... heart-crushing seem someone dead inside. I wonder if Ryoma would have endured a little more if they had talked with him...
The magic key fits! This is a door, so I hope this time it just opens instead of crumbl-- well, nevermind.
That's very cool, actually. I wonder if Gonta could help in the Death Road of Despair detecting the traps. Or maybe he could only detect "natural traps" like pitfalls?
A very relatable reaction, Shuichi. What is going on with this floor?! Okay, let's look to what gives us hints the most. Yes, that's right, the soundtrack. Spirit, Praise and Beauty. I know! Spirit - Tenko, Praise - Angie and Beauty - Korekiyo! In this floor we're going to find those three Research Labs! And this is the very first one, looking like a dojo. That's Tenko's lab! Last time I thought the ancient passport passageway was leading to her lab because of the three kanjis relating to Aikido, but this time we know for sure that's her lab! Let's enter! In the Ultimate A....nthropologist Lab?! Come on, was that intended? Well, as expected, there's a lot of cultural and folklore artifacts and relics. It's a shame there's little to none elements to interact.
I tried searching about this Caged Dog Village and it only shows Danganronpa pages. I thought it was actually a real folklore...
And the old golden katana is back! A crucial element from the very first murder case is now part of the Ultimate Anthropologist Lab! I'm betting we're going to see some gold flocks around somewhere in this case investigation!
I told you she would come back over and over to keep destroying our hearts.
What was you people reaction when you saw that? Disturbing was the word for me.
I wonder if that was what Mikan said to Hiyoko in 2-3 in the playhouse...
You know what, Angie, the last person who said something similar of that was Celeste and guess what? She died on this very same chapter number. You should change your mind, or else you're gonna be this chapter culprit. While we're here, let's take a look on the Ultimate Artist lab! There are pencils everywhere, carving materials, ink and even wax. It's a complete mess (and you can actually smack almost everything except from the wax for some reason).
You know, now that you thought that I was wondering what would happen if she actually succeeded on fleeing. The Monokubs were there, so they couldn't use the Exisals. What if she actually managed to escape and kept lurking through the place making cameo appearances? They could have done something like Hidden Kirumi like the Hidden Monokumas and you had to find her 5³ times during a chapter. It would be fun. just kidding, miss u Kirumi
The problem was not exactly the inner tube. It was essential for the plan. The problem was the pool rules. Had they not prohibited people from swimming at night (and that rule seems convenient from a design perspective regarding the second trial), she would just have to take the evidence away and there you go. Perfect crime from a perfect maid.
Thanks, Atua. If only Angie hadn't decided to use the piranha tank... I know it wouldn't stop the murder, but at least it wouldn't be dangerous and useful for the murder plan. Oh, come on! First Kaede, now you're going to do the same with Ryoma?! What do you want, game?? Despair?!
Yeah! But what about the boys? Well, at least she is trying, I guess... Anyway, at long last, the Ultimate Aikido Master Lab! It seems easy to fall over here... There's a bunch of training degener-- I mean, dummies, there to help her aikido to improve. There's also the dummy boss in the back, I wonder how she trains with it. Rejoice, Tenko! Y² our lab is finally here! She actually insulted Shuichi before exploding with euphoria, and the detective made a good, spot on remark about her behavior. He then asks how would she train without a sparring partner, and that's her prompt answer. She then is somehow able to understand how Shuichi was feeling, lacking confidence in himself, much likely because he still is afraid of revealing the truth. She then asks Himiko if she wants to try it out, in which she declines, just about to finish her mendoi line when she was thrown. That was hilarious, I wasn't expecting that. Tenko says Himiko is still shy to demonstrate her feelings and that she has the richest heart of all not more than Gonta's maybe?
Let's move on to the final ite--w-what... what do you mean by tha--WHAT?! What are you two... no way... And Shuichi recommends taking a look. Who knows? Probably something dangerous! Maybe a killing attempt?! Nah, that's not possible. And it's not because of they're obviously flirting with each other. I tried to leave the place and I could. Everyone knows that you can't skip something important in Danganronpa, so I should probably continue looking for where should I use the final item and leave them alone.
I should really have followed that advice. They're really... you know. You should have waited for nighttime and used the Kumasutra! What? Too expensive? You have a point, it's 10000 coins. Welp, no worries, nothing happened here. Just an inventor taking a look on a robot. I'm taking my leave.
Anyway, after looking everywhere and not finding any clue on where should the golden hammer be used, returning to the 4th floor seemed the last option. The then dead end wall showed up to be made of glass. And what those items usually do with stuff? Break, of course!
Now this is interesting. Is this the Q¹ -Room AI-Room? Is this the super computer which controls Monokuma and the Kubs? It is a computer room at least we finally found it, Vector. And then Monotaro just throws this at us. A machine capable of creating a new world?! I thought they were already in a "new world", is this some kind of worldception? There's no way of knowing right now. For now, let's just stick with the Flashback Light over there.
The place chosen for the next Flashback reunion was the dining room (the overgrowing plants were taken out and the place seems cleaner, that's nice!). Kokichi then keep tormenting Maki for being an assassin and therefore dangerous enough to receive a Flashback Light. Most of the students agrees, and they question what would be the reason for hiding her identity if not concealing her threat potential. Maki then says she knew they would despise her and explained that when people discover her identity they always try to kill her out of fear. The Ultimate Supreme Leader make her characteristically evil remarks saying that human life must mean nothing to her. Kaito then says she is not Genocider Sho and that she probably don't think killing is okay. Maki becomes upset with both, saying she knew the students wouldn't believe her. She asks them to pretend she is not there while she also keep avoiding everyone, telling she has no intention of killing anyone unless someone tries to kill her first. She leaves, and everyone decided to use the Flashback Light without her.
And now we have a different version from Chapter 2 prologue funeral: with everyone else. What I first thought when I saw this image is that the ones who really "died" were their Ultimate persona. That would be the reason the prologue is called "Ultimate Rev⁴ iv⁶ al", they became Ultimates again. They were running from the Ultimate Hunt, found a facility where they could erase their Ultimate memories and then faked their deaths. It is weird that they were together like this since so far we've been believing they didn't know each other before the game. Unless they indeed are the last 16 Ultimates in the world and they erased their memories and faked their death together. Also, Korekiyo said something that made me question this light: wouldn't it be possible to the Flashback Light be actually infusing them with memories instead of they're actually remembering something? I mean, how did the light give them exactly the same memories every time it is used? In that sense, it seems they're molded to be how the Flashback Light creator intended. It makes me question if this Ultimate Hunt is actually what it is. Like when Monokuma made us believe Future Foundation were the bad guys in the last game.
Time for the Free Times! The one the game suggests me to hang out with is... Angie? Well, I haven't spend a free time with her yet, so... Learning more about her may give a better impression of her character? Maybe we can learn more about her devotion to Atua?
No kidding, I gave her this item and she actually loved it. Can we call her the mastermind already? Anyway, Angie explains she lives in a island with Atua. The island was bigger, but Atua destroyed part of it with a natural disaster because he thought it would look cuter. She asks what Shuichi thought her island would be, in which he says Jabberwock a tropical island. Angie doesn't fail our strikethrough text and says her island is in the middle of the ocean. She receive different kinds of supplies using the suggestive DeepSea, even children. If they stocked OOPArts, then Angie could've been Hiro's best friend! also, speaking of which, do you guys think Angie was Hiro's killer in the demo? maybe she killed him for the OOPArts, who knows...
Nighttime came and it's time for training! Not before a very bad omen, though. Who else could you brainwash, Angie? Don't tell me you're going to use Gonta like Kokichi?
The training session has a now a new member: Maki! Kaito explains they should be in shape as the super pets to help him being the hero Shuichi should be the super dog since we've already seen him doing dog tricks for Miu. Maki says that whole training session is pointless and decides to return to her room, but Kaito approaches her (now kiss) calls her a coward and asks for how long are she going to run away. She then accepts saying that he will keep bugging her about it later and later. They then train together, with Maki easily surpassing the boys. When she returns to her room, Shuichi asks if the reason he brought her was to help her. Kaito explains that if people are suffering, you must help them. Shuichi realizes that Kaito is truly a good hearted person and returns to his room.
Shuichi slept so now is the time for the... Monokuma Theather...? Guess he really took control of the Academy, huh? This Neonodam was really cool. Who would imagine it is actually lead to steal by the other Kubs and left behind if caught. Poor Monodam...
And now for the next da--oh no, here it comes. A new tragedy has befallen in the world. The meteors are finally descending into the school. You all have to...wait, Monokuma?! Didn't Monodam took over? Weren't you patched and bugged? How did you retur.. oh... It's the automatic love key event. I completely forgot I had another key. I wonder who will be the next vict-- I mean, partner.
Hey, what gives?? Weren't you dating Keebo?? Hm, technically Shuichi was also dating Tsumugi... Oh well. But you know, it's not been that absurd as we thought. Childhood friends fantasy is somewhat cliche, but still good! Things are progressing in a cute way instead of something.. intense, so I guess I'm surprised! Maybe I've been judging Miu in a wrong way. Maybe she is like Mikan seeking for attention and care. Unfortunately, Shuichi didn't play along by the last half so it eventually got... intense. I wonder if there's a way of making things different. The tutorial said Shuichi had to play along with someone's fantasy or else they would wake up in anguish, but I hadn't an option of doing anything until now. Would the reaction voice change anything? I'll try it next time.
I was wondering if we would have a "emergency announcement" like in the two previous games, and it is finally here. Gotta expect the worse. Leaving the room, Korekiyo says he is usually is ready to leave his room by 7:30 am, one and a half hour after he wakes up. Himiko says that she has a student council meeting to attend. Wait a second, student council? Ohh, this sounds bad... I don't know if the bad omen was related to the emergency announcement or to this student council. Let's tackle one disaster at a time, shall we?
Before we could move on, the patched Monokuma returned. He is unable to talk, since he... um... got bald... so you should expect a word from him Shuichi. He kept staring the detective until he realized something. It seems our ever present out of character event is going to happen again!
Literally, huh? From last night I suppose ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
Anyway, we just reached the gym for the terrible announcement. The Monokubs appeared to tell this chapter motive, but...
You've
got
to
be
kidding me
Seriously? Angie brainwashed half of the current cast? This is already a proper motive, there's no need for the Kubs to present one anymore!
But they decided to do so and as the chapter title predicted, it's the transfer student. Remember when I was trying to decipher what that stone table message could be? I guessed it could be something like "Be one or four"... but what if it is actually "be one of four"? Was it foreshadowing this motive? That doesn't seem to be the case since the message got updated. "The world ??? ??? dilemma"? I don't know what the other two words could be. Who could have updated it, though? The mastermind? Monokuma? I guess the dream of having Chiaki or any of the deceased DR1 students back is destroyed, though :(
After so much pressure, Shuichi succumbs to his inner desires and decides to take a peek on the student council girls meeting. I found it strange when she got Kaede's clothes, but now it's confirmed that Tsumugi is rocking at least D+. Maybe it's because of her discrete outfit. Shuichi is indeed a lucky boy, isn't he? if she actually knew what he did last night...
Time for more free times! Can we spend time with Maki now? Watch out, Maki! Shuichi is the biggest womanizer of this game, he already won Kaede, Tsumugi and Miu hearts! Remember, you're Kaito's girlfriend! Oh, great. So Maki and some other assassins were trained by Angie and her Holy Salvation Society. That would be really scary, but very interesting.
So half of the cast is now under Angie's control and can't hang out with Shuichi. Kaito is not feeling okay so he's also not a choice. So now we have Miu, Korekiyo, Kokichi and Maki as choices. He already spent time with Miu and Maki, so I'll spend this one with Korekiyo and the next one with Kokichi.
Spending time with Korekiyo was very educational. He explains concepts of the anthropology and some folklore elements. I think I should spend more time with him to learn more. Even if he is... creepy... most of the time.
Monotaro is the kub who was chosen to be the bullying victim so Monokuma was put in charge of the morning/night announcements. He can't speak, though, so... That will pretty much be every single announcement from now on should I seek for treatment if I laughed of this?
After this glorious nighttime announcement, it's time for training with Kaito. Or so I thought. He is still not feeling okay, so he left his girlfriend to train with the detective player his bro. He can trust in Shuichi, right? They went to the courtyard and began their push-up session. Or should I say, Maki's push-up session and Shuichi's q⁷ uarter-of-push-up session. Maki explains she was used to be forced to do push-ups before, the reason why she is really good at it. She is a very nice person, if you look that way. Even if doing push-ups brings her terrible memories, she still does it for Kaito's sake. She explains she was molded to be a killing machine, to the point of she questioning her own humanity. Shuichi explains he kinda understands her, but if he is able to use his talent to help his friends, then he will embrace it even disliking it.
Maki is approached by the student council who asks her to not walk around at nighttime anymore. She protests they're restricting her freedom but Angie explains it's to prevent another nighttime murder, as Kirumi's. Maki didn't seem to comply, but didn't give a negative answer as well.
The next morning is marked with the first action of the student council: blocking the only known escape route. Angie is really serious with the "we should stay here" idea. Oh, why, Tsumugi? I can understand Tenko being persuaded by Himiko and Keebo being manipulated by his loneliness as a robot among robophobics, but why would you join this council? What could Angie said to you to brainwash you? If that is the case then it's not Atua the one you're looking for, it's Maki. She's right over there, come talk to her. She has red eyes, hair as black as night and she is currently looking for friends. Real friends. Not brainwashed ones. And of course things would be that convenient for the council. It's almost like she is screaming "I'm planning to kill someone!" in their faces...
And then the Monokubs brought another Flashback Light. Two memories in a single chapter, things are going to get really interesting! Or they were going to be. Thanks, Angie. Seriously, you could at least learn why you were here. You know, like the cast in the first game actually accepted being locked in the first place. It may have helped you in persuading them to accept living in the Academy. But no, you had to destroy a plot element....
Angie decides to follow Monokuma's motive in ressurecting a fallen student and she chooses Rantaro, as Kaede and Kirumi were murderers and Ryoma was a prisoner. So the avocado boy, full of mysteries and plot elements, is going to return... it's... cheesy, but whatever, I did wanted to see more of Rantaro in action.
How would that play out? Let's see, Miu could disassemble Keebo, Kokichi could say gross things to nulify Tenko, Korekiyo could give anthropology lessons to Himiko to make her sleep, Kaito could just be the normie he is to break Tsumugi, Maki could make the same threat she made to Gonta last chapter and Shuichi could refute Atua. Well, he's not wrong, you do have a chance of winning.
You know, I've been thinking on this reaction of Kaito and it may be linked to his parents. We saw the most important people for him is his grandparents. What if Kaito's parents actually died and he keep regreting that he couldn't help them. He grew with the idea that's impossible to revert death and all he could do is move on and stay strong. Hearing that there's is in fact a way of reverting death shakes with his beliefs foundations. It's like he feels haunted by the knowing there was a possibility of bringing them back that he didn't know and didn't use to save them. Just a thought, but that would be interesting, wouldn't it?
Is that Miu trying to take her compulsive aggressive mask and be polite for once? We can call this development, I think.
As promised, I was forced to hung out with Kokichi for the first time. He explained a bit more of his Ultimate Supreme Leader title and his organization. It's difficult to tell if he is lying by this point, but I really wish this is true. What if he isn't the mastermind but he was the one who asked for a killing game? That would be a good twist, I guess. He then says he inherited the organization by killing his parents, and then changes that to killing only his brother. In any way, Shuichi now knows more than he should and will be killed by Kokichi's organization. I guess that's the price of spending time with him, I guess...
You really care about him, don't you?
The two minigames previously locked are now ready to be played with! The OUTLAW RUN, based on Psyche Taxi, and the TREASURE HUNTER! Monolith. Both of them are good additions. I wish we had those power-ups in the original Psyche Taxi. And the Monolith is a good way of training for Mind Mine. Enjoyable to say the least!
Now I'm in a real dilemma. It's still not possible to spend time with the student council members and Kaito, and I already spent one free time with the four remaining students. Let's see if the game suggests me someone. Ah, of course... how else would it be? Back then I thought "If this is another Komaeda I won't spend a single free time with him", and now he is the very first character I spent two free times in a row with.
But I not gonna lie, this is probably the best free time event I've had in this game so far. It's full of references and it's funny. First, Shuichi asks if he really wanted to kill him. And like everyone else, he can't say if Kokichi is actually serious or lying. We then discover that Miu told Kokichi about how Shuichi can perfectly imitate a dog in order to spend a free time and he liked the idea. But Shuichi will not fall to the same trick twice, so Kokichi makes a request of someone who obviously played Danganronpa 2 and Shuichi gives an answer of someone who definetely haven't played Danganronpa 2. Then Kokichi goes Komaeda and proposes a russian roulette with a bullet in every chamber. Shuichi once again demonstrates zero knowledge on the Ultimate Luck and says anyone would die for sure playing like this. Then Kokichi goes even further showing he also watched Danganronpa 3 and Shuichi unfortunately shows once again that he isn't into Danganronpa and should have a word with Komaeda. Then Kokichi ascended to show his prowess as the Ultimate Duelist and proposes a shadow game. DORO! MONSUTA CAADO! Both of them get a 7, my favorite number and also my birthday number, which Shuichi taking a card from the banlist. Kokichi then ends the free time majestically, almost self-conscious of the game.
It can't be helped, I will always laugh seeing this
With Monokuma's brillant announcement cames the nighttime. Time to train with Kaito! Let's see how he is doing and... Am I interrupting something? Well, if the answer to this question is yes, then she is probably mad. Yep. Definetely mad. Don't worry, I didn't hear anything! Let me just take some steps back and... This cute expression... if you leave her alone after this huge sign of "I don't want to train alone" you're a monster, Shuichi!
He made the right decision and ran after her. Suddenly Maki activated her assassin aura and fortunately it wasn't aimed at Shuichi, but at Tenko. Maki then dropped the aura and said she wasn't there to fight Tenko and she didn't believe Tenko was there to enforce the curfew. The Ultimate Neo Aikido Master explains that she wasn't brainwashed by Angie and exposes the danger that Angie poses controlling the students. Shuichi and Maki agreed to go with Tenko to stop Angie.
Now that we're hanging with Tenko, I wonder what happens if I try to examine the girls bathr-- oh, that was quick. I'm sorry, I couldn't resist to see you reac-- yessir, yessir! o>
Well, I didn't think about it but I hope this don't be necessary by any means.
Since Angie will not open the door to any non-student council members, Tenko calls her and she let us in. And inside we find...omg, they're alive! Wait... are those the effigies? Scary... Maki made the perfect description about it. But they failed to convince Angie change her mind. They left the lab and Angie blatantly tells Himiko that Tenko betrayed the council. Himiko continues to act like an Atua puppet and that's the moment Tenko loses it. She can't stand the fact Himiko is being controlled anymore and tried to make her snap out of it and become herself again. It didn't work and Shuichi suggests they return to their rooms and think more about it. Maki suggest Tenko to have apologize lessons with Shuichi. The detective make a wrong move and asks if she is worried about him. She quickly tsuns and Shuichi thinks it's good she is able be more like herself around him. He then feels happy for being able to talk more with Maki. Yep. A triangle.
Monodam was a fish.
In the next morning, the trio is ready to go talk to Angie: Kaito the Hero, Shuichi the Sidekick and... Maki Roll? Why Maki Roll? Maki says thait Kaito is the best option for a less than straightforward approach if necessary so he had to go. Kaito explains the reason he was feeling bad was because he is scared of ghost stories. There goes my parent theory, I guess. Maki makes a valid point regarding Kaito's fear and goes jealous of the ghosts. Kaito says he isn't scared of her at all because she is a weak coward who just started training. Thank goodness she likes him, or else he would had already received a punch to the face.
If instead of going direct to Angie's lab you examine the door to the casino area, Kaito says he can't go there because he swore off gambling forever. Maki then started a little joke in which Kaito overreacts, thus cutting the mood of the joke. Kaito didn't miss the opportunity to tease her back, though, and that was the first time he said it: Harumaki. That's her japanese nickname. You know what a harumaki is? It's spring roll! That's why Maki Roll! still prefer Harumaki though
They reached the Artist Lab once again, this time Himiko was already there. They ask her to call Angie but she said she already tried but she didn't answered. Kokichi appears to use once again his lock picking skill. They open the door to find... Kaede!? No way, she is already... oh... oh no.... I was so certain Angie would be the culprit this time that I was kinda shocked to see her dead.
The investigation starts with that description of itself by Kokichi. After a thorough investigation in Angie's lab, they decided to investigate Korekiyo's knowing the killing weapon was found there. Maki suggests that Shuichi participate on the seance to keep an eye on it while she investigate the crime scene once again. He consents.
After forcing him to participate, now Kokichi is kicking him out from the seance to give his place to Shuichi. Tenko, Korekiyo and Himiko agrees, and Keebo deflects the blame to Shuichi. I feel sorry for Keebo, but Shuichi was the only one who didn't agree to kick him out!
Korekiyo explains someone must be a spirit medium and explains it works better with girls. Himiko was going to volunteer, but Tenko suggests she should be the medium for Himiko to being able to talk with Angie. Tenko is an amazing person, that should be said. I'm fearing Angie do something stupid while in her body, like killing her. But the seance begins. They chanted together The Caged Child. Korekiyo asked if the child was Angie, with no response. They dispelled the seance taking everything off, when... N-No way... It's already possible to see the blood underneath her... I can't believe this. That was basically my reaction.
They start theorizing who could be the killer until Kokichi let the c-word out loud. Kaito, who had just recovered freaked out again. But this time he couldn't contain himself, he seeked for his girlfriend. This time he didn't escape the punch to the face.
That wasn't everything, though. Remember Miu and Keebo spicy moment? That was the outcome. See? Just an inventor tinkering a robot, you perv!
Why are you that concerned? You should just ask Miu, she has that weird counting machine... does Maki really like Shuichi?!
When things were about to settle for a moment... this. THREE?! No freaking way! That must be a... lie, of course...
I'm almost exceeding the character limit for this post, so let me give my opinions on who are the killers.
Who killed Angie?

• Tenko: Tenko realized that words weren't enough to stop Angie. Also, Himiko wasn't able to free herself from Angie's control so Tenko decided to take down the controller. Tenko was my primary suspect until Monkuma said that. Since a trial requires a culprit to be executed, is unlikely that she is the culprit.
  
• Korekiyo: My primary suspect. He was the most infuriated person after she broke the Flashback Light. The whole room setup screams his name. His lab could helped him feel the need to see humanity beauty from a different perspective.
  
• Himiko: Maybe Tenko words reached her and she decided to free herself once and for all. Himiko could actually have discovered something since she was there when they arrived. Maybe something related to how Angie was using her.
  

Who killed Tenko?

• Korekiyo: The whole seance was his idea. The killing seems like a kind of setup and he is the most likely person to have premeditated a murder beforehand. I don't know exactly how neither why, though.
  
• Himiko: Assuming Tenko was the first culprit, Himiko could have seen her killing and decided to avenge Angie. She was also near the hole in the floor like Korekiyo. Monokuma tainted this outcome chance, but still accountable, I guess.
  

I'm truly sorry for making the post that long and to end it abruptly, but this chapter was really plentiful! If you're looking for the hidden message, here's a hint: first letters. Thank you all very much for being part of this V3 crusade and feel yourself hugged if you read everything until now. I see you after the class trial!
Next part: Chapter 3 Trial/Post Trial