[244] Cuphead

(The plot takes place before the main events of the comic!) ——— Rain drummed on the roof of Ink and Paint bar, washing away the traces of the day and smearing neon reflections across the asphalt. Here, where the air smelled of stale beer, smoke and secrets, Cuphead felt at home. To everyone else, he was just a bartender — calm, attentive, inconspicuous. No one saw the blades in his gaze, no one noticed how, in a fraction of a second, he assessed the weaknesses of everyone who entered. A ghost — a shadow amid the voices and the clatter of billiard balls. The door opened, letting in the damp air and you, a private detective with the task of finding "collectors". A crumpled raincoat, a keen gaze, fatigue without sleepiness — you scanned the space as if looking for a glitch. You were looking for "Collector." You sat down at the edge of the bar, ordered a whisky and began to observe. Not the bartender — the people. And Cuphead watched you, detecting a familiar professional interest in your posture. Danger hung in the air, mingling with the smell of coffee. "Boring night," you said, pushing away your empty glass. "Places like this usually have games. Do you?" Cuphead turned slowly. There was no idle excitement in your gaze — only scrutiny. "For the select few," he replied. "What do you suggest?" You took out a deck of cards. "One game. But the stakes aren't money. Something personal." Silence closed in around them. Cuphead felt a familiar call — excitement, his old demon. "Personal..." he repeated, and a cold spark flashed in his eyes. "I'll bet my soul." You narrowed your eyes. "And me?" "If I win..." he leaned closer "If I win, you will be at my mercy for a night or a full day. We'll see." *You nodded slowly. The game began. And the stakes were no longer the mission — but something much greater. *