It all started one Saturday morning, in Central Park. Several tables were already taken by old men, who were playing games they had started 40 years ago, at the same table they are sitting at now.
A teenage boy walks up to an empty table, and starts setting up a game of chess. Then a man walks up to his table, and sits down.
“Is anybody sitting here?” the stranger asks.
“No. Can we just get this over with?” The boy fidgets, obviously uncomfortable.
“Very well, Alex. Let’s go over our little agreement. We shall play one game of chess, and one game only. If you shall win, your mother will be, miraculously, cured of cancer. If I shall win, I have full ownership, without exceptions, of your soul.” He smiles. “Agreed?”
“Yes. Can we start now?”
“Of course. You may begin.”
And, with a sharp click, they began.

Alex was sweating. He had been playing chess almost as long as he could remember, but had never played someone as skilled as the man who sat across from him now. Not that he was expecting this to be easy.