There once was a mighty, powerful, desert-dwelling genie named Djimmi. With a flick of his wrist, he could move the sun and the moon across the horizon, or grab a cloud out of the sky and mold it like clay, or turn a sapling into a giant oak tree faster than you could blink. But like all genies, he had to be at the beck and call of his master. Over thousands of years, Djimmi served more masters than you could count, and many of them were too selfish to even consider using their third wish to set him free. The ones who did vow to set him free never kept their promise.
Djimmi had to admit it was quite fun to use his phenomenal powers to grant extravagant wishes, just to see the look on his masters' faces when he made luxurious palaces spring out of the ground, or turn an entire forest into gold. But more than anything, he longed for the day when he had the freedom to use those powers of his own accord.
After millennia, that day finally came. He was lingering inside his lamp, when he heard the telltale sound of two fingers rubbing against it. He emerged from inside, to find a hooded figure in a white mask on the desert floor, holding the lamp. Djimmi found it rather odd that he would be dressed so warmly in such a hot climate, but decided not to question it.
"Who is it?" boomed Djimmi. "Who dares disturb my slumber?"
"It is I," said the hooded figure. "You may call me... Dyson."
"Then good afternoon, my master Dyson," Djimmi said with a bow. "Since you have summoned me, I will grant you three wishes."
"Three wishes?" asked Dyson, a hint of excitement entering his voice. "Can I wish for anything?"
"Yes, anything," said Djimmi. "As long as you don't wish for more wishes."
Dyson scratched his chin for a moment and thought, pacing around the sand. Fortunately, Djimmi was accustomed to spending decades in stasis, so he could easily wait a few minutes to let his new master make up his mind.
"Let me ask you something, Djimmi," said Dyson. "If you could wish for anything, what would it be?"
Djimmi sighed wistfully. "Freedom," he said. "For millennia, I've gone through the same routine. Someone summons me, asks for three wishes, and then I go back into hibernation until someone else finds me, and the cycle begins anew. For once I wish I could just stretch my arms and fly away."
"Is that so?" asked Dyson. "Well, I don't know what my first wishes will be, but my third wish will be to set you free!"
"Oh, sure," scoffed Djimmi, rolling his eyes. "That's what they all say. But then they get so drunk on power that they go back on their word. I've seen it thousands of times before."
Dyson took a step back, wringing his hands. "I'm awfully sorry about that, Djimmi. But I promise, this time'll be different!"
"And how do I know that I can take your word for that?" Djimmi asked, raising an eyebrow.
"You won't have to!" said Dyson. "I'll write up a contract and sign it. That way I'll have to use my third wish to set you free. No way out of it!"
Djimmi's eyes popped open in surprise. "You mean it?"
"Absolutely!"
With that, the master pulled out a piece of parchment and wrote out the following, along with his signature:
I hereby pledge to use my third wish to set Djimmi the Great free from his lamp. In return, Djimmi is obligated to grant my two previous wishes, whatever they may be.
Beaming, Djimmi conjured up a pen and signed the paper with no hesitation. As soon as he lifted the pen from the paper, though, his ears picked up some barely suppressed giggling from his master. He was too excited about his impending freedom to let it bother him, though.
"Now, master Dyson, what is your first wish?" he asked.
"My first wish," he said, "is that after I grant your freedom, you will sign your soul over to the Devil."
"Your wish is my com- WHAT?!"
Djimmi recoiled and threw up his hands as soon as Dyson's wish registered in his head.
"Did I stutter?" asked Dyson.
"No, but... but why would you wish for something like that?!" he demanded. "What would you have to gain?!"
"I'm glad you asked. Please allow me to formerly introduce myself."
He threw off his cloak and mask and tossed them into the sand to reveal a mustachioed, purple tuxedo-clad man with a giant die for a head.
"My real name is King Dice. The gamest in the land, and the Devil's right-hand man. Since the Devil can't be everywhere at once, sometimes he sends me out to collect the souls of gullible fools. Speaking of which..."
He picked up the parchment that they both signed and rapped it with his finger. "...I do believe that you promised that you'd grant my first two wishes without question. Chop chop."
Djimmi sighed, slumped his shoulders forward and snapped his fingers, causing his soul contract to materialize out of thin air.
"Very good," said King Dice. "And for my second wish, I want a magical map that will show me the locations of all the Devil's debtors at any given time."
Djimmi snapped again, and the map appeared in King Dice's hands.
"Much obliged. And as promised, for my final wish, I will set you free... for now."
He threw back his head and laughed as the shackles around Djimmi's wrists snapped off and disintegrated into dust. The genie clenched his fists, fighting the urge to cry as the moment that he'd been waiting for all these millennia was turned into a cruel joke at his expense.
"Enjoy your freedom while it lasts, o mighty Djimmi," taunted King Dice. "I can't wait to introduce you to your new master... your eternal master."