The odds aren't in favor of the house

Who: Cerebrum
Where: The big city
 
Cerebrum was walking along the street, traveling by foot in order to avoid attention. The people he stopped and talked to about the city all seemed to be remarkably slow-witted, though human in appearance. They also fell over a lot. Obviously, they needed psychiatric treatment, that's what Cerebrum figured. Mind you, Cerebrum figured that people who'd just had their legs blown off needed psychiatric treatment.
 
Then he paused, as he saw something very interesting. The Plebian Casino. Built by the corporate overclass in order to help keep the underclass happy, though Cerebrum didn't know this. All that Cerebrum knew was here was a casino. Time to gamble. So he walked in.
 
At the money exchange, Cerebrum suddenly realized that he didn't have any money on him at the moment. This would definitely require a change in tactics. He waved his hand in the air and said to the man, "You will give me ten thousand dollarpounds worth of chips."
 
"I will give you ten thousand dollarpounds worth of chips," the man said blankly, and handed them over.
 
Cerebrum took the chips, and headed to the poker tables, whistling. Tonight, the odds weren't going to favor the house. He sat down in an empty chair, shoved some chips into the pot and received his hands. Now, let's see, Cerebrum thought, what's his hand?

 
Ninety minutes later, Cerebrum walked out of the casino, and stepped into the armored car that he had purchased in order to keep his winnings safe. "I do so love telepathy," he said as he drove off.