Chapter Sixty-Eight – Things Get Worse

Chapter Sixty-Eight – Things Get Worse

“We’ve had a couple of hard years, we’ve survived them.

But things are about to get worse.”

–Deus Ex, open letter to the Family, 2056

***

Burringham walked into the kitchen carrying two cans of soda. He extended one to me.

I looked at it for a moment, then took it to set it onto the counter next to me.

The staff had cleared out, and when Burringham pulled a few strings, they let his guards use the fridge. A big metal box with only one exit that was uncomfortably cold. A great place to keep someone like Linda while they asked her a few pointed questions and some quickly-hired infosec-types ran through everything her augs had picked up.

“We keep meeting in kitchens,” Burringham said. “And it’s never a pleasant sort of meeting.”

“Twice isn’t that often,” I said.

“You say that, but it feels pretty frequent to me,” he said with a smile.

I stared at him, and even if he couldn’t see my face… his smile dropped.

“Sorry,” he said. “It’s… a habit to try and comfort the people I’m talking to. Get on their side, make them feel… like people, I guess. It ought to be common courtesy, but it’s a skill I literally had to learn.”

“Hmm,” was all I could say to that.

Burringham popped the tab on his can, then took a long swallow. “Not supposed to be drinking this shit,” he muttered before taking another. “You were right. About Linda.”

“Myalis did most of the work,” I said.

He shrugged. “Then it was right. Everything was covered up, but… Linda’s not some expert hacker. She knows enough to get by, more than most even, but now that the people with the right skills are actively looking. It’s all there. She hired some thug to shoot me.”

“You could have died.”

“She paid extra for him not to, you know.” He made an explodey gesture with his free hand. “He was meant to shoot me with some specialised gun. Fancy, sure, but not as lethal as some other guns. He was paid a lot more to aim low. Guts, legs, my balls.”

“That would have been interesting,” I said.

Burringham chuckled. “The memes would have been… oh, awful. Burringham, a politician with no balls. They make themselves.”

“Was it all for the press?” I asked.

“All for publicity,” he agreed. “Linda… fuck me. I knew she’d go far, but not… not that.”

I shook my head. “You knew she’d be willing to hire an assassin?” I asked.

“For someone else, maybe. Not for me. Not as part of some fucked up publicity stunt. I swear, I’ve heard about this kind of thing in movies and soap media, not in active politics.”

“She tried to kill me,” I said.

“It didn’t take,” he replied.

I turned towards him. “Eleanor… don’t know her family name. Cute girl. Real polite. Had small dreams, but seemed set on reaching them. She’s dead now. Don’t cover this shit up for publicity, Burringham, don’t play games. Do the right thing.”

“That’ll make it harder to win any election.”

I shoved the can he’d given me into his chest. He almost fell on his ass. “If you can’t win while doing the right thing, then the entire system’s fucked. At that point, you might as well get out the guillotines. And if that happens, you’ve got a real boujee look to you, Burringham.”

He swallowed. “I understand. I’ll do what I can. To make sure things are set right, and, and for Eleanor.”

“Good,” I said before walking out. I didn’t even know what I was waiting for in there. I probably just didn’t have anything better to do.

You have a guest coming to meet you.

“Oh?” I asked, not really interested.

Deus Ex is heading towards the hotel. She sent a low-priority message for you just before you started speaking with Burringham.

“That’s weird,” I said. Now my interest was peaking. Just a little. “I bet some shit’s going down and she needs me to pick up a shovel. I swear, I don’t get a break.”

You are a Vanguard. Being at the front means that while you have many behind you, there’s nothing ahead of you. It’s all too easy to find yourself pulled in many directions at once.

“Fucking tell me about it,” I said.

The restaurant was mostly cleared out as I made my way through it. The staff were sitting around the tables usually used by their clients, chefs and sou-chefs and all the others just… lounging around, chit-chatting or staring off into their augs.