Don't Shoot the Messenger

Strig stepped into the bar. A few stragglers sat here and there, but no one out of the ordinary—except for the portly businessman, balding and suit-clad, holding a box and sweating profusely. That must be my guy, Strig thought. He walked over to him, steel-toed boots clanking against the composite floor. His long duster hung heavy on his shoulders.

The businessman’s gaze shot up to Strig when he got close. “Are you the courier?” The businessman leaned over to look past Strig and around the room, as he spoke in a desperate hush.

“That depends. Are you Donald?” Strig asked, staring at the man.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Is that the package?”

“Yes, it is. Were you followed?” The businessman stammered.

“No. I would know if I was.”

“What? How can you be sure?”

“I just am. Now do you want me to deliver this or what?”

“Yes, but I’m coming with you. I have to ensure it makes it there safely.”

Strig felt a pang of frustration. “What? Hell no. I’m a package handler, not a goddamn taxi. You’ve already hired me, and I’ll tell you when it’s delivered.”

“Sir, please! I absolutely must keep it with me.” Donald looked around once more and hissed, “I cannot be separated from it until it reaches the office, for more than a few reasons.”

Strig looked closer at the package the man clutched to his chest. It was a waterproof black plastic briefcase, with quasi-code clasps and handle that was locked to the man’s wrists with handcuffs. The case wasn’t going anywhere without the bald man attached to it. He felt something… odd. Like he knew it would be fine if the man came with him. A strange feeling.

“Fine. But we’re going right now, so get your ass to the car.”

Rain poured down the sides of buildings and flooded the streets of the city. Strig grabbed the fob from his pocket and his aircar whooped and clicked as the doors unlocked. He beat the businessman to the car and shoved all of the papers and trash from the passenger seat into the rear seats. Glancing back, he saw the man holding the case between up to his face to shield it from the wind and rain, his rather baggy coat and trousers flapping in the wind. “First person to have in my car since god knows when, and it’s this guy,” Strig muttered to himself. He ran around the hood and got behind the yoke, as the businessman squeezed into the seat next to him. Strig wasted no time—he started his car, put on his harness and headset, and pulled back on the yoke to lift the car into the air. Donald was still struggling to put his harness on while clutching the case to his chest.

After a few minutes of airtime, Donald broke the silence. “So, you have a driver’s license huh?” He asked, looking around the cockpit.

“No, I actually stole this car off the last guy who wanted to ride with his package.”

Strig looked over at Donald, who sat there with a horrified expression. He chuckled. “Relax, I’m kidding. Yeah, Donald, I have a license. Normally it’d be pretty expensive for a civilian like me to get one, my company subsidized it for me. Guess that’s one perk of going with a corp instead of solo.” A driver’s license would’ve cost several month’s wages for Strig. He still wasn’t sure that he made the right decision by working for a corporation, but he needed the extra money, and he made friends.

Strig was no stranger to delivering packages all around the city on foot, though having a car—and the collectors leave him alone—was worth it.

“So, do you like working for… Wait, what was your company called again?” Donald puzzled. Strig looked over at him. “You forgot the name? You’re the one that hired me.” Donald looked surprised. “Oh, I just mean, ah…” The fat man trailed off, looking a bit green in the face. “What’s the matter, never ridden in a car before? I know I’m no chauffeur, but I’m not that reckless.” Strig was only half kidding. He looked to his passenger and saw that he was about to be sick. “Oh shit.” Strig grabbed a plastic grocery bag, and held it to the businessman. “If you’re gonna blow chunks, I’d rather you not get it on the upholstery,” Strig explained as he shook the bag. He did his best to not get sick himself while Donald retched into the bag. He wiped his mouth with his hand, tied the bag, and tried to hand it back to Strig. “What the fuck? No! Throw it out the window or something!” Strig rolled the passenger window down, and the businessman tossed the waste out. Strig felt ridiculous having to take this guy with him, but it was part of the deal… Wasn’t it? He felt a little foggy. Maybe the street noodles he had for dinner were bad. He still felt that funny feeling, like something was off. He noticed his passenger fiddling with his watch.

Before Strig realized, they were at the destination. The car ride felt like it should’ve been longer. Before he got out with Donald, he checked the flight timer. They had been in the air for almost two hours. It felt like twenty minutes to Strig. He thought that was odd but said nothing; He couldn’t recall how they got there.

Donald stepped out of the car, still clutching the briefcase to his chest. He gave Strig a sad smile. They were in the middle of a very nice plaza; most of the buildings were closed, but a few lights stayed on. Strig recognized it, but couldn’t quite place it for some reason. Something nagged at him. Donald saw him looking around and thinking. He tapped his watch, and increased the signal strength. “Strig!” he shouted through the wind and rain. Strig turned and looked at him. “I need you to finish your delivery.” He held out the briefcase. Without thinking, Strig walked over and took it from him. It was very heavy, and it beeped rapidly. Inside the car, dispatch was lighting up his radio, trying to get him to respond. The watch burned on Donald’s wrist, working on full capacity. He looked down at the briefcase, and a small voice in his head told him he was in trouble. But he kept walking. Strig took the briefcase over to the bottom floor of the main building, Donald controlling him like a puppet. Strig’s head went blank, and he did was he was told. He heard 9mm handgun go off, and turned to the noise to see his coworker, Lizzy, standing in the rain, gun in hand. Donald collapsed. Strig’s head came back to him. He looked down at the briefcase he was holding, the beeping rapidly increasing in frequency. Suddenly, he knew where he was—he was at HQ. “Throw it!” She yelled, arms up. He tossed the briefcase, and she caught it. She threw it into the cargo bay of Strig’s car as he watched. She set the autopilot to ascend, and the car rapidly rose as she jumped out and hit the ground hard. He ran over to her.

“Lizzy!” He pulled her up to his shoulder, and he them ran to cover, Lizzy’s feet dragging behind her, doing her best to stay with him. They had just made it behind the walls of a nearby fountain when Strig heard the loudest sound he had ever heard and felt a shockwave hit them despite their cover. His hands shot to his ears and stayed there. A cacophony of crashing, glass breaking, metal creaking filled the air of the plaza.

They stayed crouched behind the wall out in the rain for what felt like forever.

Eventually they both stood, Lizzy limping, as they looked out. A good chunk of the plaza was covered with flame and wreckage. Floodlights and alarms were going off. Several armed guards came out, and medivac cars were hovering, great jets displacing the rain below them. Strig’s hand shot up and he yelled “Over here!” trying to get the attention of a med officer or guard. A few med officers came over; he flashed his ID badge and they helped Lizzy onto a stretcher and got them both out of the rain. “I don’t need a stretcher! I just twisted my ankle,” He heard Lizzy yelling as they took her to the back of an open medivac.

The next day, Lizzy and Strig stood at attention in their chief’s office. The large letters DSTM, the name of their company, were etched in the glass behind the desk. The Chief was grilling them about what happened last night, and why a small bomb went off in his boss’s plaza. Strig began his explanation:

“Sir, I went to pick up the package at 1104 hours last night, from the client at an unnamed dive bar on the other side of the city. He informed me that he had to travel with the package and he had it handcuffed to his wrist. I said no at first, at which point he switched on a Hypnotek device, and convinced me to let him travel with me. We flew towards our headquarters, and the breach alarms didn’t sound because we were travelling in a company car. Before I knew it, I was walking the explosive briefcase over to the base of the main building, still under the trance, at which point I heard a shot. I looked over and saw my fellow courier here, holding her sidearm out.” Strig glanced over at his coworker, giving her a thankful smirk.

She returned it. “And Lizzy, why were you still here after your shift? You weren’t scheduled for night shift yesterday.” The Chief said. Lizzy looked at the ground. “Yes sir, I’m aware. I was off the clock and was sorting organizing and cleaning my delivery room, sorting out packages and papers.”

She’s not that organized, Strig thought to himself.

“I saw Strig’s car fly back and knew something was wrong. I still had my scanner on, and I heard dispatch calling to him, trying to ask why he had returned early.”

The Chief nodded, accepting her explanation. “We think this was an attack orchestrated by one of our rival delivery corps. We’re not sure who yet, since we can’t trace the origin of the delivery order, and our only known perpetrator is dead. We examined his body, and he did indeed have a Hypnotek device on him, concealed in his wristwatch.”

Strig and Lizzy shot a glance of disbelief at each other. Lizzy piped up first. “Sir? In his watch?” “Yes,” The Chief said in a grim manner, pacing behind his desk. “I don’t think any of us were aware that electro-hypnotic technology had progressed so fast. Upon closer examination, the device itself had a self-destruct built in, and went up in smoke when our scientists tried to open it. Damn thing nearly caught the lab on fire.”

Strig stood in disbelief, embarrassed and disappointed and angry with himself that he was put under a trance so easily.

“Anyways,” The Chief continued, “I know you’ve both been cleared for duty, but go ahead and take a few hours off. Both of you, come back at 1800 hours for night shift. Dismissed.” “Thank you, sir,” The two said in unison. They saluted by performing the mock motion of retrieving a letter from the inside of their coats and holding out to a recipient, and removed themselves from the Chief’s office.

They walked down the street to a nearby Up-N-Down burger. The rain had turned to a light drizzle overnight, the sun peaking through clouds and high-rise buildings. Strig was still a little shaken, Lizzy still limped slightly, and they both had a little trouble hearing.

“Don’t be upset with yourself, Strig.” Lizzy said over her fries. “I can see it. You’re always too hard on yourself.”

He stayed silent, looking out the window, ignoring his food.

“You gonna eat that?” She pointed to the Not-Chicken™ Sandwich she bought for him. He shook his head and pushed it towards her. They sat in silence for a moment while Lizzy ate, until he finally spoke.

“I can’t believe he had a Hypnotek device on his damn wrist. Where did that fat bastard even get something like that? I thought my training to resist that kind of thing would’ve helped.” He shook his head. “But I’m glad you came to save my ass once again, Lizzy.” He looked at her with a smile. “Thank you.”

She gave him a mock punch on the shoulder. “Don’t mention it, Strig.” She then looked at him seriously. “For real, don’t mention it. I was lying when I told the Chief that I was just cleaning and organizing. I was looking for something.”

He looked at her, and knew she wasn’t kidding. He had seen that look in her eye before.

“I had a feeling. Chief doesn’t know you like I do. What were you doing, then? What did you find?”

She swallowed the food, and said in a surprisingly soft tone, “I don’t know anything for sure yet, but after last night, I think it makes sense.”

He smiled and leaned back in the swivel chair connected to the table. If anybody could figure it out, it would be her. He wanted to know more, but there was no point in pushing her to tell. Getting secrets out of Lizzy was like cracking a safe. “Just be careful,” he said, without a hint of sarcasm. She nodded seriously.

Strig looked out at the sun, realizing it had been a while since he’d last seen it. He was always sleeping in the day and awake at night. It was always raining, and if it wasn’t raining, it was cloudy. The city was a strange place, but he felt like he belonged here.

He realized something.

“Dammit!” he exclaimed.

She looked at him wide-eyed. “What?”

“I don’t have a fuckin’ car anymore!”

She tried to hold in her laughter.