Who your friends are.

There it was, in all of its weather beaten glory, the little black book John worked so hard to keep safe was now going into the safety of a new owner. A new owner who wasted no time in changing out of their previous attire, not sure why that change was necessary but I am no position to contest that John thought to himself for a few seconds, and into a sleek vanta black two-piece suit tailored to fit. A calming deep voice with a testy wavering tone broke the silence and started the sequence of six shotguns being cocked and without a doubt pointed in John’s direction.

Once upon a time the section games were in full effect and couriers all over the globe would search high and low for compatible people who could topple the odds of the trials that were recorded in the black books that John Held tenderly in his hands. These books were valuable for two reasons: One, they held the specific information about each challenge set before the competitors. A Bookie’s wet dream, the opportunity to fix the odds in the house’s favor. As for the second reason, these leather bound books went for six trillion a pop. With there only being six sections cut out on the entire globe and it being some odd two hundred years since the last book on earth was ever bound, it was no wonder the asking price was set so high.

John Wilson shook himself awake, bleaguered and groggy, about sixteen hours earlier it was going to be particularly interesting day since it was going to be inevitably spent with Darren Mock. It wasn’t that Darren had a spiteful or hateful personality although he could switch from serene to extreme in the blink of an eye at the mention of money he owed someone or whenever the conclusions he would jump to would carry his peaceful disposition aloft into a frenetic mania that would leave him completely unpredictable or unreasonably unproductive in ways that would probably irritate a child. This man is the the one John was doomed to a night of clubbing, drinking and dining at John’s expense despite the multiple assurances from Darren that he had the funds to cover all of the expenses of the night. John’s interest was only peaked on one subject that Darren glanced over hastily to get to the part that critically affected him: getting in the club in the first place. Which would have been strange for anyone else but John, this was unsurprising considering Darren’s reputation for signing checks his ass could not cash. John sat up in his bed, and a projector protruded from the wall neighboring the hovering bed, John now completely sat up in rubbing his eyes to clear the gathered eye boogers collected from the night before. This was a common side effect of the blue light evolution. Screens became relics of the past to be replaced by projected digital displays this nevertheless perpetuated the growth of the global insomniac population. “Eye-rope” John asked the now humming room. A disembodied voice responds smooth as pearls, “ Could you repeat that? I did not understand the request.”

“Eye-drunks!”

“I’m sorry, I’m unable to process eye drunks. Could you-“

“EYE!...DROPS!”

“Ah! I have zeroed the location of the prescription for John Wilson from Nusbaum Flornoi-“

“Just tell me where they are!”

A tray is carried in by a diminutive, luminescent robot. A small collection of vials were set neatly on the tray within a rack, two of the vial slots blinks intermittently.

“I’m having them brought to you as previously requested. "

"Thank you soo much!" ,John grumbled as he snatched the vials off the rack gingerly. This was the routine, the twinge of pain the eyes that could grow white hot if the drops weren't applied soon enough. Dry eyes were one thing, but dehydrated eyes were another matter entirely. John lets two drops fall onto each eyes and as if on cue the room comes to life with a gentle flourish, the lights set into the crown and foot moldings of the room come to life the projector sends a digital screen to sit in front of a now standing John don in a silken pajama bottom with his bare torso. The bed he slept in has slowly begun it's long trek to the open slot across the room with the bedsheets resetting themselves as it makes it's decent to the low level over the floor. The screen display giving John the projected readings of the day with the complete forecast that resets every hour on the hour to keep up with the changes that Mother Nature sends his way.

This routine is abruptly brought to a halt with three loud bangs on the door slot across the room. With a sigh, John taps the bottom right hand corner of the projected screen. Darren is early.

"Yo, You Up?!" blares Darren from across the room in a light green glittering shirt and dark pants draped and tucked into the 2053 Jordan All Stars.

"Bruh, I'm not even dressed yet. You missed your prescription again?" ,John pleadingly asks.

" Nah, I just want to get a jump on things. Man, didn't I tell you? You check your messages?"

""Negus, I'm shirtless, what you think? what's going on? You here now, why do I have to open my messages for?"

"You got to see it son! My boy, You got to catch it for yo'self."

"You've been hitting the archives overnight again aren't you?"

" That isn't the subject right now. You need to see this shit for yourself!", Darren says with claps in between.

With an eye roll, John taps the message tab in the top left corner of the screen. The box is almost full with Darren's messages. "What is the universe's name has got you sludging my box for?" John irritatingly demanded. John taps on one of them. The message opens to a video with surround sound in the room, echoing from every corner. A woman's scream is heard in the background and right in front of John's eyes he saw it. The famed black now extinct leather book of legend, clutched in the hands of a desperate looking 20 year old who threw himself out of a window onto the ground in the alleyway of what looks like to be a Grind Vine restaurant.

"NO!"

"What choo mean?"

" I mean no! find someone else for that shit if that it what I think it is!"

"Come on bro!"

"You have got to stop watching those archives. You sound like a Neaderthal or whatever they use to call your kind in those days."

"You should give those a watch! They ain't bad, man our people came up a long way since then son!"

"Yeah, yeah we aren't taking an edu-session. We are going for drinks exactly ten hours from now. I have work and so do you. so-"

"No we don't have jobs anymore!"

John's stomach sank deep past his intestines, his tailbone loosens as if it was being tugged at. What time was it?! He realized there would have been no way that Darren would be dressed before he was unless he were late.

"Relax, dawg! You good! We good! I'm telling you just hear me out!"

John pushes past him and runs straight for the closet slot in the wall. a slap of the palm on the wall and 3 sets of racks push out with the force to send him flying inf he hadn't stepped aside in time. "Son, What choo doin?!" Darren whines. Cannot belive this! This is just the typical occurrence with Darren. Every time there's just something he ruins and with that same silver dipped tongue Darren talks himself out of the fury set to unleash upon him but this time it wasn't Darren's fault, it couldn't be! He's dressed for Vortex's sake! "We got a new job! You gettin yours soon! Just chill!" Darren continues to implore. " I have the temperature setting program up to date Darren! Why in Vortex's certainty would I need to chill?", John retorts in a bellowing voice. Before Darren can answer, the disembodied voice cuts into the room, "Unlisted guest arrival! Unlisted guest arrival!" a video feed slices through the screen where a slender figure in deep plum robes is standing right in front of the door slot. "I don't have any payments due right now." John thinks aloud.

"Go on head and answer it!" Darren encourages.

A swish and the door flies open. "Deposit for John Wilson. do you accept?" the female asks him with her outstretched hand stuck out in fron of her. John uncertainly reaches forward and with a blip the disembodied voice emanates from the futuristic apartment. " A deposit for 67 billion has been initiated for John Wilson."

"So you want to hear me out now?" ,Darren asks with a chuckle.