C.J. Thorpe sits at a table, poker chips and cards strewn about.
“You ever heard of the Gambler’s Fallacy. It’s this laughable notion that if something happens a lot now, it’ll happen less later. It’s like flipping a coin; just ’cause it hits heads five times, doesn’t mean tails is next. The odds don’t change; they never do.”
He picks up a coin, flipping it and catching it—tails.
“But here we are, Captain Arcadia—formerly the Yellow Python, standing there with your shiny new shield, thinking you’ve reset the odds. Just like that coin, you think flipping your identity’s gonna put you on top.”
C.J. laughs.
“See, what you don’t get, kid, is changing your costume don’t change the game. You’re still playing in the same casino. My casino, where I’ve been stacking wins long before you decided to ditch that python mask for something a little more heroic.”
He flips the coin again, slapping it onto his other hand—tails.
“In this world—my world—the house always wins. And I’m the damn house, Arcadia. You’re just another wide-eyed rookie walking into the pit, thinking today’s your lucky day. But this ain’t about luck. It’s about reality. You can flip that coin all you want, but it won’t change who you really are. Under that helmet? You’re still that scared kid, bamboozled by the Zookeeper’s empty promises.”
He reveals the coin—tails.
“Here’s the kicker, though. You think you’re due for a win, that fate owes you one. But fate ain’t got a memory, kid.”
Standing, C.J. pushes the chair back with a scrape.
“You believe that shedding your past, flipping from snake to shield, is like flipping this coin. But let me school you, boy—the game stays the same. The rules are written in blood, sweat, and tears, and the house—the house I built—doesn’t bend for nobody.”
C.J.’s voice rises.
“You’re drowning in the Gambler’s Fallacy, thinking the universe owes you a win because you’ve paid your dues. You think destiny’s in your debt. But the brutal truth? Destiny doesn’t give a fuck about you.”
He picks up the coin.
“You’re not just any gambler; you’re a bad one. And bad gamblers don’t walk away—they get carried. This ain’t about luck, Cap’n. It’s about reality—you’re still a kid way out of his depth.”
C.J. flicks the coin into the air.
“And that’s the cruel part, isn’t it? No matter how many times you flip, it doesn’t change your essence. Under that mask, under that shield, you’re just a frightened boy who thought he could outsmart the system.”
C.J. leans in.
“This ain’t a match; it’s a lesson in futility. Some bets ain’t worth making. You’re stepping into the ring against the World fucking Champion, kid. The odds haven’t changed. Neither have I. Every time you change your underoos, Cap’n, thinking this time it’ll be different—this time you’ll beat the odds—you’re just proving the Gambler’s Fallacy. Because in this house, my house, the fatal truth is—”
The coin clatters loudly on the table.
“The house always wins.”
Tails.