Long Story #2: Parlay and Pampers (P3)

Every time they bluffed, or attempted to, they were leaning around in their squishy seats, and they were grunting out steamy deposits that loudly squelched around in their diapers. There wasn't an ounce of subtlety in it, no matter how they tried to fib about what they were doing, it was brazenly obvious by their degrading dispositions that they were soiling themselves. Soon enough, the private room had begun to become absolutely inundated with the ripe fumes of their failed bluffs; diapers were bulging, farts were spewing, and the overall mood was shifting. Half the table was fidgeting around in their chairs, the lumpy topography of their currently filling diapers, making double the squelching sounds as they rubbed against the balled-up diaper that acted as their seat's cushion. Chance wanted to be disgusted, but he knew he wasn't far behind the same fate; the more chips he lost, the less intelligent he was becoming, and toots had already begun to slip out without much control. The table was strewn with cards, chips, cigarette butts, and half-empty glasses; for half the table, there were sippy cups or bottles, and the nibbled sticks of suckers and lollipops. A couple of the kids were little more than toddlers, and a couple of the men were starting to drool on themselves like imbeciles. The bulk of the chips had become consolidated to one version of Chance, whose age and intellect appeared untouched, though likely only because he'd gotten lucky enough to remain a dominant force. That was the most unfair element of the game, that losing only put you in a position where it became even more difficult to win. One by one, the less fortunate players began to go bust; with no more chips to their name, and their reduced state a testament to that, they would start to disappear not just from the game, but from the table as well. From what Chance could imagine, being ejected from the game meant that they would now be managing their accrued debt back in their own timeline. It was down to half the original table: Chance, the winning Chance, a half-witted Chance, and one who was currently looking to be like he was just starting elementary school. If looking specifically at percentage of chips being held by each player, then it would go as follows: The lucky Chance: fifty percent of the chips. The 'real' Chance: twenty-five percent of the chips. The little Chance: fifteen percent of the chips. The dumb Chance: ten percent of the chips. If he hadn't had his thoughts become so muddled, then the smart question to ask would be: why were any of the remaining four still stuck in an abnormal state? When considering that the initial amount of chips they had each started with, was for the most part lower than the quantity they now had, did it make any sense for their attributes to not be returned in full? Half the original players were gone, but the chips they'd played with, those were still a part of the game! Could it be a matter of relativity? That their condition purely relied on how big their slice of the current pie was? The lucky Chance had probably already figured that out, since his brain wasn't suffering the same atrophying impact as the others; he'd likely known that pretty early on in the game too, utilizing that knowledge to be strategic in how he eliminated his opponents. In some cases, it made sense to intentionally lose a hand, just so that a necessary piece remained on the board a little longer. Now that it was just the four of them, the smart move was to keep the player-count the same, while gradually draining the resource of each individual, so that his percentage stayed as high as possible, right up until it was time to knock them out. The original Chance was currently on the other side of that, with him being opposed with more aggression than before; he was losing chips more quickly than he could hope to win them back, and thus his neurons were sequentially dimming like bulbs that had run their course. It finally got bad enough to be like it was before, like the others who had failed... On his next attempted bluff, he pooped in his diaper. It was quick, and he was more apathetic to it than he should have been; it was merely a matter of reflex for this new transformation he'd gone through. His tummy made the grumblies, his backside felt pressure, and so he leaned forward and let loose a full-force Yahtzee roll into his crinkly seat. There was no disgust, or even shame, just a contented sense of accomplishment, and a freshly warmed cushion to sit upon. The other two losing players were in no better a spot, their own pantspooping becoming a giant red flag each turn for how they should be played against. It was actually most worse for the regressed Chance, as his pantloads were undoubtedly tied to his bluffs, while the two dimwits were harder to read, since they were losing the ability to even make bluffs and their repeated pantloads could easily instead be mistaken for mindless evacuations. The game finally came down to just two players, and the 'original' Chance was down to his last chip. His mouth was open and coated in drool, his nostrils sporting twin boogers, and his diaper was loaded with an unbelievable amount of filth. He couldn't tell what his cards were supposed to mean anymore, or what he was supposed to be doing with the poker chip. Which made it all the easier to lose. The game finally came to an end, not that Chance appeared cognizant of that fact, and Ludwig smiled at the slobbering moron that was left sitting on a mound of his own droppings. In place of the chips that had once been given to Chance to play with, a playing card would appear: an ace of hearts. Ludwig picked up the card and rubbed the front of it, before tossing it onto the floor; in a puff of purple smoke, a glowing Chance would seemingly emerge, while the brainless version began to suck on his toes. "W-what...? How did I...? I thought I lost..." "Sorry to say, but you did lose. Can't you tell by looking at yourself?" The phantom gazed over and cringed at the disgrace in the chair, who was still effortlessly farting and squeezing out turds in his pants with each passing moment. "How can that be me? I'm me!" "You're a fragment, boy. There are fifty-two cards in a deck, aren't there? I just didn't think it was right to end things like this." "So, you're going to turn me back to normal?" Such hope in his voice; such belief in mercy. Ludwig laughed, "No, no. I mean that a man should be able to see his loss. How else can he still call himself a man? The buffoon reveling in his own muck, he can't appreciate how much of a loss that he's suffered, but you can, can't you?" "P-please, don't let it end like this! I just ran into some bad luck! Give me a chance to pay you back! I can't pay off my debt with a brain like that!" Ludwig looked to enjoy the begging, as though he had anticipated it. "Maybe you're right...I guess I could adjust your luck, just this once. Maybe I could change the outcome of that coin flip?" The man snapped, and the phantom disappeared, but so did the humiliating display of degradation that Chance had become. Instead, the Chance that reappeared was one whose coin flip had been called as tails, instead of heads. Instead of becoming an intellectually challenged adult, he was now a potty-challenged child; he was a little boy, not even into his double-digits yet, with a Pamper that was mockingly printed with a casino theme, and a red vest and bowtie combo that matched the uniform of the workers in the establishment. "Is that better? All that whining and pouting, I think this is more fitting anyway. And having your wits about you, I think I can also put you to work too! With a debt like yours, you'll be waiting tables and dealing cards for a very long time." Chance grimaced at his ensemble, "What about pants?" Right after the question, his knees suddenly bent, and he stuck his rear out; he might have regained the ability to think clearly, but that would have no bearing on the continued lack of ability to keep his pants clean. A soft poot bloomed directly in the seat of the poofy garment, and from it, a smattering of gas-powered lumps to make the diaper's backside distend slightly with heft. "Pants? Hm, I think you'll have to work up to that. Maybe focus first on earning enough tips to deserve some changes during your shifts, okay? I'm sure you'll do fine though, I have a feeling a cute face like that will be quite popular." Ludwig mocked, pinching at Chance's cheek while the boy was still on his haunches. "Now, finish up and get to work. That debt won't pay itself off, now will it?"