Voices you get used to. Dreams were the real problem.
Voices are upfront and straightforward. Dreams, well…
●
"HAAA!" And his eyes widened and the world around him broke like a rock thrown through a mirror.
Soon, sweat profusely rolled off his forehead and his heart slowed once it knew safety, for even his neurallink was heightened from the dream and scanned the room for enemies.
NO MOVEMENTS OR HOSTILE MALWARE DETECTED.
The alarm's irritating repetition continued in his mind: "It's the same dream again." As he tried to reconcile his thoughts, the alarm went off for a few more seconds before he beat it to snooze. Yet its durable design only showed a few dents here and there. he sighed.
Then he took a breath or two and tried recalling the dream but his mind fogged as if hit with aphantasia before giving up. It became eerily quiet and he remembered his earplugs were still in and took them out and was introduced to the noise he was all but accustomed to: car horns and cursing. The music around him was so loud it shook the walls and caused bits of the popcorn ceiling to fall off.
So the cover was thrown to the side and he rose and briefly stretched before looking into the nearby mirror. "I need a haircut." His curly blonde hair bounced up and down. he took a comb to it and examined everything with his brown eyes until the comb got stuck within the locks and had to be unlodged. Then, something perennial made itself known—
"Enjoying yourself even though you're unemployed and broke?" "You're a waste of space." "People your age are already in a career and have a family. You can't even take care of yourself."
The mirror broke from the comb throw and millions of shattered pieces scattered.
"Dang!" he scratched his head and sighed. It was useless thinking about that right now and he moved from the broken mirror toward the piecemeal curtains where yellow spots rested from halted sunlight.
Then something caught his eye. "Did it rain last night?" Water seeped and hyperpigmented the curtain. "The caulking messed up again." he drew it and recoiled from the bright flash while the room displayed a mounting warmth from the incoming sunlight creeping in like a palpable entity. Yet the beams failed to reach the room's corners or edges and stayed beside him like a welcome stranger.
So he removed the metal bar that held the window pane closed to look outside. Several billboards and hologram ads lined the street on either side and blocked his view of the sun, although the rays still entered the room from an angle. Then a ladybug landed on the pane and scurried across before flying off.
Soon the metal bar returned and sat upon a puddle of water along the frame while he drank in the room's appearance. "I'm going to have to clean when I get back." A mattress, a mirror, and clothes with the mattress lying on the ground while the room was so light that a breeze could shift it.
It wasn't much, but it was home...if he could make rent this month. "Oh yeah…" he checked his messages on his neurallink and knew who to expect at the top of the log. "Alright. Let's get this over with."
His eyes glowed and a box popped up:
ARTHUR, WE HAVE A DEAL FOR YOU! GET 50% OFF ANY CYBERNETICS USING THE COUPON BELOW!
***Only available today from 3 pm to 5 pm. Local Hades stores may have additional restrictions***
"Well…I thought Mordred would've been the most recent." arthur slid his hand against the advertisement. "I thought I blocked all these numbers." And it soon disappeared from view. "Ah, here it is!"
From Mordred
So he clicked on the message and a video of his friend popped into his mind as a miniature simulacrum that retained all the features: curly jet-black hair and green eyes. "Of course, a simple text message wasn't enough."
"Listen, you bleeding-hearted idiot. You better not be late for the interview today. My ass is also on the line if you mess up."
The synthesized voice was straight to the point. arthur sheepishly scratched his head while the recording died out and myriads of thoughts raced through him with one standing above all—"Well, I guess I can't disappoint."
●
"I can't thank you enough, young man. What is your name?"
"It's arthur, Sir. And don't mention it. This is my church, so I'm happy to help!"
The old Man stood outside and was handed trash bags.
It wasn't long until he assisted others. Walking down the road and seeing the old Man struggling to get bags of collected trash into the disposal was enough incentive. he was offered money but refused vociferously.
The old Man kept insisting, but arthur's shaking eyes and begging to help made him stop offering. The ebullient cheers that came caused the Man to cock his head and scratch his cheek. It was probably the first time someone turned down cash and was happy for it. Who wouldn't want currency?
Yet the old Man was wrong.
Helping was the currency for his hankering. And he hadn't visited the church in a while, but besides beautiful architecture, he wasn't missing much. The church was the only building without any outstanding electronics plastered upon it and it faced the opposite direction of other buildings in the city. It was simple—as simple as a place of worship could be with the black gate in the front and the occasional statue of a saint, but over the years, it had all gone into disarray.
"WOOO! If only I were a few years younger, I'd tell ya what!" The old Man stretched, the occasional pop and crackle uneased arthur. "I wouldn't have bought this place if I knew I had to be a handyman."
"Oh? Are you religious, Sir?"
"No." He cracked his back and threw one of the trash bags into the disposal while it whirled to life and compacted it. "I just own the building. I'm trying to flip it to recoup some of the cash I used to buy and fix up the place. But it seems I put in more than I outta." He had graying hair and beard and wasn't tall due to being hunched over. arthur stood exactly a foot taller than him. He had to be older than Father Brown. "It's a good thing a big, strong, young man like yourself came around. I might've slipped a disc trying to carry that lug." He touched arthur's noticeable bicep. "I used to be pumped like you back in the day." Then He flexed his biceps while doing a few poses, accompanied by pops and groans, yet moving with enough energy to replace the sun if it were ever lost.
"Oh? Do you have a license for those guns?" arthur joked and threw the last bit of trash into the disposal.
"Of course! A universal one at that."
Soon his attention was stolen by something inside the church and entered it while the old Man continued flexing around the courtyard. The church's interior jarred him, for the small font and candelabras within the alcove by the church's entrance were torn and missing and the golden nave extending to the chancel had dimmed in color. "This will need at least a hundred more bags before it's resellable. But I don't remember it being this bad when we left it."
Then parts of the building were either dilapidated or verging on it with even the belfry caved in and missing it's bell and roaches and mice scurrying about while the stagnant air roused dust particles that could be seen moving through the rays of sunshine basking through the stained glass windows with pews and cabinets pushed over as anything of value not bolted down had disappeared. Even the few reliquaries weren't spared. One of which Father Brown kept close by—a white zucchetto. He said it belonged to someone dear to him.
But arthur found the building comforting, almost like nothing bad would happen—a sanctuary. "It's been a while. Father Brown would kill me if He knew."
So the flowing sunlight through stained glass windows brought vivid colors, displaying a light show in broad daylight with no audience while his eyes wheeled through the many colors cast towards the chancel by the pulpit. And he went over and genuflected before the altar before picking up the monstrance that was knocked over and dusted it off and put it on the nearby table, but a noise drew his attention:
"Breaking News from the Sodom Daily News Network. A recent terrorist attack has rocked the community of Sodom, as hundreds of people have lost their lives, and hundreds more are injured."
It came from the sacristy behind the pulpit which had numerous multi-colored chasubles and stoles and regular vestments and cassocks draped over chairs and a lectern with the tabernacle towering over them all. And he remembered being barred entry by Father Brown numerous times, but his mind snowballed from the news while waiting anxiously.
"The religious terrorist organization Rising Tide has launched a series of deadly attacks against a handful of headquarters in the Corporate District of Sodom. They used a currently unidentified nerve agent to fill the lobby areas of corporate offices, killing dozens immediately and harming many more. I'll hand this over to our anti-terrorism correspondent, Dr. Butch."
"Thank you, Blanche. I've said this once, and I'll say this again: these religious zealots need to be taken down immediately. They are a danger not only to themselves but to society—"
he hears but doesn't truly listen. "All those people…" he gulped and grasped his chest with the other hand reaching for something to brace, but there was nothing.
"Ah, another one of those attacks." he looked to see the old Man by the sacristy's entrance, for the news downcasted him. "It's best not to listen to the news all the time. It's not good for the mind." The TV turned off with a single-handed motion. "There's simply too much violence in this world."
"I agree. Someone needs to do something about it." arthur's face was as malleable as stone and hardened to the heart that the words coming out were carved likewise. "Wait!" And he looked at the dark screen and then back at the old Man and asked, "That attack was in the Corporate District, right?"
"Mhm."
"Is Mordred okay?"
The old Man looked at the side of his face and simply smiled. "I kept you for too long, young man. It looks like you've got to go. Thank you for helping an old-timer. I wish you accepted the cash I—"
"No need. Just let me know anytime. I usually walk down this road to get home."
So the old Man side-laughed and scratched his head while trying not to look a gift horse in the mouth. "Well, I'll be a fool to deny that!" Soon the church filled with more laughter as arthur headed out. "Before you leave…" he stopped while the old Man hurried behind a nearby desk and pulled out a canister. "Spray some of this."
"Oh?"
"It's a body spray to remove some of the musk from you. I use it to freshen up the place. Can't be wearing a suit and smell like a garbage heap now."
he didn't see the need to impress but knew Mordred would care and tidied up before showing up for the interview. So he walked over to a stool where his jacket was draped and put it on while returning the spray and saying goodbye before heading into the courtyard where memories flooded him.
The antique bronze statue he'd seen many times without giving it a second thought when younger caught his eye, for seeing anything like this outside of a museum was a rarity and very beautiful even in its disrepair state. Rust ran alongside the breast and genitalia area and turned them golden while rain marks fell from its eyes.
"The rain must be damaging it." he wanted nothing more than to stop and galvanize the statue to reduce corrosion, but stopped short of going through with it. "Mordred will never let me hear the end of it if I'm late."
So he opened and closed the front gate and walked out. "I'm still early." Then the sewage and trashy smell of the road hit and an ennui feeling washed over while looking at the time.
"Oh, Arthur deary, is that you?"
he wheeled his eyes from the neurallink to the old face of, "Ah, Madam Bathory. How are you?"
She slightly stepped to arthur with no sense of urgency and avoided dank standing water that had trash coalesced with dark grit and mangled feathers atop a rainbow sheen resting within the asphalt of the sidewalk where the city reflected. She stood half his height and hunched over and wore modest clothing: a headscarf showing strands of white hair with the ascot wrapped around her neck adorned like a five-star serviette while her small purse dangled from her forearm with a glint from the sun reflecting through her headscarf from the clinquant earrings. "I'm fine, Dear. Coming from church? You never spoke of being religious."
"Oh no, it wasn't for that." he rubbed the back of his neck and said, "I was helping someone clean the place."
"The church closed down too? How sad."
"What do you mean 'too,' Madam Bathory?"
"My foster home and the homeless shelter, not too far down the street, have also closed. I was going to call you, so you didn't waste your time coming by to lend a hand."
"B-But…why?"
"Fewer and fewer people. The state requires a certain number of occupants to receive their grants, and neither of us met the standard, so we were forced to shut down." She dabbed her eyes with her head scarf. "It's so sad, so very sad."
"B-But…you had almost two dozen kids…was that not enough?"
Then Madam Bathory stopped, but the head-covering gibboused her face while informing: "Yes, but those kids went out, and some never returned. So the number went down."
"Why didn't you tell me? I would've gone looking for them."
"I didn't want to trouble you. It happens constantly in this line of work. The lure of the street is too strong, and they get dragged away. I informed the police, but so far nothing came of it."
The world circled arthur as he covered his mouth. "All those kids…"
So Madam Bathory stepped around him and slapped his backside. "Don't overthink it, or you'll ruin that pretty face of yours! I have to get going now. I have a date that will take me to the Moon Colony."
he could've sworn he heard giggling up the street but wasn't sure.
●
"Where the hell is He!?"
A professionally dressed Man paced a courtyard with a fountain in the middle and an edifice looming and casting a shadow over the entire district—the only rival being a certain glass wall.
And if it weren't for his jet-black hair and striking green eyes, his suit would've been the next most complimented thing. It screamed bespoke. But He was far from professional at the moment…distraught would be putting it mildly, and his blood pressure rivaled the building behind him that nearly skewered the sky like an unholy lance.
Then He scratched his head frantically and watched the seconds tick by on his neurallink with the occasional passerby hearing a sundry of insults slung at one Arthur Pendrake. "I swear once I get my hands on him…" He swiped through his neurallink until reaching Arthur's name and called again—just like before…
"I'm sorry for missing your call. I promise to—"
"What the fuck!!!" He threw a flurry of punches.
"Is that guy alright?"
"It's probably cyberpsychosis. Y'know how corpos are."
"he doesn't look like a chrome dome, though. You can spot them a mile away."
"It's a shame to go crazy while so young…"
"Well…wasn't there an attack just an hour ago? Maybe he was affected?"
"Yeah, but the corpos handled it pretty quickly. Kind of stupid to attack military corps at their headquarters. These terrorists are getting gutsy."
So people evaded him like the plague—everyone besides a single individual who ran to him while nicely dressed, but nothing like the manic corpo. he had unruly blonde hair that stood out like a sore thumb and sharp chocolate-brown eyes that were 'daring.' So good-looking with muscles seen through his dress shirt and tall but not too much to where you'd strain to look up at him.
Soon the area's atmosphere shifted and the frantic corpo felt it. But He gave a response most wouldn't to this domineering figure.
"Arthur, you bastard!"
"Ah, Mordred, how are—AH!"
Then Mordred jumped on him and they scuffled right in the Corporate District courtyard with a few passing seconds before a dozen Guards in exquisite armor exited the towering building and rushed toward them.
"DESIST OR TAKE THAT NONSENSE ELSEWHERE!!!"
So they immediately stopped and got up while heavily disheveled and discombobulated, but neither had a deathwish.
And the Men before them were covered from head to toe in white armor accented by gilded edges with something over their heads—a ton of cybernetics that you could see without the use of a neurallink which they couldn't operate when on the receiving end of several sight glasses, for a single twitch would get them riddled with bullets.
"We stopped! We're cool!" arthur said while smiling.
"As cool as a cucumber," Mordred added while also smiling.
"His attitude changed quick!" arthur thought while keeping his composure.
"If we get another report of commotion in this area, we'll open fire. No warning!" The Leader signaled the rifles away while the squad headed back inside the towering building fast—faster than any human ought to be.
"This is the company you work for?"
"Huh? First off, no, that's Pandemonium. And that's how I know you didn't look at the file I sent you. Secondly, you'll be lucky if you get interviewed today! You're twenty minutes late!"
"I'm sorry. I lost track of time…"
"Doing what? I told you multiple times this week, left you a message, and called you repeatedly." Mordred tidied himself up before walking away, but added, "If you don't get this, there's no one to blame but yourself." So He walked through the courtyard toward a building across the tall one.
Then, a feeling of being watched nagged him while inching closer and closer and he looked up but had to shield his eyes from the sun. "This one seems short?" The other buildings seemed endless and made of something more machine-like and slick. This was tall enough to have an unseen top and cause sweat beads to sting the eyes, but not nearly the length of the other. It was made of rough concrete and had a raw appearance while the building's big site and verticality were accentuated with strong towers and windows between them.
"Are you coming?" Mordred waited by the turnstile and signaled to come along.
"Must be nothing." arthur brushed the feeling off and continued on his way to the massive doors with 'MORNINGSTAR' embossed in gold lettering and a golden sun above the frame. And he followed behind Mordred, who scanned his badge and circled the turnstile which led to a vestibule with cold percolating every hair along his body and rejuvenating him, but the gut punch came when he walked out. "This is insane!"
The building was ornamented by the dynamism within.
For machines moved back and forth sweeping and busing trays while people hurried from one place to another, speaking or tapping away on their neurallinks with unawareness. But every few feet stood a guard armed to the teeth with weapons and cybernetics, or there was some robot with an eye on everything. And the guards looked similar to the guards who held them at gunpoint not too long ago but with slightly different outfits. "Guess Morningstar has different logos."
And the building sprawled and was pristine—not a single smudge or sign of dust or dirt. A permeating disinfectant smell rode the air and elevators went up and down within the thirty-level atrium-style middle where the top could be seen. The skylight allowed the warm light to flow through.
"Y'know you're late, right?" Mordred crossed his arms, but his face looked more cross while tapping his feet and saying, "We don't have time to sightsee."
"Sorry! This is my first time seeing a megacorp building." arthur immediately followed his friend into an empty elevator.
Then Mordred pressed a button that shot them upwards. "Be honest. Did you review the files I sent you to prep for this interview?" He gave a side glance sharp enough to cut steel.
"Umm~~~. How mad would you be if I said no?" he felt bad stressing his friend but didn't want to lie.
So Mordred pinched the bridge of his nose and let out an exasperated sigh. "Do you not know how to prep for an interview?"
"Um, besides being an altar boy now and then and caring for my Mother, this is my first job."
His eyes softened and asked, "How is She?"
"I need this job."
"Well, if that's the case, let's get you prepared."
Then the elevator halted and the doors slid open and they stepped out and proceeded down a corridor with intervening passageways with very few artworks or features. It looked the same no matter the direction, for every hall could be swapped out with another and no value would be lost in the exchange.
"What do you know about Morningstar?" Mordred asked in a subdued voice while looking back.
"It's a big company, and they do things with…cybernetics?"
So He looked at him before facepalming. "Oh, we've got a lot to do." He abruptly stopped and grabbed him and wandered to the hall's side.
"Are we good?"
"Yeah, just chill out for a second so I can unfuck you." arthur cocked his head before acquiescing while Mordred looked up and down the hall and said, "You're already late to the interview. You'll need to ace it if they still slide you in. You got me?" He continued when arthur nodded. "Morningstar isn't just a 'big company.' It's one of the biggest companies in the world." And the two leaned against the hall's wall while arthur held onto every word as if his life depended on it. "Together with Hades and Pandemonium, these three form the Triumvirate."
"Are they some sort of alliance?"
"No, it's just a name to put these three above the rest. They still compete but haven't been involved in any armed conflict. It's mostly a cold war, and thank our lucky stars for that. If they ever did decide to go at it, we'd all be six feet under."
"They're that strong?"
And Mordred scoffed, for his reaction made it seem like arthur questioned a self-evident concept like the moon being a rock or humans floating in water. "Father Brown may think this is blasphemous, but it's true. The only Gods in this world are the Megacorps. What they say goes."
Soon the air stilled between them and everything became eerily silent.
Then arthur nodded. he heard the company names but never did any deep-dive research into their history or politics. Such things never interested him.
"Morningstar is centered in Sodom, and the CEO is Prometheus. They deal in security and cybernetics. Keep that in mind. Everything else is on you."
And the duo straightened themselves and continued down the hall until they entered a 'Talent Acquisition' room.
"Where's your suit jacket?" Mordred looked arthur over, for although dressed appropriately, his outfit didn't ring 'fresh' with spots of dirt littering it along with sweat stains rendering a pellucid look—deficiencies solvable with a jacket.
"Do I need one? I think I should be fine with what I have on."
"Interviewing at the best company in the world, and you think a dress shirt and trousers will knock it out of the park? I need your confidence…" He opened the door to a bland and minimalist room like the halls. It was empty besides one worker.
"How may I help you?" A Lady behind a desk greeted them. She looked up and quickly smiled before tapping away at her computer.
"My friend, Arthur Pendrake, has an interview here." The Lady typed away and pulled up a screen within a second while Mordred looked confident and hoped—
"he appears to be late." She glanced from her screen to Mordred before reverting.
"I understand, and we apologize, but can an interviewer slot him in?" He waved his badge to punctuate the ask.
"You work for the company?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"I'll ask." She signaled for them to sit before leaving.
So they did with every moment ticking by like an eternity passed.
Then arthur looked around with his right foot bouncing up and down and bending the chair's shadow while his breathing labored. There wasn't even a piece of art or a table within the room. Just one central desk for the receptionist and a few chairs littered for guests. Nothing more, nothing less.
"You're going to fail." "You're going to bomb this interview like everything else." "Your mom will never get the care she needs because you're a failure."
"Shut up."
"This isn't the time to talk to yourself," Mordred mumbled and jostled arthur's arm.
"Sorry."
And Mordred, usually the clear-minded one, sighed and put his head in his hands.
Soon the moment was cut when the Receptionist returned with a Man with a sunken face and tinsel hair in tow. arthur and Mordred stood up. "Hello, gentleman." His voice sounded like car tires over broken glass while standing as tall as them but older by some years. And with a visible cybernetic right eye, He looked up and down with an overhung bottom lip like a drawer hiding a bird while pallid enough to rival copypaper with a gaunt demeanor similar to a ghoul. On his wrist was a watch with an overpolished bezel and a textured grain chronograph with exploding numerals for a flaring typography and a hollowed-out and syringe-style hand.
"How are you doing, sir?" Mordred stuck out his hand. "I'm Mordred, working in the logistics and procurement department. This is my friend Arthu—"
"I know who you are." He cut Mordred off and stared at the proffered hand before using his spindly arms and far-reaching fingers to push his hands away from him.
"Okay~." Mordred retracted the unreciprocated gesture and sharply exhaled.
"This doesn't look good," arthur mused and scratched underneath his collar to get the sweat out before his dress shirt became even more translucent.
"I came here since I wanted to do this face-to-face instead of making Miss Elizabeth carry the message for me." He cleared his throat with a few coughs before declaring, "mister pendrake has been removed from consideration. he'll receive a message shortly detailing our reasons why."
Then arthur went downcast by the news while Mordred was riled up. "Is this due to his tardiness? We have a good explanation—"
"It's not needed. Whatever the reason, we've chosen to proceed with the other applicants. he's welcome to search the careers website and apply for another position. Hopefully, he'll choose to show up on time for the next interview." The verbal jab hit like a truck while his gaze drilled through.
"There's no one here!" Swinging an arm around the room, Mordred said, "You can't possibly tell me there isn't room to slot him!"
"I'm afraid not. Now, if you're going to be a nuisance, I'm more than willing to have security escort you off the premises. That won't look good on your record, mister mordred."
"You bastard. Are you threatening me right now?"
"Enough." arthur grabbed Mordred's arm. "It's not worth it. No need to get in trouble for me." And then he turned and said, "I apologize for being late. We'll leave now." So he shoved him out while He continued to verbally mudsling.
"Get off me!" Mordred jerked his arm from the vice-like grip with the inertia nearly toppling him over while the bubbling rage surfacing drove his attention away.
And arthur looked at his back while He stormed off. "Well…this turned out worse than I thought…"
Soon the duo made their way out of Morningstar with Mordred dead-reckoning to a location only He knew and nothing could stop him. So he tried keeping up.
"Oh no!" But arthur knew the direction would make him cross paths with...
"Ah! It's you again!" An old Man got up off the floor and waved while wearing a mish-mashed outfit encompassing several articles of threadbare clothing, lost causes strung together and topped with a pristine suit jacket. "Thank you again for the jacket. I'm already using it!"
arthur was so nervous that he could only chuckle and wave.
But along the road were dozens—no, hundreds of Homeless huddled together like some cloister with a few propped against a wall and heads lowered as if asleep and some sprawled out on the ground and others clambering and looking through garbage for food and clothing. Most only wore rags with worn-down shoes with very little sole remaining. The lucky ones sucked ketchup out of used or new packets. Most hadn't heard of a shower in years and developed a second layer of skin made up of encrusted dirt that looked and reeked so bad that it caused onlookers themselves to get itchy. They all shared the neurosis and necrosis within their destitute eyes and souls and all the while their smell reached further out to the point arthur could smell them and almost gagged. The smell of people who didn't care anymore. The smell of people just waiting to die.
And more, he could feel Mordred's ire since he'd stopped and looked at him but said nothing, for his discontent was made aware through a sigh. No words were exchanged until reaching the location Morded was beaming toward with the deafening silence growing to uncomfortable proportions—mainly for arthur.
Then Mordred waited in line at a stand called 'Bob's Kitchenette,' which centered on intersecting busy streets. Soon people bumped into him and neither apologized nor glanced up while entering and leaving buildings. It was as if they were sensing where to go while bobbing and weaving at leisure.
"Give me two shots of the regular, Bob!"
Bob lumbered forward wearing an apron with food stains with a cigarette in his mouth. "One of those days?"
"Yup."
"I'm fine, Mordred. I don't drink—"
"They're both for me."
"Oh…okay then."
And Bob quickly put two red plastic shot cups on the platform and poured a clear liquid into them that permeated and burnt arthur's nose from afar.
"Thanks." Mordred floated his hand above a pad that lit green and took the drinks to a standing table and knocked one back without irritation. "Holy fuck, what a day!"
"I'm sorry for wasting your time—"
"So that homeless guy has your suit jacket?"
"Um…how do you know it was me? He probably got me confused with another." he tried laughing it off, but Mordred wasn't having any of it.
"No, because you're the only person that'll take the clothes off their own back and squander a job opportunity to help someone out." Then He swigged the last shot and finished with, "You don't even have that many suit jackets to give away. You're broke!"
"What did you want me to do? There are dozens of people in the square. It gets cold at night."
"Just leave them. They're always there or at The Scene. They ignore veterans and panhandle newbies because they can swindle a dollar or two from you. They're like pigeons. They grow in places where there's food."
"They'll…die. Do you want them to die?"
"No, obviously not. I'm not a monster." Mordred slid a hand down his face and sighed. "There's a time and place for this stuff. If I gave each one of them a dollar, I'd be broke by the end of the day. Moderation is key." He leaned in and pointed with a culpable finger toward the Homeless they had just crossed. "Look where the charity flowing through your saintly veins got you! It's not like those people you helped will help you now. Will they find you a job so you can support your Mother? Will they pay the medical bills? What about your apartment?"
"Kindness isn't a currency. I don't expect or want to be paid back. It defeats the purpose."
"Why then?"
"Why not? There doesn't need to be a reason to be a good person, Mordred."
"No one in good conscience will help this much unless they feel guilty. What do you feel guilty about?"
"Nothing. I'm just trying…"
"Bullshit. You sound like Father Brown. Look where He ended up. Even Gawain isn't this stupid. Stop this nonsense and get your head back in the game. If not for yourself, at least for your Mother."
But arthur's attention was drawn behind Mordred while the latter kept berating him. It was a Woman around his age. he wasn't one to gawk at women, but this Woman's beauty was something to behold and drowned Mordred's words. She wore a windbreaker, jeans, and flat-bottom shoes. Her hair, button nose, and tight face being the standout features from a distance. Her sleek and sun-bleached hair was in a half buzzcut and occasionally slapped her when looking back and forth and back and forth again and digging into her pocket and dropping something arthur couldn't ascertain.
"Hey, are you paying attention to me?!" Mordred waved his hand until recognition returned to arthur's eyes.
"Huh?" he looked at him dazed.
So Mordred just shook his head before a phone call jolted him. "Ah, shit! It's my jagoff boss. Fucking snitch. I gotta take this." He slid his hand across the air and responded, "How are you, Mr. Nix?"
Then arthur watched his friend walk away and took a reprieve from the rebuke to head toward where the Woman was. But She was nowhere to be seen. A silver coin lay where She once stood. "Did She drop this?" Someone nearly stepped on it before sliding it out with his foot and grabbing it. "Do people even carry hard cash anymore?" The last time he'd seen currency like this was with Father Brown and He never carried coins, only bills. So this was a true relic of the past within his palm.
TRACE CYBERNETICS DETECTED.
"In a coin?" Before he could examine further, a slap in the back nearly caused him to drop it. Soon his eyes dimmed to their original color.
"Alright, I'm off, Arthur. My boss is probably going to give me an earful."
"I'm sorry. I could explain it's my fault if you want."
But Mordred put his hand up. "You're good. It won't do much. I'll hit you up later, okay?" The two said farewell and arthur briefly looked at the coin before pocketing it. "I'll give it back when I see her again."
Then his neurallink provided him a notification:
New email—Subject: Update within your Morningstar job portal. Click here to see the update.
Sigh—he deleted the notification and walked away.
Unbeknownst to him, a man with an eyepatch was staring at his every movement from afar.