A Virgin Mint Julep at Gibson's Place

He was one of the biggest men Connor had ever seen. A neatly trimmed mustache complimented his strawberry locks. Tied along his back was a blue sweater, over yellow polo and khakis tailored to a tee. Connor wondered how that was possible, since the man’s arms and legs were the size of computer towers. The giant silenced the argument with a single stern gaze. Then his deep brown eyes turned to Connor. Pure and rich, like chocolate. Eyes that produced a subtle weight upon those looking into them. The scrapper’s smile disappeared and he had to look away.

“Finally up, hmm?” the man’s deep voice boomed. “Took you long enough. Now that you can answer, may I ask your name?”

“Can I get yours first?” Connor asked meekly.

“Impolite to ask for mine after I’ve already asked you for yours, wouldn’t you say?”

The scrapper felt his patience thinning. He was grateful for the save from Flynt Enterprises. Yet this was too much; a ragtag band of misfits all under one roof only made a bigger target for bigger fish.

“Impolite?” Connor shot out. “In this city?”

“Was it impolite to have my soldiers save you?” the giant replied, not missing a beat. “Would you have preferred to be left in that building? Flynt’s men would have had a field day with your corpse.”

Connor noticed Sara stand up straighter upon hearing herself a soldier. Muse blinked and turned to the big man. The scrapper noticed a small change in her eyes. Something like pride? Whatever. Might as well get it over with. They probably already went through his empty wallet.

“It’s Connor, as you most likely know” Connor scowled. “Now can I ask yours?”

“Certainly,” the man replied. “I’m Raul. It seems you have met everyone here. Are you able to walk?”

“Uh, sure. Why?”

“We’ll all be waiting downstairs at the bar. Please take as much time as you need to freshen up, then meet us down there.”

Raul turned, cleared his throat, and left the room. Muse immediately followed him. Smith and Sara nodded at the action, tagging along just the same. The mechanic rolled his eyes and groaned as he got up. He was almost out of the door when he paused and turned to Connor.

“I think Smith left some old clothes for you,” he said. “Throw those on and come on down. Oh, and my name’s Everett by the way. Never introduced myself.”

With that, Everett closed the door behind himself. Connor watched him go. The scrapper finally noticed he was on a small folding cot. All around him were basic medical supplies and old anatomy textbooks. Seems what Smith had said was true about Everett. Near where the mechanic had been sitting was a monitor hooked up an implant scanner. Sitting up to get a better look revealed Connor wasn’t wearing a shirt. He didn’t care much about indecency, especially in Center. Though it was strange to see his new mecharm extend further onto his torso than before. The scrapper looked away after a quick inspection. At the foot of the bed was a small table. On it lay a pile of neatly folded clothes.

Connor swiveled himself from under the covers. He paused, cursing the fact he had worn his heart boxers. Oh well. The scrapper stumbled forward to examine the outfit. Groaning, he lifted a shirt plastered with some old band and full of holes. The scrapper gave it a sniff, surprised to find it clean. He sighed and began to get dressed. Better to find out what this whole group was about before he went dashing back to his apartment.

With his recent run of luck, the whole thing had most likely burnt down.

Ψ

Connor walked down the hallway slowly, wondering what his next course of action should be. These people obviously wanted some form of payment. But his only way out was through the bar downstairs. The scrapper checked every door along the way. Nothing. Looks like the only way out was down. Connor braced himself for the worst and descended.

Within a few steps, he was within the bar proper. It was small, only a few booths packed into a brick frame. Judging by its look, it had to have been a leftover relic from the original city before the creation of Center. Connor looked over the place, softing just a bit. The small bar’s atmosphere was cozy. Old materials, dim lighting, and plush interior all created a homey feel. The bar itself was dazzling, ringed with tubular bulbs. Several bottles were open and working hard. The top shelf supply was actually decent. Connor recognized several high dollar spirits at various levels all across. Polished brass and golden chrome over a real wooden bar. His eyes stole over to the menu, only to be shocked. The place was actually affordable!

The scrapper finally turned his attention towards the gang. Sara and Smith were sitting at the bar, his hand on hers. Raul was polishing a glass, Muse preparing a cocktail right beside him. Everett was singled out, sitting in a booth with his back against the wall. All five turned to watch him descend.

“That’s one of my fav shirts, dude,” Smith pointed. “You like any of Riot’s stuff?”

“Can’t say I’ve ever heard them,” Connor said.

Smith’s jaw dropped wide. Everett smirked. Before the rebel could get any words out, Sara jumped in.

“Oh honey, he probably just knows the words and not who sang them,” she quickly intervened. “Now Raul, what was it you wanted to tell him?”

Muse placed the cocktail in front of an empty seat. She gestured, and Connor took the hint. He sat down in front of the woman and lifted the glass. Lifting it to his lips revealed a massively tasty mint flavor with no kickback. Connor’s eyebrows went up in shock.

“One of the bar’s specialties for any who don’t normally drink,” said Muse. “I figured it would not be wise to serve you actual liquor right after you awakened.”

“Makes sense,” Connor said. “Your name is Muse, right?

“And your name is Connor,” shel replied. “Connor Nineteen.”

The scrapper felt his heart start beating faster.

“I never told you my last name,” he blurted out.

“Your wallet did.”

Raul tossed the thing over. Still blinking red from no funds, the ID sprang up a small holo of the scrapper’s life. Age, weight, eye color, the usual. Connor snatched the thing back and shoved it into Smith’s jeans pocket. Raul must have asked just to see if the scrapper would lie to him. Connor angrily downed the rest of the drink and wiped the traces off his lips.

“So what do you want?” the scrapper asked bluntly. “You already know I can’t pay in cash. I’m probably nuked when it comes to a job now too. Can’t go back to my place or I’ll get sold out, and Flynt definitely has somebody on the streets looking for me. So what do you want?”

“How do you know I want something from you?” Raul asked simply.

“Cut the philosophy crap. Your ‘soldiers’ could have left me for dead down there. Furthermore, they were snooping around Flynt enterprises looking for something. Nobody would get down there without some master plan. When they saw me get possessed, they must have realized there’s something I can do. I didn’t get to talk to that, what was it, Pinnacle much. But you must know about the thing. So, let’s be frank. You want me to just do a job, or join your little club here? Because those are really the only two options I’m guessing you have for me.”

Connor sat back and crossed his arms. He took in the dead silent gang in front of him. They all stared back. Some were surprised at the outburst. Others simply said nothing.

“You’re wise beyond your years, kid,” Everett snorted. “A bit too big for your britches, though.”

Connor didn’t even give the man a wayward glance. He simply focused on his so-called rescuer. All that could be heard was the subtle squelch of the rag on glass. Raul, satisfied with the cleanliness of the dish, placed it on the bar. He turned and looked Connor dead in the eyes.

“I want you here because you have something that gives us a leg up on Flynt,” the leader said, still calm. “As you said, you don’t have the full story.”

“That’s rich,” Connor jumped in. “So, what is it that’s inside of me? What’s so bad that would make me throw in with a bunch of barflies and their leader from jump? What, did Flynt revoke your liquor license?”

This was the dagger that pierced Raul’s armor. His stoic face adopted a noticeable frown. His brown eyes gleamed a bit under the lights. Every human gang member sucked in a breath. Muse even paled a bit. They had never seen somebody disrespect their leader like this. Worse, they had never even seen the man show this much negative emotion.

“Because, you brat,” Raul enunciated. “What’s inside of you, what your left hand is now made of. That is a being made of infinite energy that makes a nuclear bomb look like a wet matchstick.”

Connor could feel a pounding start in his head. All at once, his mecharm grew heavy. The scrapper looked down to see the lightning bolt begin leaking. Energy pooled around his wrist. In the midst of it was the grinning face of Silas.

“He's right,” the parasite chuckled. “I am the Pinnacle of Energy.”