Prologue: There's a plot later I swear
The night air was cold and moist in the light drizzle. Not a speck of moonlight broke through the grey clouds overhead. Despite having decades to adjust to the rain, downtown Seattle didn't look any better in 2074 than it did in 1990. Dead, grey concrete buildings towered overhead like an endless parade of tombstones. Only the blinking neon lights and garish augmented reality graphics hovering over every street corner gave the city the appearance of being the happy, tourist-friendly place it claimed to be. It was bright and annoying enough that it had almost made him regret splurging on AR compatible contacts.
Richard took it all in as he hopped off the bus and made his way down the street. There weren't many folks out right now. Weather reports blared in the bottom right of his own optical display. It was going to get a hell of a lot worse soon. With any luck, his ten-hour shift would last long enough to see it lighten up a bit in the morning. But Richard always had shit luck. Being a victim of SURGE III was his first bit of bad luck in life.
What few scruffy-looking pedestrians and potential muggers were on the street scattered as he made his way. The rainjacket over his uniform was supposed to hide his reptilian features and make him a bit more of a mystery, but nothing could hide the long tail poking from under it, or his large physique. Sudden Unexplained Recessive Genetic Expression, or SURGE as it was called by everyone normal, had ensured that he was born a giant lizard despite having human parents. Life growing up had been near-constant bullying and discrimination by those around him. Most of the time he was lucky to get mistaken as a troll, but whenever the curious got too close it was always a coinflip between running away in fear or an impromptu beatdown.
Learning how to fight and keeping himself in shape was a non-negotiable part of his life, which killed his ability to do much aside from work. At least he'd established enough of a reputation in the area that long-term thugs and beggars had learned to give him a wide berth. Like they were doing tonight. For most people, it wasn't a good place to be. For instance, there was a literal brothel just down the road. Said brothel had a shootout not even a week ago. He turned a corner as he wondered what exactly his boss was thinking setting up shop in such a shitty, he caught a familiar sight.
The AR sign glimmered even in the increasingly turbulent downpour. He'd never mistake the overly suggestive icon. It was a sub with layers of soy-based meat so thick it looked like a hotdog. Dancing around the sub the words "Between-the-Buns" glowed in its fanciful, chromatic light. The name had caused all kinds of confusion, not only among the customers entering the store but also among those who made applications. It took Richard a few phone calls when he originally made the application to make sure he wasn't signing up for some kind of sex shop. Not like their slogans and catchphrases ever did anything to clear up the confusion.
He pushed open the door to the small shop. It had two tables set up for indoor dining, but nobody bothered with that since the remote delivery had taken off. Also, they were stationed in a shitty place. His coworker at the counter was nowhere to be seen. They usually only needed one person in the store, just to make sure it didn't get vandalized. He let out a sigh. Either someone had abducted whoever was on shift, or they were slacking off. Richard decided to confirm the situation before needlessly dialing for Lone Star. They'd either just tell him to fuck or show up and charge him an exorbitant amount of nuyen for having the nerve to call them.
Richard pushed his way into the breakroom and set his damp jacket onto the coat rack. Sat at the plastic table in the middle of the small room, feet kicked up and a magazine covering his face was Walter. He was a good, middle-aged guy, who seemed to be going through a lot of shit in his life, so everyone gave him some leeway. Walter was the kind of guy who would give you shit all shift and at the end of it tell you "good night," and mean it. Sadly, the son of a bitch was the closest thing Richard had to a friend.
"Welcome to between the buns," he said, muffled by the magazine, "would you like the fill me up -"
"Shut the fuck up, Walter. If it was anyone else I would have chewed them out about coming back here to jerk off." Richard said sternly.
Walter plucked the magazine off his face and rolled his eyes with the exaggerated swagger only a man paying alimony, with nothing left to lose could manage.
"No one's gonna steal our olives, trust me, they're shit." When Richard didn't relent his stare, Walter just shrugged. "It's gonna be a rainy night and there aren't any deliveries scheduled till about midnight. We can pretty much play as many games as we want back here. In fact, I found this new multiplayer gacha-"
Richard didn't wait for him to finish before he slipped on his official Between-The-Buns brand hat and adjusted his black dress shirt and slacks; not that anyone gave a shit what he looked like, but he preferred to at least try and look professional. He made his way out to the counter and started taking stock of what needed cleaning. To his utter surprise, Walter had fought through his lazy streak and followed him out.
"Hold on there buddy. I only got an hour left on my shift and there's something I wanted to talk to you about. It's about you. James was going over some of the security recordings and he called me about something." There was an uncharacteristic seriousness to his eyes as he spoke.
Richard froze at that. He didn't feel like he did anything wrong over the last year he'd been working there. There were no job violations and no customer issues that weren't from bitchy customers. He needed this job to pay for that shitty hole in the wall of an apartment and his gym membership, so he had always made sure to be on his best behavior.
"What about? If it's about those complaints last month, I already said I'd do better."
Walter flicked his wrist and immediately Richard's optics lit up with a sent video attachment. Terrified, Richard opened it with a thought and it played. It was him at the counter last Friday night talking to a woman. She asked for a sandwich and he provided it, they made small talk and she left. Richard didn't know what he could have done to warrant being called out. Had he been overly friendly? Had she made a complaint about his service or the sandwich?
"No," Walter said, anger apparent in his voice. "You've got this fucking hotty coming in here every Friday chatting you up, and you haven't even thought about making a move on her?!"
Richard was speechless. What the fuck was Walter going on about? As if sensing his confusion Walter let out an annoyed sigh as he pulled up more videos with timestamps from various shifts Richard had done over the last few weeks. If those videos were to be believed, she did in fact come to the store often.
"You see?" Walter asked, jabbing a finger into Richard's chest. Though he was a good foot shorter than the lizard, he didn't hesitate to throw his weight as a senior employee around when he felt like it. "This chick comes in, every Friday when you're on shift, orders the same damn thing, chats you up, and then fucking leaves. Why haven't you made a move, kid? Performance anxiety?"
"What?! I didn't even know she showed up more than once."
Walter facepalmed and leaned against the counter to steady himself. His arm twitched and for a moment Richard thought he was going to try and strangle him.
"Kids these days. Don't know shit about flirting. Alright, let me go through the play-by-play of how I know she's into you, and why you're retarded for not picking up the signals. Got your notepad? Good. So the first clue is that she regularly goes out of her way to come here. Showing up Friday nights to get out shitty subs? Just not worth the effort, especially with our delivery options and the kind of neighborhood we're based out of."
