Sorry, No Visitations

Just imagine him…

Val slipped left. Then right. She pictured Long Arms’s fists twisting and turning like some sort of freaky snake octopus. She rolled under, bobbing and weaving forward. Left jabs to measure distance; a right cross for momentum. Then an immediate step-in to the left and a strong left hook towards the liver.

She pivoted left, readied her arms for another combo of jabs. Slipped back, and a strong cross towards the solar plexus—

A knock.

“Hello?” a muffled voice came from outside.

Why now? She was just getting into it. “Coach?” she yelled. “There’s somebody at the front!”

“Then go check it out!” he yelled back. “I’m busy!”

God. Such a hassle. She dragged her feet towards the door.

Another knock. Twice this time.

“I’m coming! Be a little more patient, will ya?!” What’s it gunna be this time? Goons? More mercs? Couldn’t she just get some rest for once? She’d been stealing crap day and night just to make ends meet. Why couldn’t the world just let her have her peace for once?

She begrudgingly pushed open the door. “What do you want?” she called out.

A well-built man in an all-black suit stared her back. He looked extremely wealthy. Absolutely out of her league in every way possible.

“Ms. Briarwood?”

How did he know her last name? She had never once used that name after she had left her family.

“Are you Ms. Valerie Briarwood?” he asked again.

“Yeah… What do you want?”

“You’ve used a simulaset lately, yes?”

She knew immediately what this was about. He was from Simular. Why was he here? Wasn’t that Azan guy supposed to deal with everything?

“You’ve logged into Simular recently, yes?”

Should she answer truthfully? She had a feeling getting on this guy’s bad side was definitely a death sentence. The dude was literally stacked in cash—a one-of-a-kind vintage painite watch, a tritium-infused display brooch, and those red diamond cufflinks! She knew what pricey looked like, and it didn’t take a thief to recognize that.

Nobody in the city intentionally walked around flaunting this kind of wealth unless they had something to back it up. Otherwise, they’d be super easy prey to the local gangs around here. And yet, this man was brimming with confidence. There was no sign of weakness.

She had to tread extremely carefully.

The man voiced a long, tired sigh. “Why are you staring at me like that? These aren’t difficult to answer.”

“What do you want from me? I don’t have anything.”

“I’m just looking for information about a missing boy.”

Bread. She was right. He was looking for Bread.

“Have you seen a boy during your visit to the developers’ headquarters? From your Roscoerama win?”

“A boy? You mean Azan? ‘Cause I’ve seen him. He showed me a bucket on the tour.”

“No, younger.”

“Uh, I’ve seen a bunch of kids during the tournament.”

“Have you seen a boy while you were at the headquarters? He’s about four or five feet tall.” The man showed her with his hands. “Around this height.”

Val shook her head. “No, all I remember is that stupid bucket.”

The man sighed again.

“Who is it, lass?” Coach called from the back.

Shut up, Coach!

“Is somebody else back there?” the man asked.

“Coach. My boxing coach.” She motioned towards the sandbags. “We’re a boxing gym after all.”

“Can I talk to him?”

“Why?”

“Lass?” Coach walked up behind her.

“Coach!” She silently mouthed back a bunch of profanities. Hopefully, he got the message. “This, uh, gentleman here wants to know if we’ve seen a little boy during our very short and uneventful session in Simular.”

“Oh, no we haven’t, sir.” Coach forced an uncomfortable grin. It was his signature expression he made when he was nervous.

The man nodded. “Then why haven’t you returned to Simular?”

“What?” she asked. “What do you mean, why?”

“If my research is correct, I believe you went to Simular for money to fix that eye of yours.” He pointed at her bandaged eye. “But it seems you haven’t fixed it yet. The next Roscoerama tournament is tonight. With your skills, I’m sure you could win.”

“That’s none of your business.”

“I’m just stating the obvious.” He enlarged a holographic video of her Roscoerama performance. “Anybody with this degree of skill would return for an easy payout, wouldn’t they?”

The man was annoyingly persistent. At this point, she was running out of excuses to make. It also felt like he already knew the answers to the questions he was asking. Was he testing her? Was she doing herself a disservice trying to lie her way out?

“It just wasn’t enough money,” Coach butted in.

“So you’re suggesting that you’ve had access to a better source of income than this? Then why is it that you’ve entered Simular in the first place?”

“It was for relaxing,” Coach added. “Is this supposed to be an interrogation? Because I don’t think we deserve that, do we, lass?”

“Uh, yeah. Seriously. What’s your problem?”

The man backed off just a little. “That wasn’t the intention. Alright.” He put away the video and started walking away. “Have a nice day.”

“Coach?” a voice rang out from the backroom.

Bread! Val caught her breath. Did the man hear him?

Coach floundered back to the backrooms. His attempts to make it not so obvious were having the opposite effect.

The man stopped in his tracks. He briefly glanced back.

Val jumped in front of him. She awkwardly waved. Beads of sweat rolled down the sides of her cheeks. Smile, she told herself. Look natural. “Sure is hot today…”

The man raised a brow. But after a long, almost standoffish silence, he finally turned back and drifted off.

Val slammed the door shut; Coach stared back with ragged breaths. Bread peeked out from behind the corner. She quickly scanned the vicinity one more time. No sign of him. Nothing. He was gone like the wind.

Finally, she breathed. And she let out a deep sigh of relief.