A no-gummie job is what it says, a 0-level job for newbies that pays a pittance in cash and precisely zero gummies.
This was a disgrace, but I needed it. Heck, I should be able to finish a couple in time.
Feeling overconfident, I selected two jobs and accepted them. The system warned me of the penalties if I didn’t deliver on time, I said, “Yeah, yeah, blow me,” and confirmed.
There.
I now had two jobs, cash-only. Fetch jobs. Like a goddamn noob straight off the boat.
The one, ‘Retrieve Miss Walsh’s pendant, she believes it was stolen by her immigrant cleaning lady.’ The other, ‘Find Joey’s headphones, he thinks he left them at the train station.’
Sigh.
I hurried out of my office and into the streets, ready to make some dough.
End of Chapter 1.
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The Rebirth of Capitalism
"It used to be the other way around, you know," Jacob said, taking a swig of his beer of his beer from the bottle and keeping the liquid in his mouth.
It looked cool, drinking that way. Connor did the same and almost chocked, coughing up the beer. "How's so?"
"Well, the rich used to live up here, and the poor down there," Jacob said, pointing at the city below.
Connor chuckled. "That's bollocks, ain't it?"
"It's the truth, kid! Look, back then, before the Collapse, you could just live all day by simply providing services, you know?" Jacob shook his head. "No, you can't. How could you imagine it?" He raised the beer bottle in his face, examining it. It was full of scratches from the repeated use, marks on the dark brown glass. The label was long gone. "Imagine if you had a distillery, like Max does, who makes the beer."
Connor examined his own beer bottle. "Okay..."
"Now, that's a business, right? It makes a product people need. Imagine if someone else, instead of just making a competing beer, offered to buy Max's beer."
Connor was shocked. "But you can't! Everybody knows Max makes the beer."
"Exactly! Nobody would buy the other brand. But Max has back problems and he could use some time with his grandchildren up on the 83rd floor. So, he takes the deal, but only if they pay him ten percent of all future revenue."
Connor scrunched up his nose. This break from construction work had dragged on a bit longer, but Jacob was the boss, and as long as he wanted to keep talking, Connor wasn't gonna complain about it. "Pay him? Why, just for sitting around?"
"Yes! Max worked hard to make a brand, a name for himself, and that brand is worth more than the brewery alone. So, he comes from a position of power and demands 10%. The other guy, the one with the money accepts, and buys the business."
"Nah, people wouldn't want to buy beer if it wasn't for Max," Connor said, shaking his head.
"Initially. But after all, people just want to drink some fucking beer, right? They don't really care where it comes from. And let's say that the new owner respects the brand and makes the same quality of beer. The customers are reluctant at first, learning about the gossip of Max retiring, but they try it out and the beer is good. So, business goes on, everybody is happy, Max gets his share of the profits."
"I still don't understand how someone can earn money without doing anything," Connor squinted.
"That's what I'm explaining to you. The laws, the intellectual property, the branding. Let's take it one step further, let's say that Max is thinking of his grandchildren. He's not gonna be around forever, so he writes up a will that says, 'Give my 10% of Max's beer to my grandchildren.'
Connor now stood up in protest. "That can't possibly be happening!"
"It used to," Jacob nodded deeply. "And that way, his grandchildren didn't have to work a day in their lives."
Connor sat back down and stared out of the hole in the concrete. The shipping container that used to be attached there had fallen down to the ground, killing a family of five in their sleep. Jacob was the best fixer in the Tower, and Connor kept shadowing him for two years, helping along. He was terrible at it at first but as time went by, Connor was becoming a good fixer. He opened his mouth, mulling it over. "That's clever."
"It sure is!" Jacob chuckled, taking another swig of his beer. Max's beer, which was the best in the Tower.
There was silence for a while. Connor broke it. "But won't his grandchildren grow up to be, you know, lazy and arrogant?"
Jacob shrugged. "They might, but that's up to them. And it's a problem for another day. What matters to me is that, my back hurts, and my business is considered the best in the Tower."
Connor nodded in acknowledgement and drank his warm beer in silence. He was sitting on top of the toolbox, he always did that.
A long couple of minutes went by. There was a slight breeze coming in from the west. It was almost peaceful. It sure as hell wasn't actually peaceful down there, but up here, it kinda was.
Then Connor had an idea.
"Hey, Jacob?"
"Yeah?" Jacob said, looking indifferent.
"I could do that."
"Do what, Connor?"
"That. The thing. You just said your back hurts, I know you're getting slower, I can see you hurting when we lift rebar."
Jacob smiled wide. "It sure does, kid."
Connor stood up, excited. "Well, we can do that thing! I can keep working as a fixer under the Jacob brand. And pay you 10%."
Jacob sucked in air through his teeth. "Ah, I dunno. Sounds too low."
"Twenty percent then! Come on, man. I'll be doing all the work."
Jacob finished his beer and set it down. Everything was recycled in the Tower. He stood up, rubbed his aching back and inspected their work in the hole so far. "I'm not sure I'm ready to retire just yet. And I don't have grandchildren. Or, children," he said, tilting his head to the side.
"Get a hobby then, like you always said," Connor complained, his arm outstretched, now feeling excited about this prospect. "We can start a few jobs together and I'll finish them, you know I do good work, you just said so last week."
Jacob scratched his chin. "Alright. It might work," he said, turning to Connor.
Connor's face lit up, he felt his smile touch his ears. "Really?"
Jacob shrugged. "Yeah. Why not? I might finally settle down with Alice too."
Connor winced, "Ooh, I don't know about that. You messed up big time, Jacob. No offence."
"None taken. But you're too young to know about women." Jacob turned to the horizon. "I can wear her defences down, like taking down a wall with a sledgehammer. All it takes is patience. And it helps, when approaching women, if you don't smell like you were doing construction work all day!" he chuckled.
Connor laughed. "That's true!"
Jacob turned serious. "So, you'll sign?"
"A piece of paper? Hell yeah!"
Jacob offered his hand to him. "A gentleman's agreement first, then we write up a contract on paper that spells out the deal, okay?"
Connor hesitated for a single second, then shook his mentor's hand vigorously.
The End
Nyx It
The night was young. What a silly expression. The night is old, she always has been. Humanity hasn’t lived long enough to make that claim. They’re just an eyeblink in the vast existence of Earth.
Yet, some people have such a small mind that they think they’re the centre of the universe.
Nyx prowled the nights of Athens. She always preferred that place, she didn’t know why, exactly. She’d tasted the nights all over the cities of Earth, Chicago, New York, Sodom.
No matter how far she went and how magnificent the nights around the world were, she always found herself drawn back to Athens.
Home.
There was just something about this place that darkened her heart.
The cities always fascinated her. It was the human instinct to huddle together around the fire
, to find a way to convince themselves that the monsters could be kept away, that the light could combat the darkness and keep them safe. The cities were that little instinct magnified a thousand fold. Nyx admired how inventive humans were, always thinking up little ways to push back the darkness. Fire, candles, oil lamps, electric lights, neon lights – she loved those – fluorescent lights, LEDs.
She followed a man in a coat. The night was a bit chilly, and the coat was necessary. But an experienced eye like that of a trained policeman or in this case, that of an immortal goddess could tell that the coat served a different purpose.
The man looked normal. He didn’t have a scar on his face, he wasn’t laughing maniacally, his eyes didn’t dart around. Yet, something about him made it clear he was a predator on the prowl.
No worries, Nyx was one such predator as well.
Curious, she followed the man. He wore well-used shoes that helped him move with the barest of shuffles, his keys didn’t jingle, and Nyx could also assume that his phone was deactivated, the battery pulled off completely. People, the kind of people that didn’t want others to know what they’re up to, knew these days that those damn phones were nothing but a snitch, eager to report to the authorities.
The man, the average-looking man, the man who blended in with the crowd and who knew how to use the shadows to his advantage well enough to draw the attention of Nyx herself, took the side streets from Omonoia square and into Phylis street.
Prostitutes.
Whorehouses, one after another. Plain looking metal doors, a single white light above them that was always on, and men of all nationalities hurrying to and fro the houses of pleasure. Cheap houses, not the luxurious ones, though Nyx knew that the cleanliness and health standards made them look positively palatial compared to what the poor Johns had to work with in previous centuries.
A pair of law enforcement officers, riding on steeds of metal and plastic. They seemed alert but simply observed the street, ready to interfere.
The man with the coat didn’t break his stride upon seeing them, he didn’t flee, he did nothing to make himself stand out from the foot traffic. He simply kept walking, not drawing attention to himself. The other men were fidgety, two were coming out of a brothel, discussing where to go next. They hadn’t found a pleasing enough woman in there and they were going bourdelotsarka, or simply put, going from one brothel to the next, eyeing the merchandise on display, window shopping for cheap, warm pussy.
Her man walked slow and careful, so Nyx had enough time to peek inside the brothel. It was weirdly lit, red and dark, and it had a disco ball reflecting and sparkling and dizzying the customers. There was a metal pole installed in the middle of the entry hall, and two benches with men. One was dark, an immigrant. The other was light-skinned, but Nyx couldn’t tell where he was from. The prostitute showed up wearing just a thong and a tiny brassiere, and smiled, and tempted them, and gave them a spin on the pole, showing off her wares. She was voluptuous, a dark-haired Slavic beauty. The madam listed the menu, “Tight pussy, blowjob, missionary, doggy-style, ten euro. Anal for extra ten. No kissing.” The light-skinned man stood up and left, obviously not tempted enough. The dark-skinned man smiled wide and nodded at the madam. She opened her palm up, he paid in cash, and she pointed him towards the back room to go and wait for the girl.
Nyx had seen what would follow a million times. She wasn’t ashamed of it, after all, most of the billions of people had been conceived into the night. She left the brothel and found the man with the coat, who was still walking away from the policemen. He didn’t seem to head for the brothels. That was a shame. Nyx hadn’t seen a proper Jack-the-Ripper night since… Well, since Jack-the-Ripper.
Oh, the man definitely had a blade on him. Hence the coat, it was clear from how he walked, at least clear to Nyx. And he definitely had a purpose, and it didn’t seem to be the purchase of affection, and it didn’t seem to be the gutting of ladies of the night.
Another silly expression. They weren’t Nyx’s ladies, she could care less about them. If they truly were hers, then she’d go out of her way to protect them. Nyx didn’t care what happened to them, whether they got penetrated by flesh or steel it was the same to her.
The man with the coat had her full attention now. He had crossed the street with the legal brothels and went towards darker streets. They may have been smack-dab in the middle of a capital city, yet the concrete seemed to absorb the light no matter how much incandescence the humans tried to place.
It wasn’t Nyx’s doing.
It was a dark place, because dark things happened. It made proper men avoid it, their skin crawl and their instincts scream for alertness. And yet this man was walking straight into the heart of it.
Nyx shadowed him.
He pulled out the blade, it was a fine military knife, serrated on one end. This was no bread-cutter. It was meant for survival and killing.
The man made sure he could pull it out swiftly and put it back inside his coat. Clever, Nyx thought. He was no fool, waltzing in with a blade in hand.
He got to building that was dark and brown. One of the old condominiums that survived in this part of town, there was no foot traffic below, and the street light barely pushed back the darkness.
He rang the doorbell.
“Yeah?” the crackling voice from the speaker said after a while.
The man cleared his throat. “I’m here for Hecate,” he said, his voice breaking.
There was silence from the speaker, just some crackling.
The man looked over his shoulder, tense.
“I haven’t seen you before,” the speaker said.
“I-I’m new, yes. John sent me,” the man in the coat stuttered.
More silence.
“It’s not cheap.”
“I’ve got cash.”
“…Alright. Come on up.”
He buzzed the door and the man stepped inside the building. He looked back towards the dark street, straight into the face of Nyx.
Then he turned and took the stairs up to the third floor.
Nyx entered through the door and followed him upstairs. He got to a wooden door, it was a heavy security door with a peephole. He stood in the dim light and waited.
There was the familiar sound of unlocking a bunch of mechanisms from the door and it swung open.
The madam, was plum, dressed in shiny clothes and shiny rocks. She sucked her cigarette and sucked his appearance as well. Then, she seemed to reach to a decision. “Come on in.”
The man nodded and did so. He sat on the bench. There was no kitsch disco ball here, just some proper mood lighting behind some fake plants. The air reeked of cigarette smoke.
There was a metal pole in the middle.
A girl, barely ten years old walked in, dressed in a bikini swimsuit. It was bright green. She had some scratches on her little arms and a definite cigarette burn on her thigh. She held her head down and timidly walked to the pole, held it, and gave it an awkward spin.
The madam stepped close and hissed to her ear. “Not good enough, bend your back, how many times must I tell you this?” She turned to the man and smiled.
The little girl gave it another spin, bending her back in an attempt for a seduction. It was pointless, of course. She was no woman yet. She had no instincts yet, she had no hormones to get her bending her back and wanting to kiss boys.
The madam said smugly, “A thousand euro, blowjob, missionary, doggy-style.”
The man in the coat shut his eyes. “Can I do whatever I want with her?”
“Sure,” the madam said, taking a big puff. She held the cigarette to the side. “But leave no marks on her, that costs extra.”
The man placed his palms on his knees and stared directly at the madam. “I see.”
The madam opened her palm.
“One thousand,” the man asked.
“Yeap. She’s worth it, don’t worry.” The madam shoved the little girl towards him.
The child placed her finge
rs on the man’s knee, touched his hands timidly, then walked her fingers towards his crotch.
The man immediately snatched her hand and stopped her. “Hey, Hecate? Look out of the window for a minute for me, will you?” he said softly, as one should speak to a child.
The little girl nodded deeply and stood by the window, looking outside.
The man with the coat rose to his feet. The madam was still waiting, palm outstretched. She seemed impatient. “Do you have the cash or not, mister?”
The man raised his upper lip in disgust. “I got what you deserve,” he said, and with a swift motion, he sliced the madam’s carotid artery.
Blood gushed from her wound, she held her neck and gurgled out blood. The man with the coat let the knife clatter to the floor and rushed to hold Hecate by the shoulders. She was about to turn around and see what the commotion was about, and he stopped her just in time.
“It’s okay, Hecate. Don’t turn around. Keep looking outside like a good girl. That’s right…”
The madam was a tough dame. Even though she was drowning in her own blood, she slapped the floor in the red pool and found the knife. She pushed herself up, steadying precariously on her arms.
Nyx had a decision to make. Would she intervene? Should she? This man had intrigued her, that was certain. But Nyx didn’t meddle in the affairs of mortals, not like those others who couldn’t keep their hands off of the humans’ private parts.
She decided to let it play out.
The madam fought one last time, she grunted, her face contorted into pure hate and she delivered a strike to the man’s back.
Ouch! Nyx admired her aim, she went right between the ribs and punctured a lung. The man fell on his knees, gasping for air, his lungs filling up with blood. The blade was still embedded in his back, he tried to reach back and pull it out but couldn’t.
MOAB � Mother Of All Boxsets Page 133
