“Welcome to the first-ever Neural Edge Championship,” the commentator’s voice cut sharply through the air, crisp and authoritative. Her words accompanied an aerial shot of the convention center, its massive hall glowing like a futuristic arena of strategy.
The camera panned over the vast space, revealing its meticulous design: rows of glass-walled cubicles lined up like chess pieces on a polished board. Each cubicle glowed faintly, reflecting the soft light of the suspended LED panels above. These screens displayed real-time updates: a dynamically shifting leaderboard, delayed hand highlights, and a rotating montage of players’ avatars locked in battle at their virtual tables.
“This unprecedented tournament marks a turning point in the history of gaming,” the commentator continued, her tone laced with excitement. “For the first time, we’re seeing human players, autonomous AIs, and hybrid participants—humans enhanced by artificial intelligence—competing on the same stage. It’s not just about cards anymore; it’s about the future of decision-making itself.”
The feed shifted to a split-screen view. On one side, a smiling, ruggedly handsome man in a leather jacket gestured to the camera from his cubicle, a charismatic nod to his fans. On the other, a serene AI avatar glided through a digital table, unbothered by the chaos around it.
The commentator’s voice rose with anticipation. “Phase One of the tournament is entirely online, with players seated here at the convention center for controlled conditions. Each decision, each reaction, is monitored and analyzed. The stakes? A place in the semi-finals and a shot at the ten-million-dollar prize.”
***
Ethan Reed sat in his cubicle, the glow of his monitor washing over his face. Noise-canceling headphones muffled the buzz of the convention hall, isolating him in a cocoon of quiet focus.
His gaze flicked across the screen: a virtual poker table rendered in sharp, vivid detail. His avatar—a neutral, unobtrusive figure—was seated among five others. Every participant was playing two tables in parallel, following the same sequence of hands dealt to them. The timer ticked down above the virtual chips: 20 seconds.
Ethan adjusted the CEI patch on his arm, his fingertips grazing its smooth, metallic surface. A faint warmth pulsed from the device, settling into his skin. His screen lit up with digital overlays: probabilities for each possible move, patterns based on opponent tendencies, and a subtle glow highlighting the CEI’s recommended action.
Fold: 70%. Call: 25%. Raise: 5%.
The suggestions hovered like whispers at the edge of his mind. Ethan leaned forward, his fingers brushing the mouse. The decision was straightforward—fold—but his attention lingered on one of the players he thought was human. Their erratic betting patterns from earlier lingered in his memory.
“Fold,” he muttered, clicking decisively. His stack remained steady as the hand resolved.
The next few hands came in rapid succession. Ethan navigated the table with a blend of instinct and calculated precision, his hybrid interface proving an invaluable tool. He could feel the CEI working, its data smoothing the edges of his decision-making, enhancing his awareness.
The unpredictability of some players added a layer of tension. One, with the virtual tag “HighRoller123,” threw chips around recklessly, as if daring the table to challenge him. The chat window lit up with his provocations:
“C’mon, bots, show me what you’ve got.”
“Is this a poker table or a fish market? Hard to tell.”
Ethan’s eyes lingered on the messages for a moment. The bravado suggested a human, but he knew better than to assume. Bots could be programmed to trash-talk, and hybrids could lean into human theatrics to keep opponents guessing.
Ethan ignored the noise, his focus sharpening as the pot grew. The next hand arrived, the cards flipping over with a faint electronic chime. Pocket tens. A strong start.
He followed the CEI’s suggestion to raise preflop, watching as “HighRoller123” instantly called, their avatar’s chips scattering into the growing pot. The board came: seven, ten, king—rainbow. A set. Ethan’s grip on the mouse tightened, his pulse steady as the CEI adjusted its read: Bet: 85%. Check: 15%.
Ethan led out, his bet deliberate but measured, waiting for the inevitable counter. HighRoller123 shoved all-in. The CEI’s probabilities flashed: “Call: 95%”. He didn’t hesitate. “Call,” he clicked.
The river resolved with a blank. HighRoller123’s bluff collapsed as their cards revealed nothing, and Ethan’s stack doubled.
He exhaled slowly, the weight of the last few hands pressing down on him. The soft clink of virtual chips stacking into his pile barely registered. His head felt leaden, his vision unfocused at the edges. The pulsing glow of the CEI interface hovered in his peripheral vision, but he tuned it out, leaning back to ease the tension coiling in his shoulders.
It’s just the grind, he reminded himself. Hours of playing two tables was enough to drain anyone. He pressed the heel of his hand against his eyes, willing his thoughts to clear. Ten more hands, then a break. He could hold on.
“Next hand,” he muttered, straightening in his chair. Fatigue was part of the game, a hurdle like any other. He wouldn’t let it derail him now.
***
The break came as promised, and Ethan left his cubicle, escorted by a tournament official. He glanced at the leaderboard as he walked, catching his name climbing steadily upward. Relief flickered through the haze of fatigue, but it was short-lived. The tournament was far from over.
The bright lights of the media station hit him like a punch, the glare a stark contrast to the dim isolation of his playing pod. He blinked rapidly, forcing himself to adjust as the commentator approached with a practiced smile.
“Ethan Reed, one of our hybrid competitors,” she began, her tone warm but probing. “You’ve been holding steady on the leaderboard. How are you feeling about your performance so far?”
Ethan nodded slightly, his expression controlled. “It’s been challenging, but I feel good about how I’ve been playing. Every hand is a test, and I’m just focusing on making the best decisions.”
The commentator’s smile sharpened as she leaned in.
“Ethan, for those of us less familiar with poker at this level, can you explain the difference between game theory optimal and exploitative play? How does that factor into your game?”
Ethan chuckled lightly, the kind of laugh that softened the tension behind his eyes. “Sure. Let’s say we’re playing rock-paper-scissors. If I don’t know what you’ll pick, my best strategy is to choose each option one-third of the time at random—rock, paper, scissors. That’s GTO, or Game Theory Optimal play. It means I’m unexploitable because you can’t predict me.”
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
The commentator nodded, her interest piqued. “And exploitative play?”
“Exploitative play is different. It’s like noticing that you always pick scissors. If I see that, I can adjust my strategy—throwing rock more often to beat you. It’s riskier because if you notice me adjusting, you can counter. But when it works, it’s very effective.”
“And how does that apply to poker?” she pressed.
Ethan’s expression shifted, more serious now. “In poker, GTO is the foundation—a balanced strategy so no one can take advantage of you. Exploitative play comes on top of that, once you spot your opponents’ tendencies. It’s like building a house. GTO is the structure, solid and reliable. Exploitative play is where you decorate, taking calculated risks to maximize your edge.”
The commentator tilted her head. “And how does the Cognitive Edge Interface fit into all of this?”
Ethan hesitated, then nodded slightly. “The CEI helps with both. It tracks my baseline strategy and flags moments where I deviate—whether intentionally or not. It helps me see the cracks before my opponents do. It also monitors my body’s reactions to spot when I might be tilting or getting too emotional. That helps me make adjustments and focus on exploiting my opponents without losing control.”
The commentator’s smile widened. “Fascinating. So it’s a tool to refine your decision-making, not replace it.”
“Exactly,” Ethan said. “It’s just another layer of awareness. The decisions are still mine.”
His words sounded confident, but the anxiety in his chest was impossible to ignore. How much of this game was still his, and how much belonged to the CEI?
The commentator’s smile didn’t falter. “Best of luck, Ethan. We’ll be watching.”
***
As Ethan returned to his cubicle, the weight in his chest felt heavier, pressing down with each step. The blinds were higher now, the stakes rising with every hand. He paused before sitting, his fingers brushing the CEI patch on his arm. The faint warmth of its connection was a constant reminder of its presence.
He let his hand linger there for a moment, the thought of peeling it off flickering through his mind. But he knew better. The rules were clear: the CEI had to stay on for the entire session, barring an approved five-minute emergency break. Removing it outside those conditions came with steep financial penalties—enough to make him shudder just thinking about it.
Five minutes isn’t enough to clear your head, he thought bitterly. Not when the pressure builds like this. But the patch wasn’t just about the rules; it was the game itself now. Without it, he wasn’t sure he could compete—not here, not at this level.
He took a steadying breath, shaking off the thought, and sat down, adjusting his posture as the countdown for the next hand began. Ethan’s hand hovered over the mouse, his vision blurring slightly as the CEI pulsed again, syncing with his thoughts.
Above him, the leaderboard shifted. Ethan’s name climbed higher. The glow of the monitor reflected in his eyes as the screen flashed:
“Day 1: Last 30 Hands Remaining.”
***
Vera didn’t knock. The door swung open, and Victor glanced up from his laptop, his expression calm, almost amused.
“Is this about Ethan?” he asked casually, leaning back in his chair. His tone was so light it made her feel like a child barging in with an inconsequential complaint.
“How far are you willing to let this go?” she asked, her voice tight.
Victor leaned back, resting his elbows on the armrests as if she’d just asked him a question about the weather. “The CEI is performing as expected,” he said. “If anything, Ethan’s doing better than projected.”
She hesitated, searching his face for something—concern, doubt, anything—but there was nothing there. Just the faint curve of his lips and the knowing glint in his eyes.
“You can see what it’s doing to him,” she said softly, though she couldn’t bring herself to say what it was. “You… you have to know.”
Victor waved a hand dismissively, his smirk widening. “Ethan’s fine. He’s ambitious, sure. A little reckless, maybe. But that’s his problem, not mine.”
“You’re using him,” she said, the words barely above a whisper.
Victor’s chuckle was warm, indulgent. “Of course I am. Ethan’s a gambler, Vera. He thrives on the edge. I just gave him the platform. If he crashes, that’s on him.”
Vera’s voice wavered, the icy fear threading through her thoughts sharpening into something darker. “And if he wins? Does that make you… unstoppable?”
Victor leaned back, his expression calm but utterly assured.
“It won’t be me who’s unstoppable, Vera. It’ll be us. That’s the beauty of it—he wins, we all do. Don’t be dramatic.” He let the words hang, the weight of them pressing into the silence like a hand on her throat. “Ethan’s compensation makes him the highest-paid guinea pig in history. Highly intellectual, highly paid, and highly motivated guinea pig. My favorite type.”
Vera opened her mouth, but the words caught in her throat.
“And let’s not forget,” Victor added, his smirk widening as his tone turned playful, “for all his intellect, Ethan’s judgment is questionable. Turning down you? That doesn’t exactly scream brilliance.”
Her breath hitched. “This isn’t about—”
“Oh, I think it is,” Victor said smoothly, cutting her off. “But don’t worry, Vera. You’re far too valuable to waste on a man who doesn’t see you the way he should.” His gaze lingered for a moment longer, then he leaned back, his smirk softening into something almost indulgent. “Control, Vera, is about knowing what to let go of—and what to keep in your hands. Leave Ethan to me.”
She didn’t respond. The knot in her chest tightened as she turned on her heel, his parting words chasing her out the door: “Relax. Let me handle it. You’ll thank me later.”
She had heard that phrase before.
***
Vera had been 25, the youngest manager in Victor’s organization, and determined to prove herself. The deal had been hers to lead—a high-profile merger that could cement her reputation. For weeks, she had poured everything into it, crafting strategy after strategy to secure the perfect terms.
When the contracts were finalized, Vera had stood tall in Victor’s office, presenting the achievement with barely contained pride. “Everything is locked in,” she had said, her voice steady despite the racing of her heart. “We secured the terms exactly as planned.”
Victor had been seated at his desk, his attention divided between her and the tablet in his hand. He didn’t smile. He didn’t even look impressed. Instead, he tapped the screen lightly and slid it toward her.
“You think you did,” he said, his tone calm, almost indulgent. “But I adjusted the terms yesterday.”
Her stomach dropped. She scanned the revised contracts, her mind racing to process the changes. One clause stood out—an altered revenue split that heavily favored their side but risked alienating the client. “You changed this without telling me?”
Victor’s gaze never wavered. “I protected you.”
“Protected me?” she had repeated, her voice rising with anger. “You undermined me. They’ll think I lied to them!”
“They’ll think you delivered results,” he said evenly. “Which you did. The deal will hold, and you’ll look stronger for it.”
Her fists clenched at her sides. “I would’ve handled it without this.”
Victor rose from his chair, his movements unhurried, and crossed the room to stand in front of her. “No, Vera,” he said, his voice dropping. “You wouldn’t have. You were too green to see where they would’ve taken advantage. I did what needed to be done.”
She had wanted to argue, to fight, but the quiet authority in his voice cut through her anger, leaving only doubt in its wake. Victor tilted his head slightly, his gaze locking onto hers with the same unrelenting intensity she had come to associate with him. “One day, you’ll thank me.”
He had left her there, standing in the hollow silence of his office, the weight of his control pressing down on her like a stone. And the worst part was, he’d been right.