HC:Pacifist | Ch. 48 - Drake

Drake threw the duffel bag over his shoulder and took a deep breath. How many years had it been since he'd smelled the outside world? Drake was disappointed. The air wasn't as fresh as he had imagined it. It seemed that humanity wasn't doing much better with pollution than back in his day.

He crossed the street and consulted the hover bus schedule. He couldn't help but locate his old house on the map. He was sure that his wife and kid were no longer there. Archie must be taller than him now. He suppressed the overwhelming desire to track his family's whereabouts and see his son. It wasn't easy to resist the urge. He could easily find them if he tried. But there was a reason they weren't on talking terms after all, and the least he could do to apologize for his past was to leave their future free of him.

The hover bus arrived, and with the bit of pocket money that jail had given him on his release, he paid for the bus ticket. He found his seat and felt the engine’s hum come to life, lifting the metal beast off the ground.

The bus headed toward New Lisbon. It looked the same as it was twenty years ago. More than the tall buildings, a tree was the first thing that captured his attention. He felt a tear roll down his face as he saw the beautiful towering creature. The green leaves played with the lights and shadows creating a dance that he had seen millions of times before but only today he could hear—had trees always been this beautiful?

He couldn't take his eyes off the tree as the hover bus gained distance from it, but soon enough, they came across another one, again drawing awe from Drake's old, incarcerated spirit. More and more passengers hopped in. The prison was on the outskirts of town, so he was right now the passenger who had been aboard the longest. He had seen all of these people arrive and sit on the bus.

Even though he was mesmerized by the beautiful view seen through the windows, old habits died hard. He couldn't help himself from counting how many people had come in or left the bus, imprinting their faces into his mind and ranking them in order of the potential danger they represented.

A mother came into the bus towing along her son. He was playing a video game on his smart holo, and Drake spared a look at the game. Even Drake, with all that he had seen in life, was amazed at what this mother was letting her child do inside the game. Were it in real life, the child could have easily been Drake's cellmate.

Drawn by his gaze, the child looked at him for the first time. The child's eyes followed Drake's tattoo entwined in his arm and ending in his eye. His eyes then landed on his stump. Drake looked away.

He could see from the corner of his eye that the boy was pointing to where his arm used to be and telling about it to his mother. He was annoyed that the woman didn't bother disciplining the boy and kept playing in her smart holo instead of reprimanding her child. Drake sighed. He thought that kids couldn't get any worse. He had been proven wrong.

He pulled a chip off his pocket. It was his most valuable treasure, not because of what it was made of but because of what it represented. Studying its familiar features, he threw it into the air and caught it again. It dissipated the annoyance coming from the pair sitting across the aisle.

He put the chip into his pocket and pulled out another one. This one brought a warm glow to his heart, a father's pride. He was looking forward to seeing how lil' Roth was doing. He had sponsored many fellow rageaholics, but few had touched Drake's life the way he had.

The changes he'd seen the boy make. He had blossomed into a fine young man under his watch. Even he was afraid of him when they first met. But lil' Roth had become so docile and kind. He wondered if Roth had been able to secure an apartment for them both, as he had said he would. It had been very kind of him to offer to work with Drake. The boy was good with plumbing and carpentry. He was sure that he was getting by somehow.

There it was. Elm Street. He pushed the button before him, signaling the bus driver to stop and let him out. He grabbed his duffel bag, put it around his shoulder, and exited the bus.

He was delighted to see how many trees there were on this street. Elm Street, hey? Sure enough, there were plenty of elm trees. As he stepped on the leaves and felt them crackle, he looked at the numbers on either side of the road, trying to determine where number 73 would be.

This was one of those neighborhoods built in the thirties, back when everyone wanted a small garden. They were willing to live in narrow houses that didn't provide much space in exchange for a little patch of green in front of their home.

After walking for a few minutes, he saw the number 73. It was roughly 100 meters away. Drawing a little closer, Drake's instincts screamed alert, and he turned immediately toward the house to his right and knocked.

Even though it had been twenty years since he'd left the streets, he could recognize a surveillance vehicle when he saw one. It was parked three houses down the road from Roth's mother's house. If the stories Roth had told him were true, maybe the boy was in trouble. He had hoped he had started his life with no hiccups, but it seemed that had been wishful thinking.

"Hello, sir?" The woman coming to the door was frightened, seeing his big prominent dragon tattoo, but then saw the stump and lowered her guard, allowing herself a look of pity in her eyes.

"Hello, ma'am! I'm Drake, and I'm offering my services to everyone in this fine neighborhood! Do you need any help around the house or in the garden?"

The lady's eyes again were drawn toward where his other arm should be. Drake moved the stump around so that she could take a look. He could see her blushing.

"Oh, this old stump? Chainsaw accident, ma'am. It has made me a fine gardener, with extra care for security. Why don't you let me attend to those bushes? They could use some little trimming, wouldn't you say?"

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid I don't have work for you." She closed the door.

Drake left the house, spared a glance at the car as he turned, and went to knock at the next door.

"Hello, sir?" he greeted in a friendly manner.

"I'm sorry, who are you?"

"I'm someone willing to offer you a helping hand!" Drake said, waving with his only one. The man stared wide-eyed, not even bothering to disguise his repulse.

"Oh? This? Shark attack, sir. But you'll be surprised with how strong and durable it's made me. I'm the finest handyman you'll ever see."

"We-e-e we have robots here. We don't require outside help." He slammed the door on him.

*

"I don't get why you're always eating those damn chips when we have to surveil this house. Just the sound of you chewing them makes me sick."

"My commander always told me that it helps with a stakeout. It's not easy to keep yourself focused for so many hours. He always encouraged us to have snacks."

"My commander taught me to be silent."

"Hey. Movement at 12 o'clock." He adjusted the bionic lens in his eye and zoomed in on the figure.

"What is it?"

"Hmmm, looks like an ex-con. He only has one arm, and he seems to be canvassing. Looking for a job, probably."

"Tsk. This damn economy isn't easy on anyone, hey? Poor soul. He can't even afford a bionic arm."

"Send a bumblebee, just in case. I want to hear what he's saying. My hands are busy."

"Holding a bag of chips? I swear that one of these days, I'll tell Yillian about this nonsense you do." He pulled a little sphere from the glove compartment, cracked open a window, and threw the sphere. Wings came out from the metal shell, and the little robot took off toward the vicinity of nr. 73 in Elm Street.

*

"It was a kitchen accident, sir. But I promise to prepare the finest sushi you'll ever see."

"N-no, thank you. We have a kitchen robot here."

That was number 71; next was number 73. He heard the faint distant buzz almost outside earshot. When the breeze rustled the few remaining leaves on the trees, he couldn't listen to it. He took one of the chips in his pocket and prepared it before knocking.

As a sliver of light came from the door, Drake flashed his hand, throwing the chip against the wall. It bounced back, hitting the nano drone behind him, hopefully sending it flying for a few meters. It wasn't enough to decommission it, but it was good enough to buy him a few seconds.

"Hello, who is it?"

Drake allowed himself the quickest of smiles when he saw that this was the first person who saw the stump and didn't even flinch, looking at it. One could learn much from seeing people's reactions to his disability.

"Ma'am, we don't have much time. My name is Drake. I was Roth's sponsor in the Rageaholics program. There is a car three doors down that is surveilling this house. Invite me in and ask me to do some work. Your son is in danger."

"I'm sorry... I..."

"A leaky faucet? Worry not, my dear. I can do wonderful things with this skillful hand of mine."

After a few confused seconds, she managed to play along.

"S-s-ure. Come on in."

As soon as they entered and the door was closed, he stepped forward and cut the lady off before she could say anything.

"Are you saying that my..."

"Yes! Your faucet! It's an easy fix. How long has it been leaking?" Nothing under the lamp.

"I don't..."

"Probably a while then." Nothing in the mantle. He gestured for her to keep speaking, pointing to the faucet.

"Yes. A while now."

"I see." Nothing in this door... bingo!

He studied the bug implanted here. It was a model similar to what he was accustomed to. Good thing that bugs hadn't developed much in the last decade. After studying the device for a few seconds, he found it was already disabled. There was a third player afoot.

"All clear, ma'am."

"What is the meaning of this? Roth has been transferred to a black site prison!"

"No, he hasn't. He was released over a month ago."

"I'm afraid I don't..."

"Mrs. Bessie! Is everything OK up there?" Hearing the young male voice coming from the basement, Drake had already jumped over the armchair, careful not to make any noise, and held the first thing he'd found that could be used as a weapon. It was a pen.

Drake leaned his ear against the door that led downstairs and signaled Mrs. Bessie to send him off.

"Yes, Brian! Everything is OK. Don't worry. Just a handyman fixing the faucet."

"OK, now." After a few seconds of silence, Drake tried to make sense of the situation.

"Who is that?"

"One of Roth's old classmates. He heard that I was having a hard time and asked if he could rent the basement. He pays me rent, and all I have to do is to leave food and clean clothes upstairs. He's been very generous.

Now, tell me about my son."

"Ma'am, you said that he was sent to a black site. Why do you think that?"

She hurriedly found the box and pulled out the letter the Justiceer had sent. Drake turned it into the light. It was a masterful forgery, but it was fake. But to have the resources to produce this... his fears were proven true.

"Ma'am, I believe something terrible has happened to your son."

Ch. 47 - Appraisal

INDEX

Ch. 49 - Summons