“And finally,” the man calling himself John said as he placed several of what looked to be USB drives on the table in front of him, momentarily asking, “You know what money is? Good. These are devices that facilitate the storage and transfer of money. You’ll use them for nearly everything.”

Picking each of them up one by one, he explained, “These are standard models; They’re meant for day-to-day spending, so they don’t hold much—but few people are likely to hassle you over flashing one around. But don’t do that, anyway, you’ll only make people think you’re an easy mark. The security on these devices makes them about as good as fingerprints—not perfect, and they only indicate what was purchased, not who bought it, but still, you’ll want to change them from time to time. There are five of them.”

“This is a silverware model. Again, you get five. They store more, but not by much. They’re meant for accepting wages or paying them. Or…other things. You can also use them to impress the common lot, but I suggest avoiding that too.”

“…And this, this is the elite’s version of a standard model. Meant for more money than either you or I will ever see. The sight of it alone can open certain doors for you if you know how to use it. But again, just don’t. Keep it; hide it; use it for your long-term savings. You get one.”

Removing another one of the devices from a small, strange bag, he continued, “This special little one is meant for…less than legal means. Completely untraceable. Unfortunately, that anonymity comes with a caveat. You try to use this for anything legal—buying a new pair of socks, for instance—the system will immediately recognise the lack of identifiers, and then you’ll be answering some uncomfortable questions. To the cops, if you’re unlucky; to someone else if you’re extremely unlucky. There are two here.”

Placing them all back in the little bag, the man then seemed to remember something. “Oh, also, uh…try to keep it in the bag; It’s made to hide it from various forms of detection and external interference. With the right hardware, someone could transfer the money right off of these without even coming near you.”

“There’s about a hundred ‘Roo’ on each of these. Try not to spend it all in one place…oh, and also, before I forget…”

The man reached back into the go-bag and removed one of the several packages from within it. The collection of hi-tech tools that he had already gone over earlier. Removing some type of collar from that package, the blonde man raised it and said, “Now, this is a device used to distort your voice…”

Goodie pointed to his neck and began to speak, but before the mangled words even escaped his lips, the man across from him cut him off.

“I know—what you got there can do way more than this can…but you don’t want people to know what you got, so wear it. Best way to hide something is to give anyone that comes looking something else to find.”

Goodie took it, and after an awkward moment of trying to figure out which way it was supposed to face, he put it on.

“Press here to activate,” John indicated by tapping his throat where the device would have been if he wore it, “then connect it with your virtual display. It should synch automatically.”

Goodie pretended to do as the man had instructed.

“Yeah…I can see it’s not on. I never thought I’d ever say this, but you’re going to have to learn to trust people, kid. Won’t get far if you don’t. Anyway…”

The man put the package of tools away and returned to the one remaining on the table.

“And this is the last item you have to know about,” he stated as he removed five new devices that looked exactly like the ones from before. “These are your new identities. Well, no, these just contain the information on your new identities, everything’s stored in one of the World Banks. I’ve had one of my people modify them with the results from your scans, so these should perform better than normal, though I would not push my luck with any of them if I were you.”

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“Now, I don’t know how much you know about I.D.s, but these will not handle everything; there’re numerous forms of identification that we just can’t…no, I should rather say ‘won’t’ handle, there’s just too many to account for. But these should handle the common things. Renting an apartment, getting into a bar…so on.”

He separated three from the collection.

“These three are, to be honest, crap. They’re throwaways, meant for anything that won’t require more than a confirmation of age or some cursory check. Someone takes more than a casual glance at them and they’ll know they’re fake…or that’s what I usually say; as I said, your scans should give you a bit more bang for your back, so you might even be able to fool a low-level system check. Might. Good news is that these types are easy to get hold of; lot of rich kids wanna get drunk before twenty-one. You’ll just need the money to pay for them, which is, honestly, a much bigger problem where you’re concerned.”

“These other two will not be so easy to replace…the best we can make, so they should hold up to anything but a city core. Learn them; remember them; don’t waste ‘em.”

After packing everything in the bag and handing it to Goodie, John took a moment to breathe, take a sip from a steaming mug of coffee that looked too hot for comfort, then continued.

“As I said before, what we just discussed was important, but not the most important thing we need to talk about,” he started. “If you’re the type of person that I think you are, you’d have already asked yourself why I’m handing over a bag of very expensive, very hard to get items?”

John retrieved and placed a small tablet in front of Goodie, the screen displaying a long list of items and their monetary values.

“The answer’s not that I’m a really nice guy.”

The number at the bottom contained enough zeroes that Goodie felt the blood in his veins instantly grow cold. A rather idiotic reaction given that he had no clue what the value of that number truly meant—despite what the man calling himself John claimed. For all Goodie knew, it was the price of a deli sandwich.

“You…” his voice squeaked, the thing that had been implanted within him fighting his attempt to sound like himself, constantly trying to enforce a more feminine setting for some stupid reason. Rather than wasting time struggling, he forced himself to relax and let it do as it wanted, then asked his question again, his words now sounding like they came from someone named Brittany or Jennifer.

“You know I don’t have money, so what do you want?”

“To be honest, nothing.”

Goodie gave him a wry look.

The man simply smiled in response, then replied, “Yes, you’d normally be correct in questioning that, but I am being honest. This whole affair—not just you, but this entire night has made the local environment somewhat unwelcoming to people like me. So, I and my cohorts are leaving. At least, for a time.”

“Then what was the point of this?” Goodie asked, while tapping the tablet.

“Well, as I said, we’re not nice people; but neither are we monsters. It’s been a long and costly night, and some of us are feeling as if the universe might have turned on us with what has happened…”

“…and what has happened?” Goodie interrupted.

The man ignored the question.

“…so, helping out a little lost lamb such as yourself is just the thing for addressing such concerns, a way to balance the karma, if you will. Of course, that’s only for some of us.”

“And I’m guessing that you’re are not part of that some?”

Again, the man ignored his question.

“The number at the bottom of that screen is merely the cost of everything we’ve done so far. It is not the cost of what it would take for us to continue doing what we’ve done.”

And there it was.

Goodie’s shoulders slumped as he inquired, “And what would that cost?”

“This isn’t just about the cost, mind you—we are a business, after all, so we need enough of a mark-up to make it worth the effort in providing our services. Sooo…about ten percent on top of what’s already there.”

[Inquire as to the consequences of missing a payment]

“…and what if I miss a payment?” Goodie asked, already knowing the answer.

Or at least, he thought he did.

“Nothing,” the man replied in an offhanded manner as he pulled at some lint that clung to the chair he was seated upon.

Goodie gave him a look.

“M’yesss…normally, you would again be right to question that, but right now, despite everything that’s happened, we’re sitting at even; that bag was meant for our late friend here, paid for in advance…”

[There were two of them]

“…so the value of this parting effort comes mainly from everything that needs to be replaced and repurchased,” he said, nodding to the late Mr. John, “and as I said before, this is also to appease the more superstitious amongst my lot, so I’m inclined to be charitable at the moment.

[He’s lying]

Goodie had to keep himself from rolling his eyes as he read those words.

“Beyond that, we here are not in the business of being loan sharks…you know what those are? Yes, well, we’re not them. We offer a service—one that I believe you need. If you believe otherwise, so be it. There won’t be anyone popping round to shake you down, nor break a kneecap or two, nor will we inform those that might inquire as to your whereabouts. What goes around, comes around, and that sort of petty behaviour would only cripple us in the long run. Admittedly, most of the temptation to do otherwise is subdued by our upcoming departure, but in general, it’s just bad business.”

The man took a sip from his mug as he waited for Goodie to process his words, a moment of silence passing before the man calling himself John realised that the boy across from him was not going to respond. He took a look at the face of an antique wristwatch, turning his wrist up, the face resting on the underside of it rather than the traditional position of being on top, then said, “Right, I’m sure this is all a bit much for you, but our time is up, and both of us need to go.”