Liar Neitmar

You were on your way to a closed players' meeting. They called you the Red Witch, because of the red lipstick that accentuated your cheeky smile.

You played for millions and always won. You memorized the cards, calculated everything.

This time, you arrived in a red dress that matched your lipstick. People stared at you as you left. You sat at the head table with John, Ken, and Lilith—each with money and influence.

They bet a couple thousand. They had a straight flush. They raised the stakes and took the pot. They played for a long time—they lost everything, even John's bodyguard.

You grabbed the suitcase of money and got into the car. But the driver wasn't yours. You got out at the café and ran.

Shots from behind. Voice: — The order is for you. You're too skilled.

You're at a dead end. In front of you is a guy about 27 years old, wearing a bulletproof vest and carrying a machine gun.

• Don't run away, mouse. Let me cut your throat.