XIV. Payback
"Next." said the bank teller. Ross Gibson stepped up to the counter.
"Hello." he said. "My name William McKinnison, and I've lost my card."
"You'll need your account number and PIN in order make a withdrawal or transfer any funds." said the teller.
"Yes, I know. The account number is 3753-7563-1007-3254. PIN is 4487."
The teller entered the date into her computer. "Yes, that checks out. Your balance is 43,284 credits. What would you like to do today, Mr. McKinnison?"
"I'd like to close my account, I'm afraid." said Gibson.
"Would you like a check, cash, transfer to another account, or a combination?"
"I'd actually like a check for 27,586 credits, another check for 187.4 credits, and the rest in cash."
"Very well, that will be a moment." said the teller.
Half an hour later, Gibson crossed the street to the clothing boutique. He walked out twenty minutes later in new, less alarming clothing. The cashier had been more than a little bit surprised when a man with clothing that looked like a burnt hospital uniform had handed her a check that had been out in advance with the exact cost of his purchase, but had taken it in the hopes of getting him out of the store. Gibson took a subway across town to a car dealership, where he bought a black sedan for exactly 27,586 credits, after taxes. He filled the tank and headed downtown.
Lucian Briggs ran out of the bar in terror and tripped on the uneven pavement. It had been George's idea that the three of them should meet for lunch. Now Lucian wondered if he was the only one of them who was still capable of regretting the decision.
He'd heard rumors that the place they'd chosen was a hotbed of separatist activity, but the food was good and cheap. Halfway through the appetizers, a chot raid had struck the establishment. No questions were asked, but countless shots were fired. Lucian was almost certain he'd seen Jake take one in the forehead. He didn't know what had happened to George. Lucian knew it was only a matter of time before the chots came outside to take care of those still in sight. He tried to stand, but couldn't; his ankle screamed in pain.
"Please, God, no..." he whispered through tears. Lucian had never been religious, but there was no one else who could help him.
A black car pulled to a stop in front of him. Leaving the engine running, a man got out, threw open the passenger's side door and grabbed Lucian under the shoulders.
"My name is Gibson, I'll explain later." he said.
"Wait, my friends!" yelled Lucian as Gibson slammed the door shut.
Gibson got in and pulled the car out into traffic. "Are dead. And you would be, too, Lucian."
Lucian looked at Gibson in disbelief. "How do you know my name?"
"Your father and I met each other on a few occassions."
"How is that possible? He died when I was five, and you can't be more than a few years older than me--"
"It's...complicated." said Gibson.
The car was silent for a few moments. Lucian started crying.
"Lucian...I lost someone important to a chot raid, as well. His name was William McKinnison. He died a few nights ago." Gibson had never actually met McKinnison; Metatron had simply provided him with a name and account number to get him on his feet.
"I just lost my two best friends." said Lucian. "And why did you save me?"
Gibson sighed. "I think there's a lot of potential in you that's wasted. How would you feel about joining up with me?"
"For...for what?"
"Truth, justice, etcetera. Just to be absolutely clear, I'm talking about full-blown insurgency."
"I...I...I don't know...there's a lot going on right now--"
"Fair enough. I know you'll make the right decision." Lucian was too overwhelmed with grief to notice the confidence in Gibson's voice at the second sentence.
"Where are we going?" asked Lucian.
"A hotel towards the edges of New Liberty where the accomodations are nice and the staff don't ask questions. Don't worry, it's on me."
"Why are you doing this for me? I mean, we've never even met--"
"Let's just say," said Gibson, "that I owed your dad one."
"Hello." he said. "My name William McKinnison, and I've lost my card."
"You'll need your account number and PIN in order make a withdrawal or transfer any funds." said the teller.
"Yes, I know. The account number is 3753-7563-1007-3254. PIN is 4487."
The teller entered the date into her computer. "Yes, that checks out. Your balance is 43,284 credits. What would you like to do today, Mr. McKinnison?"
"I'd like to close my account, I'm afraid." said Gibson.
"Would you like a check, cash, transfer to another account, or a combination?"
"I'd actually like a check for 27,586 credits, another check for 187.4 credits, and the rest in cash."
"Very well, that will be a moment." said the teller.
Half an hour later, Gibson crossed the street to the clothing boutique. He walked out twenty minutes later in new, less alarming clothing. The cashier had been more than a little bit surprised when a man with clothing that looked like a burnt hospital uniform had handed her a check that had been out in advance with the exact cost of his purchase, but had taken it in the hopes of getting him out of the store. Gibson took a subway across town to a car dealership, where he bought a black sedan for exactly 27,586 credits, after taxes. He filled the tank and headed downtown.
Lucian Briggs ran out of the bar in terror and tripped on the uneven pavement. It had been George's idea that the three of them should meet for lunch. Now Lucian wondered if he was the only one of them who was still capable of regretting the decision.
He'd heard rumors that the place they'd chosen was a hotbed of separatist activity, but the food was good and cheap. Halfway through the appetizers, a chot raid had struck the establishment. No questions were asked, but countless shots were fired. Lucian was almost certain he'd seen Jake take one in the forehead. He didn't know what had happened to George. Lucian knew it was only a matter of time before the chots came outside to take care of those still in sight. He tried to stand, but couldn't; his ankle screamed in pain.
"Please, God, no..." he whispered through tears. Lucian had never been religious, but there was no one else who could help him.
A black car pulled to a stop in front of him. Leaving the engine running, a man got out, threw open the passenger's side door and grabbed Lucian under the shoulders.
"My name is Gibson, I'll explain later." he said.
"Wait, my friends!" yelled Lucian as Gibson slammed the door shut.
Gibson got in and pulled the car out into traffic. "Are dead. And you would be, too, Lucian."
Lucian looked at Gibson in disbelief. "How do you know my name?"
"Your father and I met each other on a few occassions."
"How is that possible? He died when I was five, and you can't be more than a few years older than me--"
"It's...complicated." said Gibson.
The car was silent for a few moments. Lucian started crying.
"Lucian...I lost someone important to a chot raid, as well. His name was William McKinnison. He died a few nights ago." Gibson had never actually met McKinnison; Metatron had simply provided him with a name and account number to get him on his feet.
"I just lost my two best friends." said Lucian. "And why did you save me?"
Gibson sighed. "I think there's a lot of potential in you that's wasted. How would you feel about joining up with me?"
"For...for what?"
"Truth, justice, etcetera. Just to be absolutely clear, I'm talking about full-blown insurgency."
"I...I...I don't know...there's a lot going on right now--"
"Fair enough. I know you'll make the right decision." Lucian was too overwhelmed with grief to notice the confidence in Gibson's voice at the second sentence.
"Where are we going?" asked Lucian.
"A hotel towards the edges of New Liberty where the accomodations are nice and the staff don't ask questions. Don't worry, it's on me."
"Why are you doing this for me? I mean, we've never even met--"
"Let's just say," said Gibson, "that I owed your dad one."
THE END
posted by Andrew Michael at 6:56 PM
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