Walker was unsure how anyone would react to the unnervingly wolf-like cat in the crate. It drew little attention in the streets, and he could see why. The red and white big top next to the hotel had people milling in and out with almost identical crates emitting various animal cries. Since Chet had his own bag to carry, Walker elected to carry the cumbersome crate whilst they walked to the center of the city.
As they delved further into the city, the smog of progress thickened. Progress was as fast as it could be whilst carrying the crate at a cumbersome rate, but eventually, they made it to the center of the city. The city street opened to a field surrounded by a roundabout that would make a kenophobic quiver.
Walker’s jaw went slack as he tilted his head back to stare at the chrome monstrosity. The Pavilion was a spiderweb of chrome that sprung from eight different skyscrapers. Two skyscrapers sat on either side; each street entrance created four main arches. While ostentatious and not unlike a college lawn, his eyes couldn’t help but widen at the sight.
“Lot bigger in person,” Walker exclaimed as his head moved on a swivel.
“Looks pretty cool first time seeing it but what makes this place special is what it provides,” Chet responded with a grin.
Chet pointed to under the Pavilion with a nod and they started walking again. As they approached the Pavilion, he began to get a better idea of the scale of the building. The beams that curved and connected above him each were girthier than the trunk of an oak.
“Uh huh,” Walker replied as the crate bounced off his thigh.
Soon, asphalt met grass as they neared the center of the thickening crowd, and Walker couldn’t understand why until the crowd parted somewhat. A pillar-like building sat in the center of the building surrounded by people in half-crescent, glass-covered booths. Chet sauntered up to a booth without a line and Walker followed.
“Name and federation ID,” the woman in the blue and silver commanded.
“Chet Thundercock, and I got my ID here…” Chet fished his wallet out of his pocket and slid a chrome identification card into the glass opening of the booth.
While the employee checked Chet’s information, Walker let his eyes wander around the courtyard. Not far from him was a group of guys each clad with matte-black Winchester rifles brimming to the rim with scopes and modifications. They polished each other’s knives and eyed the crate in Walker’s hand. A giant of a man tinkered with a small bronze cube similar to the other metallic spheres, pyramids, and objects littered his feet. A stout woman less than half his height sat next to him wearing spectacles with various lenses of different colors and thicknesses protruding who studied the same rocks Walker noticed were being sold in the street.
In the line next to him, a pruned man with poindexter goggles had a canister of a liquid similar to mercury stitched to his neck which gurgled as the man breathed. The one commonality he noticed between the various groups and people that lounged in the pavilion was that everyone kept their distance from each other. Some, like the group of Winchester boys, garnered more space than others. Walker filed that thought away for another time as the woman handed back Chet’s ID.
“Purpose of visit?”
Chet nodded at Walker to stand next to him.
“Submitting an assignment I accepted for completion, but I’d like to share credit with someone before doing so.” Chet replied.
“I see, and what’s the assignment number?” she asked Chet.
He told her.
She looked at Walker. “Name and ID.”
Walker cleared his throat, “I’m not actually, um, a part of the… federation.”
Chet chimed in. “Can we get him signed up and added to the submission before the review is completed?”
The woman nodded. “You can, however, we would have to withhold credits and any rewards until after the background check and acceptance request goes through.”
Chet glanced at him for confirmation. Walker was internally kicking himself at not coming into the city before and learning about this beforehand. While he could piece some of what was going on together, he was mostly in the dark.
“Yeah, that’s fine. How long will that take?” he asked.
“About twenty-four hours.”
“Sounds good,” he nodded and copied Chet earlier and handed the woman his driver’s license then told her his name and phone number.
After a couple minutes she handed back his card and said, “You’re added onto the ledge. Go around the back, show them your ID and give them the specimen. Then go to Building B for joining procedure. Have a nice day.”
They thanked her and walked around to the back of central tower where a garage-like entrance sat between two door-sized entrances. Chet and Walker presented their ID to a congruent man in another blue and silver uniform. The man took the crate with the large cat and returned with the empty crate.
Now without an animal, Walker turned to Chet and asked, “So, where’s Building B?”
After bumbling around for a while, they identified Building B as one of the tall buildings adjacent to the street. Inside the building, the beeping of photocopiers, the ringing of telephone lines, and the popcorn ceiling were a stark contrast to the booming traffic just outside the doors.
Chet sat down on a visitor’s mesh chair while Walker walked up to the desk.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
The man behind the desk greeted him and Walker asked to sign up. In response, he was given a tablet to fill out. Walker sat across from Chet and began filling it out and glanced at the top of the prescribed form.
“Wait, this is PIP? The whole bounty-hunter shit?”
“Mhm,” Chet responded as he flipped through a dusty swimsuit magazine available on the desk next to him for consumption.
Feeling imbecilic for not putting two and two together Walker worked his way through the electronic form and returned to the desk.
Without looking at Walker the front desk worker took the tablet and asked him “We offer someone you can provide a short orientation if you still have questions about PIP, is that something you are interested in?”
Chet yelled at him to take it and so he did.
“I’ll meet you out here after,” Chet called out when Walker was directed to go through a door to the left of the desk.
Walker trotted down an asylum white hallway until he entered another door labeled ORIENTATION.
Walker gripped the copper knob and stepped into the room. The door swung on its hinges to reveal splintered table and chairs that sat on legs as thin toothpicks. Without turning he closed the door and sat in the chair between him and the desk. The smell of damp wood wafted in the still air, and only heard the faint creaking of the lightbulb swinging above the table by a single cord. A couple of minutes passed after Walker had sat slumped in the chair, staring at the unusually barren desk.
“How are you doing Mr. Walker,” barked a voice from behind him.
Walker jumped in his seat and braced himself on the rickety armchair rests. His knees slammed into the table. A boulder of a man squeezed past him and the desk to flop himself in his chair.
Walkers rubbed his knees, “Didn’t hear you open the door.”
The man leaned forward into the pale light and clasped his hands on the table. His skin was as wrinkled as decades old wood and his knuckles were carved out of a mountain stone. Seconds ticked by as they stared at each other.
“That’s okay, I’m a quiet guy,” The words that tumbled out of his mouth sounded like they were scrubbed with sandpaper beforehand.
Walker glanced around the room, “So, I’m here for an orientation is that you or is there another orientation room I need to be in?”
“No, you’re in the right place.”
Silence fell upon them once again.
Another few seconds ticked by. Just as his eyes were beginning to water the man spoke again.
“I am Dr. Brussel.” He paused to scratch his chin, “Tell me what you know about PIP.”
Walker decided to copy Dr. Brussel’s technique of not saying anything for a few seconds before opening his mouth. The soft ticking of his watch clashed with the creaking of the furniture.
“Basically, bounty hunting right? People or groups post tasks to the government and the Federation allows their members to complete and turn them in for a completion reward provided by the same people who posted the task.”
Dr. Brussel slowly nodded. “An almost dictionary definition of what we do based on observation and the extrapolation of data of the Pavilion and the people who utilize it.”
A small smile battled for position on Walker’s face.
“—But an entirely superficial explanation.”
A battle that soon surrendered to the opposition.
“Most of the information you need to know to operate in the system of PIP you can find on the app, which the front desk or, if you have any, friends, can show you.” Dr. Brussel dropped his head to get more in line with that of Walker’s. “Got it?”
He replied in the affirmative.
“Here’s what you need to know. Yttrium is a hot spot right now and will probably be for a while. You have to be on your toes. You can’t be getting caught off guard by an old geezer like me.”
Once again, he paused to catch his eye line. “Got it?”
And once again he stared back and responded, “Yes. I got it.”
Dr. Brussel nodded.
“Two, do you know why Building B is such a shit hole compared to the innovative architecture of the Pavilion?”
“Shitty government funding?”
The gritty face of Dr. Brussel stretched and cracked into a grin.
“Well… yes, but more importantly it’s because it’s a numbers game. The government needs new blood like you to join up and participate. So why don’t they throw more money in advertising and providing information on what the federation actually entails?”
Walker wasn’t sure how orientation was supposed to go but he didn’t think this was the norm. However, he didn’t hate it. After his last job anything that wasn’t bullshit was welcome.
“Why?” Walker asked.
“Because they know people, and what the federation provides attracts people more than any shitty advertising would.”
“And what is that?”
“Opportunity,” Dr. Brussel said.
Dr. Brussel let out a few hacking coughs into his clenched fist that made Walker wince at the sound.
“As a member of the federation, you are granted access to a number of materials, items, and weaponry that the public would normally not be allowed to handle. Now, the federation is separated into tiers. You are on the bottom tier, and while you get access to the board and are able to accepting tasks, you don’t get much else.”
Walker nodded in agreement. It didn’t make much sense to provide access to certain privileges to anyone who can just pass a background check.
“Each tier is broken down into sub-tiers, and with each tier and sub tier you earn more privileges. My advice? Accept tasks you know are within your area of expertise. Some can get quite, dangerous, if you aren’t prepared.”
Walker furrowed his brows as he clenched his fist and felt the blood thumping in his arm and out onto the bandages.
“Complete tasks to gain credit to advance to the next tier. If you keep at it everything else you will learn over time. Got it?”
“Yes sir,” Walker said.
“Hope so. Any questions?”
Walker pursed his lips. “Yeah. What kind of doctor are you?”
Dr. Brussel leaned back into his chair and clasped his hands behind his head. The cartilage in his joints clicked and clacked with the rotary movement.
“I have a PhD in anthropology.”
“Must be a real people person huh?” Walker bit his tongue to not let a sly smile escape to his face.
Oddly enough Dr. Brussel winked.
“Be more aware of your surroundings next time Mr. Walker, not everyone is as friendly as me.”
Walker stood up to leave, but before he turned around, he stuck out his bandaged hand to shake Dr. Brussel’s hand. Without a word Dr. Brussel did the same and grasped Walker’s hand with his bear of an arm. Walker closed the door behind him as he left and headed to the lobby.
Chet was nowhere to be seen.
Frowning, Walker went up to the front counter and asked about the app Dr. Brussel mentioned. The front desk associate told him that he would get a text with the login information and to wait until he received it. Walker stood in the middle of the lobby as he scanned the room.
“Walker!” exclaimed a familiar voice and he turned around to see Chet walk out of the men’s bathroom with a magazine tucked under his arm.
“Who’d ya get?” Chet asked as he threw the magazine onto the table next to some chairs in the lobby.
“A big guy called Dr. Brussel.”
Chet slapped him on the shoulder, “He’s who I got, real cut-to-the chase guy right?”
Walker agreed as Chet glanced at his watch.
“Look I got some stuff to do, but let me give you my number. You helped me out today, maybe we can team up in the future. How does that sound?”
Walker looked him in the eye, “Sounds good man.”
They exchanged numbers, bumped fists, and Chet left with the crate while Walker left with a tired gait. Walker mulled things over as he made his way back to the apartment complex and to the door of his room. However, instead of reaching for his key card his hand paused at the doorknob. With a grunt, he pushed forward, and after some resistance, the supposedly locked apartment door swung open.
He dragged the sole chair in the room and pinned it against the door to defend against any potential marauders.