Kindness is weakness. This is common knowledge across all true corporations. The appearance of kindness, however, can be incredibly profitable but never be the sort to actually care. That way lies chaos and, most importantly, reduced profits.
-Chairwoman Nina Ellory, Ad Astra Space Shipping, Passenger, Mining, Acquisitions, Exploration, and Exploitation Corporation.
Alex had taken the time to lock up the coffee shop and slip the keys through the mail slot. The owner would understand, and she’d be grateful to have a working cappuccino maker again. Then, with not many great choices to pick from, Alex called a cab and took Sophie back to his place.
The house wasn’t large by any means, with a single bathroom and two bedrooms, but it was his and the loan had been paid off several years earlier. It had been luck, mostly, and a series of profitable encounters from some of the more benign odd events that had led to Alex, at thirty three years old, to completely own the house. Not that he was anywhere near rich, of course, but Alex found that the universe never let him starve. Well, not for long anyway.
Carrying the assassin through his front door had been difficult, as she had partially woken up and was a little wiggly and more than a little handsy. Fending off Sophie’s inebriated hands while keeping hold of her was a trial but he managed to get inside and close the door behind them.
As if triggered by being inside, Sophie became aware enough to realize that she was in a house. She just thought it was hers.
“Mom!” she called out drunkenly, “Katieee! I’m home!” Alex winced at the volume as Sophie continued.
“I brought a guyyyy home, but dun’ worry! I dun’ have to kill him!”
“Uh, listen, “ Alex said to her gently, “I’ve brought you to my home. Yours is too far away and I don’t have a car.”
Alex had owned a car, and technically still did, but he didn’t know where it was. The vehicle had disappeared one day but somehow sent him the occasional text message with snapshots of picturesque locations. Sometimes it was best to not worry.
“Your home?” Sophie blinked owlishly and looked around.
“Not for anything untoward I assure you. You can just sleep this off for the day, okay?”
“You.” Sophie said.
“Yes?”
The woman poked his chest as she spoke, punctuating each word with a jab as she did so. “You. Are. Sho. Nishh. Nyyysh. Nice.”
“Yeah, I’m a regular hero.” Alex sighed. “Please stop poking me.”
“Heh. ‘kay.” Sophie giggled.
She’s worse off than I thought. Unreasonably so, Alex mused as he passed through the living room, carrying the blonde toward his bedroom. As he reached the hall he stopped and turned back with a small frown.
On one wall of the living room was a small, round, green button. It hadn’t been there when he’d left earlier this morning.
It can wait, he thought. Sophie wasn’t exactly light, and her squirming made things awkward. Alex entered his bedroom and laid the woman down on his bed. She looked up at him questioningly, a crookedly cute half-smile on her face.
“Gon’ have your waaaay with me?” she slurred. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused, the winter snows hidden by fog. She didn’t seem to mind the idea, but Alex shook his head.
“I’m really not.”
Sophie frowned. “Why? You’re nishe. An’...an’...you think I’m shweeeeet.”
“Because the rum hit you way harder than it should have, and there’s no way you’re able to make that decision right now. I’m not going to touch you.” He said these words very carefully, making sure to define the moment in all its sincerity and seriousness.
“Boop.” Sophie said, reaching out a hand. She was probably aiming for his nose, but poked Alex in the shoulder instead. “Noshe touch for nishe not-dead-guy.”
“Yeah, good job. Right on target.” Alex replied drily. He heard a soft beeping sound that came from the living room. Whatever the button was, it was becoming insistent that he give it some attention.
Patience, he thought. Aloud he said to Sophie “We’re going to take off your shoes, alright?”
“An’ what else?” the woman said, giving him what she drunkenly thought were bedroom eyes but came across more as ‘insane madwoman escaped from the asylum and looking for love’.
“And we let you sleep without your feet getting all stinky.”
“You dare shay…say…feet. Not shtinky.”
“Exactly. Now stop wiggling them. Please. No, ow, kicking isn’t very friendly. Look you can keep them on if you prefer but your feet might swell.”
“Keep going. An’ going…” Sophie sang, trying to leer. Her aura of innocent ineptitude made her fail miserably.
“Just the flats, ma’am.” Alex held up the two shoes he’d managed to remove and did his best Joe Friday. Sophie giggled even though she was probably too young to get the reference.
“Niiiishe.”
“Now close your eyes and get some sleep. You’re gonna feel…honestly Soph, you’re gonna feel like shit when you wake up. That’s my fault and I’m sorry.”
“Bad word.” Sophie pointed vaguely in his general direction.
“Yes, “ Alex agreed.
“Be good.”
“Trying really hard. Sleep well, Sophie.”
“Byeeee.” Sophie closed her eyes and snuggled up to the pillows, mumbling. “Glad I didn’t kill you…”
Me too, Alex thought as he left the room. As he passed through the living room again he glanced at the button. Its green-ness seemed more green than before, and a little light had appeared above it that was blinking in time with the soft beeping.
“I’ll deal with you in a minute.” Alex told it. He went to the kitchen and filled a glass with water. From the bathroom cabinet he fished out a container of aspirin, and left both aspirin and water by the bedside where Sophie was now snoring gently.
Finally back in the living room again, Alex examined the button with some caution. It wasn’t necessarily true that two odd events didn’t happen at the same time, but usually Alex had some breathing room between each one. When they started combining or blending things became more complex and decidedly less fun.
Usually a lot more dangerous, too, he added silently.
But at this point Alex was certain that the button wasn’t part of the whole silly half-assed assassination thing. That had simply been a random chaos event, and Alex had dealt with enough of those in his life. The button felt dangerous; Not the object itself, but what would happen when he pressed it.
As he watched silently the beeping increased in tempo and volume just a little. Alex had to press the button. That was the thing about the events that he fell into so many times in his life - he couldn’t stop them or refuse to participate. They happened to him no matter what.
Going with the flow usually had him come to a conclusion with everything working out for the best. In the high danger events (which were not rare but usually limited to no more than one every few years on average) he felt that not swimming against the metaphorical current was what kept him from serious harm.
That, of course, didn’t mean he had to be stupid about it.
While he left Sophie to sleep off the rum (and seriously, that had to be part of the whole goof that she got so drunk so quickly, right?) Alex got changed into some more rugged and hard wearing clothing. Heavier denim jeans and an old leather jacket that had somewhat hardened over the years were his ‘I think shit may go down’ clothes of choice.
He took some nonperishable food and put it in an old backpack along with a first aid kit and the small amount of rum left from the earlier events of the day. Alex also slipped several tools in there as well - a couple of hammers and screwdrivers, a chisel, a packet of nails, and a roll of duct tape. This was just a precaution - he truly didn’t know what would happen when he pressed the button, but there had been several events that had caused him to run or be whisked away from home long enough that a few basic supplies were just common sense.
This could all be overkill, he thought. The button could simply open up a room that had never existed before, or turn everything in the house bright purple, or cause a little cloud to follow Alex around singing that song about raining men combined with the one about letting the bodies hit the floor. That had been a trying two days.
Still, he’d also been abducted several times in his life, enlisted once in an army that never existed, played diplomat to cryptids, and was dragged down a tunnel filled with whispering worms that told him the secrets of the long dead. Those were boring, by the way. The dead had the same little shames and secrets as the living.
The one thing Alex wasn’t concerned about at all was the girl sleeping in his bedroom. There was a feeling of…not exactly completion, but more that the assassination thing had run its course. Sophie would likely wake up, go home, and just feel confused about everything for a few days before forgetting about the whole thing. That was fairly normal, in what passed for normal in Alex’s life. The point was that whatever happened when he pressed the button, Sophie would be fine. Her part in his life of chaos should be over once she awakened.
Finally Alex stood in front of the button feeling like he was as ready as he was going to be. Whatever insane Rube Goldberg machine situation happened, he’d get through it. He always did.
On one hand he wore a battered old work glove, with the other tucked into his belt. Alex would press the button, sure, but without touching it thank you very much. He’d learned that lesson with the three seashells that had appeared in his bathroom one time. Thank God those hadn’t stayed long, the extraplanar creature attached to the other end of them wanting to feed on things Alex hadn’t been overly comfortable providing. Thankfully his neighbor had a cat and, more importantly, a full litter box.
Bringing himself back from his musings, Alex took a deep breath, reached out, and pressed the button. With a lurching sensation of movement, a brilliant green flash of light, and a whisper of air, Alex was gone.
The button disappeared along with the blinking light and the beeping sound. In the center of the living room a small metal-clad case coalesced with a rush of superheated air. On top of it was an envelope addressed ‘To Whom It May Concern’.
The day passed.
*
Sophie woke up with the sort of groan that expressed a deep unwillingness to still exist. Even before opening her eyes she felt the dull pain of a headache threatening to drag her into an alley and beat her senseless.
I feel…urgh. There was a strange taste in her mouth and her tongue was fuzzy, almost like Sophie had been licking a flannel shirt. The dampness under her cheek suggested that she’d been attempting to eat her pillow at some point. Sophie groaned, her dry throat turning it into a croak.
Knowing that she would regret it, Sophie cracked her eyes open a little. The room was barely lit with a dim light. Early morning, she thought, groping around for her phone. Instead her fumbling hand encountered a glass of water which she only just managed to not spill. Sophie whimpered at the sudden startled movement she’d had to make, and then remembered that she hadn’t left a glass of water by her bed since she caught her cat drinking out of it a year ago.
This isn’t my room.
The thought made Sophie shoot up into a sitting position which caused her head to throb dangerously. Her vision wobbled and Sophie valiantly forced her stomach to stop wanting to send its contents flying across the room. She let out a long, slow groan and clutched her head as the pain and nausea warred with the sudden inrush of memories; The events of earlier leapt into her brain and demanded that she view them in all their terrible glory.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
“Oh…my…gosh…” she groaned in a whisper. The coffee shop. The gun. The calm man with the gentle voice. The assassination attempt. All of it presented itself piece by piece to Sophie’s growing mortification. “What…did I do?”
After a few minutes of wanting to crawl into a hole and die, Sophie managed to bring herself to examine the current situation. She was in the room of a man she’d tried to kill for eight hundred dollars. A quick check showed she was still dressed except for her shoes.
Am I going to be arrested? The thought slowly passed through the aching synapses of the never-was assassin. Bleary-eyed, Sophie tried to process everything but the pain and nausea were too much. She remembered the water and gingerly reached for it; There was a small bottle of aspirin beside the glass, and fumbled the cap off almost desperately.
After taking a couple more pills than was probably recommended and drinking half the glass of water, Sophie laid back on the damp pillow with another groan. She remembered Alex talking to her, and the amusement in the man’s dark eyes. But not mockery - he’d been quite patient and kind about the whole thing. The man had basically niced his way through…through what she’d almost done.
Where is he now? She wondered if the man had left her here, maybe locked her in? She didn’t get that vibe though, but maybe that was the hangover talking. How did she have a hangover? A memory of her going through more rum than she’d ever had in her life held itself up before her in a mixture of smugness and embarrassment. I…don’t even drink. Urgh. Why aren’t I dead?
More time passed, and Sophie eventually managed to find her phone which had been wedged in between her belt of many pouches and her stomach. She whimpered as the screen lit up and stabbed her eyeballs with its brightness, but once she dimmed the display a little she was able to check the time.
7:03pm. The day was the same as before she’d fallen asleep. She’d missed a call and had a voice mail waiting. “Oh gosh…” she groaned again. “I can’t believe…urgh.” Sophie’s head threatened to menace her to unconsciousness, so she closed her eyes again and took some deep breaths wondering how long the aspirin would take to kick in.
Sophie’s phone pinged with a new message arriving. She startled herself, wincing at the nausea from the sudden movement, and had to stop for a moment to get herself together again. This was the roughest she’d ever felt on waking up, including when she’d had that raging sinus infection that hospitalized her for a week. Eventually she checked the message.
A smiley face, a smiley face with a sweat drop, and a question mark. That was it. The number was the same one as the missed call. She fumbled across her phone screen and listened to the voicemail.
“Hi gurrrrrrl!” a loud - oh, so very much too loud - female voice gushed, the forced cheerfulness evident in its tone. The voice sounded familiar to Sophie’s abused gray cells. “It’s me, your best and all-around not-guilty-of-any-crime friend Charlotte!”
Charlotte? Wasn’t that the name of-
“Listen, this is gonna sound, like crazy, “ the voicemail continued, “But apparently talking about assassinating someone over a cell phone is kinda like a bad idea, and can be used in court as evidence of something called ‘conspiracy to commit murder’?” the voice inflected upward at the end, as if finding the whole idea ridiculous.
“Anyhoooo, just setting the record straight for any government agencies that might have accidentally spied on its citizens that you and I are besties and we were just, uh, talking about a book, right? The plot of the book we’re, like, co-writing? Yeah, that sounds right.”
Sophie squeezed her eyes shut. She wasn’t feeling particularly generous right now, and Charlotte’s voice made her want to stab the woman in the throat. Just a little, of course. Sophie wasn’t a bad person or anything, all evidence to the contrary circumstantial and sort of silly.
“Sooooo, like, give me a call or something and let me know you’re totes understanding, and that we’re like, not gonna get arrested for any sort of mistaken belief that we’re actually, like, doing crime or something. ‘Kay? Thanksloveyoubestiebyeeeeee!”
The voicemail having run its course, Sophie laid in the gloom for several long minutes processing that. Part of her felt sorry for Alex for having dated the woman, but she immediately felt guilty about that because she really didn’t know Charlotte at all outside of the whole hiring her for…yeah. Well.
The aspirin still hadn’t hit yet, but Sophie managed to reply to Charlotte’s text message with a single thumbs-up emoji. Almost immediately she received a reply that was a string of three hearts, a thumbs up, sixteen laughing smileys and, for some reason, a clown’s face. Sophie dropped the phone to the bed beside her and closed her eyes again. She was doing that a lot, but it really did help.
What the HECK happened today? Sophie wasn’t an assassin, online course or not. That had been a ten dollar tongue in cheek joke - funny, haha, I’m a licensed assassin and even have a certificate printed out to prove it, aren’t I so random?! - but then she’d been contacted for a job. How the call had reached her she had no idea, but Sophie mused that maybe a little extra money would really be helpful and it seemed like a really good idea in the moment for some really stupid reason that didn’t seem to be able to come to mind right now, and then everything had sort of snowballed and now Sophie was hungover in a stranger’s bed. It was a miracle that nothing bad had happened.
Sophie felt her clothing with trembling hands. The fabrics were slightly damp from her own sweat (which, she added in her mind, totally went against the guarantee the sportswear ad had promised!) and had an unpleasant sort of griminess to them that she would definitely be fixing just as soon as she figured out how to get home, but nothing was out of place. Alex hadn’t, you know, done anything to her.
Except be kind enough to leave me some aspirin.
Sophie found her face turning to a half smile through the pain. The guy was so nice it was…nice. Words were a little hard to assemble, but the feeling was there. She’d have to find some way to thank him. And apologize. And move to the wilderness so she would never have to embarrass herself in front of anyone ever again, oh God she’d tried to kill someone!
Sophie lay on the bed for another half hour or so, haunted by the empty clicking of the gun she’d tried to fire at Alex. She had to recollection of actually acquiring the weapon nor ever having fired one before. Eventually her bladder made demands and her head had reached the point that it was no longer at critical mass. She slid off the bed, lurching unsteadily. The nausea threatened to manifest again and her vision swam a little, but she managed to leave the bedroom in search of a toilet.
She took care of things in the bathroom which happened to be right across from the bedroom. She’d turned on the light but immediately let out a pained whine and turned it off again as the brightness of a million suns crashed down directly into her abused retinas. After the spots cleared she was able to make things out in the dim.
Sophie washed her hands and absently scraped at her tongue with her fingernails and a sort of ‘plah’ vocalization. She briefly considered using Alex’s toothbrush, but she didn’t think the man would be so nice as to think it was okay to share a toothbrush with a hungover stranger that had a mouth which tasted like damp frogs had peed in it.
Who am I kidding? He’d probably just whip out another one from nowhere and hand it to me with a ribbon and a smile. The man had been insanely calm and kind about everything, and seemed to be so self assured that it bordered on cocky - but a nice cocky, if that were a thing?
Sophie settled for doing her best with her fingers and the tap water, and then peered critically in the mirror at the horror show as she saw that the cute fluffy bob-cut the stylist had assured her was adorable was now a blonde nest of tangles and snarls that could probably hide a family of small birds. She vainly attempted to fix it, but gave up after several minutes when things just seemed to be getting worse up there.
When Sophie entered the living room, hoping to find Alex and also hoping that Alex was elsewhere so she could sneak out and do a very strange version of the Walk of Shame to the closest bus stop, her eyes were immediately drawn to a small, flat case that sat in the middle of the room. All around it the carpet looked like it had been scorched, the synthetic fibers slightly melted.
Weird. Some sort of art piece?
I should open it.
No I shouldn’t, that would be rude. Who goes around opening up peoples mysterious glowing cases?
The case was glowing; Illuminated with a soft white light that didn’t seem to emanate from anywhere in particular, no shadows seemed to be cast on any part of the case. Definitely art of some kind. Sophie wasn’t a big art aficionado, but it didn’t look like anything she would want in her place even if she had been in the market to buy art that wasn’t fifty percent off at the dollar store. The thought of that poked Sophie’s attention with the reminder of her poor financial state, and she sighed as she rubbed her face with her hands slowly.
That was still a problem, but it was a problem for later. The problem right now was this case. No, she corrected, getting home is the problem. Maybe I can call Mom, and we can open this cas- she can give me a ride home.
The case. Her attention kept being drawn to it. It wasn’t subtle; A sort of ‘You Will Pay Attention’ sort of vibe that Sophie didn’t have the capacity in her current hungover state to argue with pulled at her. She wanted to leave. She wanted to open the case. She wanted to leave. She really wanted to see Alex. God, she hoped she didn’t see Alex. Open the case. Open the case.
Open the case.
Sophie felt a trickle of fear run down her back. The house wasn’t just quiet; It felt empty. Not empty of things - there was furniture and books and stuff, though there was a weird empty spot where a television would normally logically go - but empty in the sense that there was nobody else here. And that was disquieting.
Open the-
Sophie found herself picking up the small envelope that lay upon the top of the case. The envelope was a light cream color and written upon the outside of it was a very neat and precise ‘To Whom It May Concern’. Sophie found herself blushing when she remembered that she’d given Alex her name and, it seemed, he must have forgotten it. That hurt just a little. But at least he left a note, right?
Opening the envelope, Sophie found herself squinting at the typed-out letter inside. At the top left of the cream-colored paper was a simplistic logo; Two stylized letter A’s along with a shooting star. Did Alex have his own business? He had to, right? He said he wasn’t employed at the coffee shop where I tried to…aah! Don’t think about that, Soph.
Sophie scanned the letter, her confusion growing by the moment.
To whom it may concern,
The entity/sapient/being who owns/leases this domicile/dwelling/home/berth has been requisitioned to temporary[1] employment by Ad Astra Space Shipping, Passenger, Mining, Acquisitions, Exploration and Exploitation Corporation[2]
As this is a last-minute and mandatory requisition we recognize that it may cause undue hardship to any other entity/sapient/being who stays at/cohabits/resides in this domicile/dwelling/home/berth and thus compensation[3] has been provided.
Kind regards[4]
-Chairwoman Nina Ellory, of Ad Astra SSPMAEE Corp via auto-secretary #17133.
[1]Temporary employment may be converted to permanent at the discretion of management based on performance, a can-do attitude, and (as always) business need.
[2]A People Almost First[i] Company
[i]Or perhaps quite close to somewhere in the middle[ii].
[ii]More sort of near the back if you really insist on measuring[iii].
[iii] Asshole.
[3]Compensation is not legally required, but we are not heartless[*] and understand that compensation actually stops a lot of people from trying to come at us in the courts which is nice.
[*]Legally we must disclose that a number of our employees are, in fact, literally heartless due to their species and this shows that no discrimination against them is occurring or ever will. This comment is in no way meant to cause offense to those sapients without fluid-pumping muscles which makes it just fine to say according to our legal department so long as we explain it without actually using the words ‘sorry’, or ‘apology’. We are not, and never will be, sorry.
[4]Regards of any sort, including kind ones, have no additional monetary or obligatory value.
“...what?” Sophie muttered, reading it a second time. The footnotes are longer than the message. It’s almost like a drug commercial on television, if the commercial was also on drugs.
Sophie tried to puzzle it out. Was the letter some sort of live-action roleplay prop Alex had left there? Or maybe the guy was being silly? Actually, that could be it. He knew she’d be so frightfully embarrassed by the whole…thing…this morning that he was trying to set a more casual and playful mood to let her know that everything was going to be okay.
He didn’t have to use the word ‘a-hole’, but Sophie was used to being disappointed by other people’s inability to avoid crassness. She also understood that she wouldn’t actually die on this hill, but she’d put up a heckin’ good fight for it.
Alex had probably left something in the case for her, to make her smile. He seemed like the type; The man had been gently joking with her throughout most of their interactions, right? Yeah. This would be some sort of peace offering to let her know that they were cool. Or good. Sophie had never actually felt cool in her life, even when she’d dressed up in that assassin’s outfit that she wasn’t able to wear due to the cat being so cute and sleepy.
That was well reasoned, she congratulated herself while a single sober and coherent brain cell clamored for attention.
So, open the case.
Sophie kneeled in front of the case and found that it was held shut with two simple clasps that sprang open easily when she pressed them. She opened the lid and was greeted with the gleaming, glimmering, glistering, and other g-word sight of eight forearm-length ingots of what looked like gold and silver - four of each - and in a black velvet-lined indentation sat a scattering of sparkling gemstones of multiple colors and shine, none of which were smaller than a knuckle.
The woman looked at this, and then back to the letter, and then back to the treasures. Back to the letter again to confirm that this was ‘compensation’ of some kind. Back to the treasure because it shone and sparkled appealingly. Then, a guilty glance around the room. Alex didn’t say if anyone else lived with him. They hadn’t really had that much chance for a normal conversation. But Alex was apparently gone, and she was here…
Suddenly very clear headed, Sophie pondered the situation.
This is a very vexing moral conundrum, she thought, to which I shall carefully apply all of my code of ethics in order to resolve.
An hour later, she found out gold and silver in ingots that large were heavy enough to pull a muscle in her back. She barely managed to drag the case along like Sisyphus - if Sisyphus had decided to walk up the hill backward dragging his boulder with his spandex-covered ass in the air.