Smalltime (Part One)

I’m a shut-in, I admit it.
It’s been a while since the lot of us ended up here in Seattle, and for me, boredom has set in. Being a journalist in a post-apocalyptic world has more than a few drawbacks that have kept me twiddling my thumbs in anticipation of being able to do something worthwhile. Sure, I can write anti-Kin propaganda or updates on the goings-on of the Neutral Zone, but how the hell am I supposed to know that I’m being heard?
Meanwhile, everyone else in the Society seem to be going about their own business just fine. New people arrive every day. The economy is doing alright. Law enforcement is having some trouble with insurgent bandits and gang activity, but they’re doing a decent job. A friend of mine clued me in about some “underground” boxing clubs or whatever. Maybe that’s what I ought to do, cover boxing matches. After all, my job is to keep everyone around here entertained, so they don’t revolt or eat each other.
This is the reason why I’m always stuck in my office. I keep pondering what I should do instead of actually doing anything. I suppose the one saving grace of this job is the fact that little miss Virginia Valor pays me substantially for whenever I’m here, and that the place itself is actually decent. When we founded the U.S., the other council members and I got first dibs on office space for our respective branches. The only reason I picked the Washington Mutual Tower was its height. I’ve found solace in being able to fly around every now and then from the roof.
So yeah, what few tasks I’ve gotten done for the Media and Entertainment branch thus far are gathering up cameras and computers and writing whatever the rest of the council thinks is important, so it can be sent off to all of our lovely denizens. I don’t have a lot of employees right now, but those who work for me enjoy running errands and whatnot, so whatever. There isn’t much to do around here in between skirmishes with hostile groups anyway, so a lot of the time I just let them do whatever they want.
A knock at the door. Interesting. I looked down at my desk clock and saw it was just about dawn. I’d stayed up doing nothing but stare at my blank computer screen again. Out a window to the left I spied the sun slowly rising on the horizon, before whoever was at my door decided to knock again.
“Yeah, yeah, come in,” I said.
The door handle jiggled. I must have locked it and forgotten, something I tend to do whenever I don’t want one of my interns seeing me cry myself to sleep late at night. As I went to unlock it, the handle snapped and the door flew open before I could reach it.
In walked dear old Morie Nightingale. I hate this bitch. Yeah, I may just be sore from when she found out I liked her and rejected me, but she sure-as-shit didn’t have to be anywhere near as cruel about it as she was.
“Morinth, to what do I owe this visit?” I asked. “Also, you’re fixing that door for me.”
“Can it, flyboy,” she replied. “I have a job opportunity for you.”
I looked around the room and shrugged. “I already have a job,” I said. “Hell, I’m hard at work right now.” I went back to sit in my chair and reclined it, placing my hands behind my head as I closed my eyes.
Morinth stormed over to me and punched me in the gut, causing me to fall out of my chair and double over on the floor. “This is serious, Aero,” she said.
“You’re not doing a stellar job of convincing me right now,” I retorted, clutching my stomach.
“Fine, be that way. All I’m doing is trying to give you something important to do, jackass.”
The pain somewhat subsiding, I picked myself up off the ground and sat upright in my chair, looking up at her with a bit of interest. “Go on.”
“Purge and I brought this guy in. He’s U.S., but he doesn’t seem too committed. Given his… record, I personally wouldn’t let the prick see the light of day ever again, but…” Morinth stopped.
I stood up and walked over to my countertop against the wall, preparing myself some coffee and pills. “But what?”
“He could be valuable, that’s all I can say at this point. We need to sway him to help us out, and since we only just picked him up a few hours ago, he doesn’t seem to trust any of us.”
“How could I possibly be of service? What, do you want me to write him a pamphlet?” I asked. “I’m a journalist, I can fly, and I can make shit out of air, but I’m no recruiter.”
“You’re a pussy is what you are,” Morinth said, “however, you’re trustworthy. It’s someone like you, someone that has a way with words that could have him help us out.”
I don’t know what drove me to accept her offer. Maybe it was the opportunity to do something interesting for once in my life, maybe she was using her powers on me (I swear I saw an alluring flicker in her eyes, and her hair change to red and skin to white for a split second), but there were a few moe questions I had to ask.
“Do I get a raise?”
“Duchachis will handle that. He said he has money to spare. It’ll be worth it.”
“Alright, I’m in.” I took a sip of coffee. “Who is this mystery man of yours?”
“The Ringer.”
END OF PART ONE
Smalltime written by Mister Z
CLICK HERE for PART TWO
CLICK HERE for PART THREE
CLICK HERE for PART FOUR
CLICK HERE for PART FIVE
CLICK HERE for PART SIX