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“Sorry, kid,” the manager mumbles, turning his back to me. The envelope he casually slid across the table feels like it has shrunk compared to the last one.

“There has to be some kind of mistake, Leo,” the words fumble out embarrassingly. This can’t be happening. Peeking inside the faded yellow envelope, I don’t want to believe what I’m seeing. This can’t be it. “I thought my sick day was covered?” The balding old man sighs and pays me no attention, instead gazing out the parlor’s window at the depressing outside world. “I-I can’t work with this, if it can help, I can work some extra hours as make-up…”

“Boy,” Leo’s droopy eyes never once cross paths with mine, “that’s all I can do,” he rests upon the counter, stroking his silvering goatee. “I’m having to pinch nickels and dimes here, too. It’s a troubling world out there, boy.” With a grunt, Leo props himself up against the table. “Running a business like this isn’t going to cut it anymore. In all my years of running this place, my token of gratitude is in that there packaging.”

“No,” I mumble. Leo doesn’t so much as flinch. “No, mister Leo—I swear, t-there has to be an error, there has to be!”

“My boy,” Leo interjects, a bunch of no-good hooligans speed by outside, briefly obscured by the neon, half-functioning CLOSED sign covering the cover. “I counted it myself, thrice. It made my heart throb knowing I made no error. It’s a fact that I cross-checked just as much with the book.”

The pressure in my chest intensifies. “Surely—okay, but… surely I can pick up more hours? My other job is cutting hours, too, Leo—please, you can’t do this to me. I’ll work whatever shift you give me—“

“This is your last day here,” Leo responds. The aging manager slowly reaches for the cabinet and also for a small glass, to which he pours himself a drink.

I let it sink in. I let the words pierce and soak in as I agonizingly watch Leo smack his lips and down the hatch in one shot. The glass is let down gently—more forgiving than Leo’s treatment of me in recent memory. Come to think of it, Leo has always been sort of distant to me. Everyone that I thought I was acquainted with has been acting the same way.

The two of us remain silent and not once does Leo look up to see if I’m still present. No, maybe my aura has simply never been sensed by Leo in the first place. I show up for work, stand here, clock out and go home—and maybe drop by for the paycheck.

Leo doesn’t so much as offer me a drink, either. I watch the caramel-like liquid pour out of its crystal clear container, splash into the drinking glass, and mend together with the pinkish soft drink Leo had on hand. And much like my allowance, disappears into the abyss as the cocktail drains through his lips through tiny sips here and there.

Leo continues to pay me no mind. Instead, his focus is on the television; a demonstration in our city. Anti-war protests on the war on Perdenes. Close-up of draft cards being burnt and intense stare-down with NOSP anti-riot units.

He hasn’t addressed me by my name, it’s always you or boy. I feel as though he has never actually acknowledged me for who I am.

“S-sir,” I finally croak, but Leo doesn’t even bat an eye, he merely takes a shot from his glass. It’s slammed harder than before, making it a little unnerving. “Am I to take it that I’m being fired?”

Nonchalantly, Leo answers, “I did say it was severance pay.”

“So shouldn’t I be getting this as a bonus? Um… I mean… the normal pay and the severance pay.” I realize too late I may be grasping at straws here, but it never hurts to ask. This is simply just so out of the blue—so random. Or maybe I’m simply so caught up in my mundane life I simply never saw it coming. But there were just no warnings… why, God, why?

Only a heavy sigh as Leo licks his lips. “It’s your final paycheck, sorry, kid.” A mere apology. Nothing more, nothing less. “That's all I could scrounge up, boy. A fish has to answer to bigger fish, you know?”

What the hell? Saying sorry doesn’t solve life’s problems. The thought rings so loud it’s as if telepathy could also, funnily enough, fix all of my problems. My lips remain tight-lipped, and with a short bow, I excuse myself. Not so much as a goodbye, or acknowledging me by name for the first and last time. Nothing. That's all I am in this city. It’s all I am in life to others. You. That guy. Sometimes even a measly hey.

As I leave, a man in a tan business suit and fedora bumps into me. I’m quick to regain composure—expecting a rowdy customer, it’s an instinct to immediately apologize in the face of immediate retaliation—but I’m taken back when the man is kind enough to help me steady, A cigar hangs from his lips as he taps it and stares me with a big radiating grin. At me, of all people. He’s clean-shaven for the most part, and shiny—a bit of peach fuzz but otherwise a gentleman from out of this world. Whoever he is, he’s the polar opposite of the fat, lazy Leo I’ve known for a year. Hell, he sticks out like a sore thumb so much it hurts.

“Sorry about that,” the man says in a clear baritone voice. “I believe you dropped this young man—hm?”

“Ah…” Leo, as if waking from a daze, turns his attention to the commotion—colors drain from his face and just as fast recovers. Leo practically jumps out of his skin to greet the customer. “Mister Constantine! I didn’t see you come in—“

“Is this his paycheck?” The one called Constantine says in a less calm voice. It’s like the room’s atmosphere became more boiling than even the hottest summers we’ve had in Yefren. He’s quicker than I in swooping the pasty-yellow envelope, flapping its less-than-desirable amount in Leo’s face. Leo clears his throat—for the first time in forever making eye contact with me, his pupils shaking. But our brief gaze breaks off in a matter of seconds. Leo reluctantly nods.

“Constantine…” Leo stammers, “I can explain, er…”

Constantine cuts him off with the clicks of his tongue. “Don,” Constantine retorts with a heavy sigh, “Don Constantine—we’ve been doing business for how long and you still fail to respect me, Leo?” Leo practically gets on his knees, the color seemingly draining from his body again. Constantine looks him over, then at the counter and television.

“You lousy drunk! Drinking during the day after cutting loose your one and only employee,” a sharp glance at me—a sly smile before he turns his attention to Leo, “were you thinking of closing shop, running away—“ Leo gasps and shakes his head, beads of sweat rolling down his fat face, “hoping for a new change of life in the Clusters above? Life isn’t that simple, Leo!”

Leo cowers by covering and shaking his head. I cannot tell rather if I should be horrified or impressed that I would ever see Leo in this state. But when Constantine looks me over, I can’t help but feel a storm of intimidation crash over me. “Please,” Leo whimpers, looking up at Constantine with a peeking eye, “please—please, don’t misunderstand the situation. I’m simply… I’m simply planning on operating solo for a while, at least until I can pay for your fees.”

“Oh! How pathetic you’ve gotten, Leo! It almost hurts my soul to see you like this,” Constantine cries, grabbing my former manager by the collar and setting him on his feet. Leo wobbles but uses the counter to relax as best as he can. “If you need some extra muscle—I have a cousin in need of some pocket money… perhaps I can put in a word for him to work here?”

Wait… huh? Bewildered, I almost want to step in and ask why he wouldn’t just ask Leo to rehire me, but Constantine continues before I can say anything. Leo is just as equally baffled—but then again, he could just simply be too groggy to properly process the information. “Of course, I’ll let you off with…” Constantine paces the room, tapping his chin. He whirls around, the jacket on his shoulders fluttering behind him. “Hmmm, four months’ worth of protection fees, I suppose? But in exchange, you must pay him properly… he’s quite the frivolous spender you know? I’ll even forgive your past debts for the past couple of months as a sweetener. A fresh slate, Leo my boy.”

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

I’m taken aback. Why is this happening? Why should Leo even accept this offer or whatever it is… then the thought strikes like a thunderbolt. Leo is a victim of racketeering. I can’t believe it. But the fact that our part of the city is infested with gangs—it really shouldn’t come as a surprise, but it does.

“And you, my boy,” Constantine takes long strides to wrap one of his great, big arms around my shoulders. Constantine reaches for my puny severance pay and puts it in my palm.

“Mister—er, Don, sir…?” I stammer, what’s the meaning of this? Before I get a chance to register what’s happening, Constantine reaches into his back pocket and slaps it onto the small, crumbled envelope. At first, it’s a few wads of paper—and then the realization strikes me hard. Constantine must’ve sensed it when I gasped since his strong arm keeps me steady. Had it not been for him I would’ve most likely just fainted.

Several dozen wads of Ruthenian marks practically spring up in my hand. Some slip out of my cupped hand but all the same, I feast my eyes upon a treasure that I would never even think would be possible. And these aren’t just small chump changes like Leo’s severance pay—no, these colorful marks aren’t just ones, fives, and tens, this is practically a huge clump of fifties and hundreds!

My heart won’t stop beating rapidly. My hands shake, and it’s like jolting out of a dream when Constantine pats me on the shoulders. “Ease up there, champ!” Constantine says with a happy grin. “Consider it a parting gift from yours truly, eh? Don Constantine, that is,” Constantine flashes me bright white and gold teeth that are just as blinding as the wads of marks in my possession.

This is too good to be real. This is heaven. I turn to show my gratitude to the Don but my mouth is only dry—I can’t express my total joy. For a moment, it’s like I never got fired, it’s like I own the world—like all the past grievousness until now were converted into good karma.

“Good to see you in good spirits, champ,” Constantine says with those gleaming eyes of his. He waves to Leo and with his strong presence, motions me out the door. It truly is no longer like I’m getting laid off or fired, but otherwise welcomed into a new path in life. A path of riches. All the worries I have are seemingly swept away.

“As a further extension of my gratitude,” Constantine says, “I want you to contact me for money—for protection, anything…” Constantine slips into my breast pocket a business card, tucking it in and patting it like it’s his pride and joy. “This is my side of the strip—“ Constantine whispers into my ear, “I own this territory. You need something—money… I can lend, problems with a landlord—“ Constantine tilts his hand and waves to the mirage of skyscrapers, “I can turn a few cheeks here and there… my boy,” with his large hands, he makes me face him, “I take care of those in need,” mesmerized by those emerald eyes, I take in his every word. All that fear, all that intimidation I had of this mind and the thought of illegal racketeering are like they never existed.

“Go on, kid, make as much of a living for yourself as you can. That should last you for…” Constantine cranes his neck, his eyes rolling around as he seems to decide for me how my life plays out. “Half a year, a year if you’re lucky. Now, I do expect some of that money to drip back to me” he raises a hand, flat and tilting it a bit as he talks, “think of it as a… spider’s long web—a lifeboat for those in this purgatory of a city, ready to save those one foot in the grave and,” he makes a fist, pulling the fist away from my face and towards the distant mirage of industrial buildings that do what I can do not—reach for the skies, the very heavens themselves, “propel them into a new life!”

With a roar of laughter, Constantine pats my back. “These are tough times, kid. Watch out for yourself. You might be on the road to the high-end life—somebody in this nobody world, or you might be waddling through the marshes of Perdenes with a heavy machine gun in hand. Riddled and face-down the dirt, gurgling in a pool of your blood…” the eerie thought looms over my mind, bringing me back into the fantasy I was presiding in.

But still, glaring at the huge wads of Ruthenian marks in my hands—the shaking resumes, and I take deep breaths to calm myself. This is reality. This really is happening. Maybe Don Constantine is right—this could be my ticket to no longer be just a hey you to everyone. I can finally be me.

“So long, kid,” Constantine says, “I’ll catch you around soon, I hope!” with a chuckle, Constantine gives me one last pat and heads back into the parlor. The half-functioning CLOSED neon sign buzzes on as the door slams behind him.

Stuffing the money into my pockets, I head off into the dusky night with reinvigoration. Full to the brim with thoughts on what I should do with the money. Invest it in stocks? Pay off the rent I’ve been following behind on?

Passing by streets and corridors, some are cordoned off by NOSP and their Legionnaire-embedded riot units. It’s a sight all too common these days. If only I could’ve taken the train or even a taxi home, but sadly even those went on strike. The whole downtown area has been teetering on chaos, and I should thank the stars above that I’ve always been too poor to move in there. There could’ve been a whole lot of prospects if I had my way in life.

Staring at the gloomy sky baking me in its charming moonlight, I tug on my coat and breath out icy breath. Maybe I should move out of this side of Yefren altogether. It’s always been too chilly here. I hear there are smaller towns and ranches on the Eastern side of the planet that are slightly warmer for most of the year. Never had the money, and never dared to do so until now.

The sight of a rocket launch in a distant spaceport leaves me with wonder. Up above, high above the atmosphere of space, Side colonies have always been advertised as an escape from mundane planetary life. My parents dreamed of going to space, but they died old and penniless—and now I’ve sort of inherited that dream of theirs. But… I could never accomplish that. I could never be somebody—never any more than a hey you to people with this life. I wanted to go to space in the hopes that would change… but instead, I languished here, as Constantine would put it, in purgatory, reaching out into the abyss grasping blindly and desperately for hope.

And the light answered.

Examining the money again. My bated breath lets out the occasional icy cloud. There’s enough money here that I could easily head migrate to space in a matter of days—even tomorrow if I so desire. And still, possibly have enough funds left over that I could find an affordable place and a small motorized vehicle if I’m lucky. I have no real belongings to hold me down—a bunch of extra clothes, mainly. A couple furniture I could sell off for a pretty buck. It’ll be trivial, I could be on my way tonight for the next flight if I wanted!

But…

I squeeze the money. What about Constantine? Enamored as I was by his baritone voice, it’s only now I have a nagging feeling I’m falling victim to the same thing that poor Leo does. Like I’m a fly nonchalantly waiting for a Venus fly trap to crush and devour him.

Life threw me a curveball. A nasty curveball. I owe someone I barely know anything of but likely knows about me and where I live money, a potentially dangerous individual who’s not exactly a law-abiding citizen of the Federation. Someone who owns an extortion network and punishes those who don’t owe up to their favors. Someone capable of snipping the lonesome web of hope in a pit of eternal despair.

I may be in a worse predicament now, than if I hadn't bumped into him and simply tried to slog along and apply for work—as incredibly difficult as it is—elsewhere. I’d work in the sulfuric mines if I have to.

Would it be appropriate to return the money, though? After that little scene he did, I have a feeling he wouldn’t take it so well. He went out of his way to make me feel better about myself—give me a head-start in this crappy city that’d eat me alive either way. It’s either I die on my terms, or I die on his terms. The money may be insane, but who knows what demands he may have in store for me in the future? If I didn’t know any better… I imagine he’d have some muscle-men ready to collect his share of the rent. Who knows what that man is capable of if it frightens some so docile as Leo?

I stop in the knee-high snow. The rocket’s ignition still lingers like a painted line among the dark canvas of space.

I should turn back and return the money; to apologize that I simply cannot take it out of principle. That I’ll crawl out of hell myself one way or another. I don’t want to live the foreseeable future indebted to someone else, knowing that what I say or do wrong might rub someone like Don Constantine the wrong way.

I’ll shoot my way to space with no one else’s help. My parents had each other and no one else in even their darkest hour, doing their best for themselves and their son. I’m not about to languish here forever!

Boots crunching through the snow. Some chuckling circulates around me. A tap on the shoulder—it’s a bulky feel, not unlike a finger. Turning around I find myself greeted by a group of street punks. True to their nature, they wear colorful striped jackets and demonic face masks. And judging from the bats in their possessions, they don’t seem like they’re on their way back from a game of ball.

“Hey, you,” the biggest one of them, a man with shaggy hair sprouting from his red demonic mask. “You lost?”