“He will win who knows when to fight and when not to fight.”

—Sun Tzu

Rick Prophet had dreaded this conversation. He’d taken the early and late running jobs—the more dangerous jobs—specifically to avoid having this conversation. He sighed and glanced up at Hector, his boss. “I just need more time.”

“That’s what you said last month,” Hector said.

Rick nodded vigorously. “And I came through last month.” He blinked a few times and looked to the window high on the wall behind Hector’s desk. A slow-moving ceiling fan cut the dusty air where the sunlight came through. The alkaline smell of chemicals wafted in from the industrial laundry that occupied the rest of the warehouse just outside the office, below them on the lower level.

Hector’s smile looked friendly but Rick knew better. A shark smiles too—right before it bites.

“Yeah, you came through. A week late, but you came through.” His boss stood. “Look, man. You’re a splendid courier. Wish I had ten like you, but like I said when you asked for the…” Hector paused and his smile grew wider. “Procedure—let’s call it that.” The forty-something, gray market boss glanced around, as if someone might be listening. “I told you then—”

“I remem—”

“I told you then you’d have to improve your station to afford the upkeep.” Hector nodded slowly and narrowed his eyes. “But you don’t want to take those jobs.”

Rick sighed and pressed his knuckles hard into the desk. Those jobs. Right. “You don’t have anything above board that…” He glanced at the door, at the shiny doorknob surrounded at each side by the grime of so many dirty hands. It was as if, no matter how dirty the hands had been, their constant activity only served to make the knob in the center look cleaner. The blower for the AC came on and rustled a paper on Hector’s desk that looked like it had been there forever.

Hector was right. Rick had busted his ass for the first three months and cleared the amount he needed to safeguard his future, but the last four months had been harder. Kristina-Anne—his wife—hadn’t recovered as quickly this time. What would happen if he was away from home too long?

Hector had remained quiet, like he’d have waited as long as he needed to let Rick complete his thought, but when Rick said no more, Hector’s face softened. He no longer looked like a shark now, which meant he was more dangerous, not less. “The wife?”

Rick let out a frustrated sigh and nodded. “She’s not sleeping.”

“You need something for her?”

Rick sat back into the worn office chair Hector had set out for visitors. A broken spring jabbed into his backside, but he ignored it. “I can’t pay right now. Jesus, man—you sign my checks. You know how little I’m making.” He winced. It sounded like whining, and Hector hated that. Rick hated it too.

His boss nodded slowly and took him in, like he was considering options. He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when the old-fashioned trill of a landline phone rang out in the dusty air. He raised an official-looking finger. “We’ll figure it out, just let me take this, yeah?”

Rick nodded and Hector answered, raising the archaic plastic receiver to his ear like they did in movies set before everyone had an interface. Hector liked the old device. Rick figured it was just a sentimental attachment, but Hector told him once that older tech was harder to monitor.

Rick slumped. How had he gotten here? How many awful mistakes had he made to end up dead broke, scratching in the dust like a fly with only one wing, pinning his hopes to a dream of family and a safe bed? He was thirty-five going on seventy—used up.

I did it to myself.

Rick perked up as the volume of his boss’s voice rose.

“You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me!” Hector reached for the base of the phone and carried it with him as he stalked to the corner of the office and back. Whatever the other party said, it couldn’t have been good. Hector’s face went through different phases of shock and anger. “And—” He grunted. “And you’re telling me this now? Yeah, I know you—” He sighed as the other party must have cut him off. “Yeah, I know you need this, but come on. I have needs, too.”

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Rick winced. Whatever was happening in that conversation, it got Hector’s blood up, which was exactly the opposite of what Rick needed. He stood, caught the other man’s eye, and motioned to the door. “You need me to—”

Hector shook his head and emphatically motioned for Rick to sit back down.

Great. Rick let out a heavy sigh. His thoughts turned to Kristina. Someday, baby. Someday we’ll get clear of this shit.

Hector had been carrying on for several minutes, getting visibly more upset with every additional turn of the conversation. “Oh, you’ll help? How fuckin’ generous of you.” The mid-forties man looked older now, and not as fierce. Tired. Rick had seen that look before. The fight was draining from the older man. “You know how much money I have riding on this? Where am I gonna find a replacement? All the best fighters are—” Hector nodded and rubbed his forehead above his eyes. “Yes. Yeah, but we don’t have…”

Hector’s gaze froze on Rick and his eyes narrowed. The hint of a smile crept over his face. “Hey. I may have someone.” He stared fixedly at Rick, locked-on the way a predator single-mindedly focuses on prey. “Yeah. Let me get back to you.”

Oh no…

Hector’s movements became graceful and easy again, and he gently placed the receiver in the nook of the phone’s base and set the unit back on the desk.

Here it comes.

Hector leaned in. “Didn’t you used to be a fighter?”

Rick let his face go slack, so it expressed nothing. “Never was, no.”

His boss’s shark-like smile was back. “I’ve heard things…”

Something turned within Rick, something like an old rusty wheel or the corpse of a life so long dead it didn’t smell anymore. He frowned. “‘Fraid not.”

Hector sat back in his chair and formed his fingers into an acute steeple shape, resting them at chin level. Rick thought he saw something new in his boss’s eyes, something like admiration. Or was it recognition?

The other man cleared his throat. “Look, we all got things…” Hector dropped the smile. “We all have those things we don’t talk about.”

Rick kept his face blank. “I don’t know whatcha mean.”

“No?”

Rick shook his head.

The air was heavy as Hector waited him out, seeming as pleasantly open as a priest or a car salesman. When Rick matched his gaze and remained silent, Hector relented. “You a betting man?” Hector laughed at himself, like he’d told a joke. “Not now, I mean you ever been a betting man?”

Rick’s faint smile broke his façade of blankness. “I’ve made a wager or two. Long time ago.”

“How about this? I have a feeling about you.” Hector pointed at him and winked. “Even though you’ve never been a fighter, I got a feeling you’ve got that sort of spirit.”

Rick’s inexpressive mask was back.

“Ever heard of Ruckus Online?”

Rick raised his eyebrows. He’d heard the name. “A game?”

Hector clapped as if congratulating a child for coming up with a correct answer. “Yes! A game. There are a few of us… elder statesman—”

Rick couldn’t hold back a guffaw. Elder statesman, indeed.

“Maybe that’s a bit much.” Hector waved his hand as though batting away a good-natured joke at his expense. “But a few of us old-timers have a friendly game going. A bit of friendly virtual fisticuffs. Harmless, really.”

“Simulated.” Rick said.

“What?” his boss asked.

“You said virtual fisticuffs, but I’m pretty sure Ruckus is one of the newer deep sleep simulation games.” Rick tapped the access port implant at the base of his neck. Every citizen had one now, though his was merely government issue. He’d bet real money Hector had some sort of fancy upgrade.

“I stand corrected.” Hector leaned in. “You know a lot about this shit.” An accusation, not a question.

“I read,” Rick deadpanned.

A dark look came over Hector, but then a smile broke across his face as he pointed at Rick again. “Huh? See? Fighting spirit, right there. That’s what I’m talking about.”

Rick relented. There’d be no getting out of this. “What do you need, Hector?”

Hector motioned toward the phone. “You heard that, right? Of course you did—how could you not?”

Rick nodded.

“All us guys, we got fighters for this game, and to make it interesting, we put money on our guys, and a few of the other members of the wider”—Hector hesitated, like a computer spinning up to search a term—“distribution network, we all put some money on the line.” He shrugged and frowned. “To make it interesting.”

“I’d gathered that.”

“My fighter can’t make it. That was them telling me.”

Rick didn’t say anything.

“Look. You’re only two-hundred short this month, right? How about we forget it?”

“Really?” Rick frowned.

“And your wife, she’s not sleeping?” Hector opened a drawer, pulled out a plastic pill bottle, and placed it on the desk. “This should help. Just don’t let it be every night, okay?”

“Not every night. Right.”

“All you gotta do is try it. If you’re right and you’re not the fighter I think you are, then no hard feelings. You’re still clear this month and the pills are a gift. No charge.”

He would fail. That was a fact. If he so much as tried to throw a punch…

Hector seemed to notice his courier had trouble taking him at face value. “I mean it. I just want you to give it a shot.”

Rick let it hang in the air for a while. “I’m not a fighter.”

“Just give it a shot.”

Rick reached out for the pills. Kristina would sleep through the night. “Lead the way.”