Chapter 34, The Broker
Subtitle: Nothing
Waylen turned around. The Broker was behind him, grinning wider than Waylen’s future.
Instantly, everyone held their breadth. There was a calm on the subway platform, before the storm of accusations Waylen knew would follow.
Why couldn’t Waylen catch a break?
“You’ve gone from the dog pound to the shit pickle, or is it impound? No matter," the Broker said. The silver syndicate life form had a new suit, teal coloured, and a different gleaming face with a new reshuffling of human traits. Their vexing smile didn’t reach their eyes, but the sadistic crease of their grin did.
“You brought us here, you can send us home,” Yashin yelled. “You killed Dean and María, healed Waylen and Kayla, you’re powerful. You, you can send us to, uh, our homes and bring back María and Dean. The log message was a joke… Right, right?”
In a place like this everything was up for sale, or auction, especially morals or philosophies, or it should’ve been. But they didn’t even have the curse of being consumers. They were the consumed.
Bernhal looked between the Broker and Yashin, his head wasn’t held low, but it couldn’t rise either.
“Is there any scientific investment into keeping an ant’s heart beating?” the Broker posed the question. “Do you weep over each bacteria in spilled milk? Does the restaurant preserve half of the ingredients that aren't up to par? No! They get thrown out, yesterday's news. Now stop acting like a Wobblies Joe Hill before you become him. There are prices for ruining my show.”
Kayla stared at the Broker like it killed her dog and the air around her owed her money. “Yeah? Bob‘s your uncle you bitch-bastard," Kayla wrothed. “You evil piece of shit. You create or control this devil game, playing with people, putting a price on lives. What is this? How much to leave?”
“To the contrary, I’m actually quite ethical,” the Broker said. “Through me pursuing my best interest, and you all doing the same, glorious things are created. You only have to work hard, be productive, and create lifeholder value. Anyone can leave if they pay. You only need the Je ne sais quoi to rise up the ladder and secure the financing. And anywhose, Economics already puts a price on lives, your governments do the same. I’m not some new evil, more like, your life under new management.”
“Fuck off,” Waylen said. There were so many layers in that statement Waylen wanted to rebuke, but he had to get home. “Tell us now.”
The Broker milked the second of silence like they were aging wine, holding everyone at the edge of their uncomfortable benches.
…
“10,000,000 buckaroos, in other words ten million is the price,” the Broker said.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Even the idea nearly gave Waylen his last heave. He felt the urge to clutch his heart, but slammed his fist against his chest instead. He rode out the chest pain and the anxiety of knowing you have work tomorrow a million times over. Wait the healing hadn't cured his heart pain, which meant his underlying conditions were getting worse. And Waylen couldn’t afford the medical care, neither here nor back at home.
It truly wasn't over then. How many missions would it take to leave then? Hundreds. It was like saying anyone can become a billionaire by working hard. Technically true. Practically absurd. Still, the illusion sells and people buy, but Waylen was under no illusions.
Yashin fell down to his knees. Kayla clenched her hand so hard she started bleeding.
Bernhal turned back to them, and looked tired. Tired in the way Waylen knew all too well.
“I’m not a liar, and the Broker’s words aren’t hogwash, so I’ll be damn straight,” Bernhal said. His tone was low, cords visible on his neck. His every breath irate at the Broker. “Theres no guarantee your hundredth mission will be your last. Ten million credits is a ridiculous amount, and every credit here is harder than nails to earn. I can’t be specific but i’ve never been able to save even a fraction of that much. For your situation the best I’ve seen is 1000 or so credits after the first mission, great but never nearly enough. Yer’ all trapped to this demon damned rentier’s demands."
“Sooooo, now that you know, let’s talk about that maiden mission of yours,” the Broker coyed their hands and pursed their lips.
…
“Uh, um, stammer, stammer, stammer, pee your pants yet Theseus?” the Broker guffawed, snickered, and clapped. “Vashti, will your sister’s last wish be satisfied when you die in the dirt, defiled. And our great Mr. Haymitch, don’t lose your heart, heh.”
“Broker, break the news easy now,” Bernhal shot out at the Broker.
“No, they can handle it. Let me give a gift of intel to you Bernhal, this band of tykes used their surroundings in a ballsy and might I add, very entertaining way! They had a less than one percent chance of surviving their first mission, and it’s magnitudes more lethal without a guide, but somehow they won. They have oh so much potential. Especially Mr. Blue Collar Clever over here, or should I say—”
Bernhal gestured a hand the Broker’s way. The silver fucker tilted their head, and shrugged.
“You get the message,” the Broker said. “The right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness are marketing gimmicks that guys or gals who wished they were me cooked up. There was never the promise of your rights, only the right to consume in promise of them. As it always has been, and always will be.”
The Broker’s voice hung on that last word. Yashin was kneeling, hand on his heart, praying as loud as he could.
“I will kill you,” Waylen’s voice rose. He told Yashin they could only get outta the way of monsters like this, but Waylen was done with ducking from devils in power his whole life, especially when their dragonic greed came in pursuit of him and his own. “It may take a year, it may take a decade, it may take my life. But even if I die here, even if I have to play against the house, I will find a way.”
The Broker paused at that. And Bernhal leveled his left eye at Waylen like he was surprised. Yashin looked up.
“I’m counting on it. Imagine the pathos, the fun, the look on your face as you, as you say, get cleaned out,” the Broker replied.
Waylen spat on the ground.
Dull thuds came from Waylen’s side.
Kayla punched the wall, again and again, in sharp form. Her fists were bloody, and her eyes red.
Waylen and Bernhal shared a look, they had to give some hope. Waylen walked over to Yashin.
Waylen bent down to Yashin’s level. “We can find a way to survive, it's not a done deal.”
That seemed to put a light in the teen’s eyes.
“Right, um right,” Yashin gulped. Nodding at Waylen, but Waylen knew Yashin was nodding at himself. “We can buy superpowers, to be stronger, and faster?"
Waylen cringed, he had doubts.
“Are they powerful enough to guarantee safety and success, or are they trivial?” Waylen turned to Bernhal. “Are they even affordable?"
Bernhal shook his head.
“Let me first stipulate the following,” the Broker said. “I wouldn't use ‘supernatural’, because you all, no matter what pittance wage we give you or tools we endow you with are not ‘super.’ Nor is the hyperadvanced scientific gear or spiritual energy fields something unexplainable, It's contranatural, not supernatural, because nearly anything is feasible, for a price. Same as your drug peddlers pass illicit substances across the border, we can procure and provide contranatural weaponry or gifts, of select kinds, to add a little spice to your wailing deaths.”
“Still now,” Bernhal said. “With some contranatural weapons n’ power, and the competence y'all got, there's a chance. Afterall, I’m still kickin’. The old fogey in a hellscape where most die stupid, and you three are not stupid.”
Kayla stopped punching the wall.
Bernhal said. “Listen now, the good news is that technically all teams are supposed to have a guide, right?”
The Broker nodded. The silver gleamed.
“So there’s supposed to be compensation for your lack of one, a sizable amount, but I can speak from experience here. It’s months of bureaucratic hell to get the money. That assumes no processing fees or delays. Time that y'all might not have.”
Different prison, same shit. They were owed money for surviving while falling through the system's cracks, but might never see it.
But that also meant Dean really wasn't from previous missions, he wasn’t a guide. That meant somebody did survive these missions and get the money to leave for Dean to know about them? It’s all coming together to give them odds above one percent.
“What percent have a guide, and how much do we get for winning without it?” Kayla asked.
“I don’t have exact numbers, but more than half have a guide. In cases where a veteran of missions isn’t already there, you get over twenty-five thousand for surviving yer first mission. Do I have your permission to start the requisition process?” Bernhal asked.
“Anything else we gotta know, or be wary of?” Waylen asked.
“No.”
“Then put it in,” Waylen said.
“Start the remuneration for guideless induction," Bernhal said, stomping the ground.
“Process started, minimum estimate six weeks,” the automated voice said.
“How long do we have until the next mission,” Waylen asked. “Time in this zone?”
“Friday 11:12 PM. The next mission starts Monday 8:59 AM. Currently in Intermission One.”
The pressure of the clock was on.
Think. Think. Think.
“We can pay to delay, right?” Yashin asked. Damn good question!
Bernhal grumbled, “I gotta say, time is money and money is time. Credits can buy time away from the mission, but it's way too expensive. One week is five thousand. Another week is too expensive or at least not worth it. Memorize this shorthand: Prepare, or delay but never decay as you hide away. The people who do this are known as Bleaks and live on borrowed time. It’s better to invest it in equipment, skills, and the time required to get basic proficiency with them. Instead of running from danger.”
“Being a, uh, Bleak doesn’t sound that bad, we would get a moment of peace?” Yashin said.
“Then ya confront the mission from hell in your PJs, it’s trading any hope of a future for a smidgen of a lie. Channel the fear, don’t let it corral ya’,” Bernhal said.
“The same mission, back to Klaus?” Waylen asked.
“No, non, no,” the Broker said. “Missions are special and sharing the details is pricey, anywhose.”
The Broker pointed back at Bernhal. The silver fucker wisely kept some distance from their group, not that it would matter with how it ignored being stabbed.
“Missions are always deadly, always different, and always getting more difficult,” Bernhal said, cracking his neck. “Even getting a guess as to the next is overly costly. Whatever you faced last time, the next will be something you could have never expected, especially not perfectly prepared for. It's scarred-bone brutal, I know.”
“But wait there's more,” the Broker said as it made a show of it with its fingers. They jazzed like party bloopers and Waylen hated the fucker all the more.
“I must admit, the fatality rate, one of the few free sources of information we lobbed at you.” The Broker laughed again, smiling wider, “get it, cause we’re in the lobby, anyways. The fact is the green line must go up every quarter, every month, every work week. Maybe even every day. Ebitda must improve, and so shall the ROI on your lives, as such every mission is harder than the last. That’s the mission statement, ‘what they call evil is profitable.’”
“What do you even get out of this?” Yashin asked.
The Broker donned a grating grin.
“So now the hens have left the henhouse–ja!” the Broker snickered, making sure to watch every moment of Waylen, Kayla, and Yashin’s faces.
The fucker wouldn’t answer.
“We get charged for not going on the next mission don’t we?” Waylen asked.
“Yup,” Bernhal said.
“How many have won their freedom, give me names?” Kayla rumbled.
Bernhal said, “five have.”
“There must be more we can do?’ Waylen asked. “What’s next?”
Bernhal inclined his head. “If you dedicate almost everything, and I give you all the info I can, y’all got a chance, but that's all I can promise. The powers that be outsource this role to other trialees like me.”
“A literal baptism by flame, trial by fire, all great phrases that should be under copyright, my rule,” the Broker said.
While Kayla and Yashin were each dealing with the reveal in their own ways, Waylen had zoned out and focused on adding up the odds.
Back home, Waylen had hoped to leave working under Markus. He applied to jobs every week to no luck, but he still tried. Becoming a line cook was an option, he had a highschool friend doing it who could give him a referral to the culinary classes. But his mom’s bills tied him to his current job. Building the Resume and cover letter to prove his ability to work something better took time he couldn’t spend and money he could never save. To get money he had to do overtime, doing overtime meant he couldn't get the skills employers said they wanted, then they would ignore his application.
His situation in life was a soul milling deadlock. But here, at least, Waylen thought to himself, gazing straight at the Broker, there was a face to the CEO of his suffering.
Being calm and patient would be required, the day for revenge would come. He would get a chance to burn down this hellhole system. The same way him and Jacoby could have thrown Markus in a garbage can but stopped themselves every weekend. The opportunity had to be steadily crafted. The ability to destroy the evil fucker is provided by their arrogance.
Kayla did not share his opinion. She was staring straight at the Broker.
“What if we don’t follow orders, what do you gain from this, how do you have these powers, how long has this gone on?” she demanded.
The Broker spun a little twirl, like a middle schooled girl, and when they turned back, they had the face of a hundred seniors in one, melded together in selfsame uncanniness.
Waylen’s anger spiked.
“When direct requirements are not met, you get fined, and going below zero means the totality of your scrotum sized-worth being seized as collateral. The chance to perish in the missions are a mercy.” The Broker pointed at Bernhal, who was eyeing the Broker himself.
The elderly man’s eyes focused and Waylen could've sworn he saw cracks like broken glass. The smell of cardamom intensified from nowhere.
“Some of what I know isn't from my guide responsibilities or the trials I’ve survived," Bernhal said. “For all the madness you’ll get confronted with each mission, the Broker likes a show. Having unequipped civilians die to a spleen sucking bogeymen is boring after the fifth time. So he gives us the chance to buy the Contrantural. We won’t delve into it today, god knows ya’ll need to rest up, but tomorrow, that I promise."
The Broker walked backwards until his silver suit sharply contrasted with the faded pastel subway pillars and then the fucker disappeared. Like the way items from the corner store appear but in reverse.
“There’s more to go over, bear in mind we can deal with a lot of this tomorrow, process your thoughts for now, note down any questions,” Bernhal said.
“Last question, how much and how long will you be helping us?” Waylen asked. He yawned, he didn’t realise how tired he was. Bernhal must have picked up on that, Waylen definitely looked tired but maybe Bernhal's eye told him something more, but how?
“For the next few days, a few hours each,” Bernhal said.
“Will we need to disclose our funds?” Kayla asked, arms crossed.
“Don’t worry, we can talk over it tomorrow, the only thing I can check is this,” Bernhal said, elbowing the pillar. “Let me give you all some more hope. Guide permissions, team credit quantity over or under a thousand?”
“Notification: Designated team has over 5000 collective credits.”
“What the fucks.” Bernhal’s agape mouth dropped the gum out. “I’ve never heard a guideless team make that much. To be straight I’ve never seen the Broker be so complimentary to newbies too, in his own demented way. Ya’ll sons of bitches really went wild on your very first mission.”
It must be the bonuses.
“So we can get weapons!” Kayla said.
“Um, can we get powers?” Yashin said.
“You might, really,” Bernhal said. “But look at ya’ll.”
Yashin’s eyes were red. Kayla’s knuckles were bleeding. They needed to rest, so did Waylen.
“Fine,” Waylen replied. He had to ask the questions Dean and Maria never got too. But making a bet worth half your paycheque while tired was stupid.
“Notification: you have been fully inducted.”
“That’s that, rest easy in your rooms now. Use the food and washrooms as you have to just don’t splurge. It’s not worth the mental energy to pinch every penny when another bit o’ stress might send ya over the edge,” Bernhal said, walking down the platform.
“Are the rooms even safe?” Waylen asked.
“Yeh, in fact that’s the only guarantee I can give ya today.”
“Tommorow, 9 AM?” Waylen said.
“Eight,” Bernhal replied. Waylen tried to watch where he was going but at some point Bernhal seemed to disappear like a figment of smoke.
***
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