NeutralNexus — Roleplayer Guild

The sounds of shuffling rubble now echoed through the broken walls of Harold Whittaker’s Cafe as the middle-aged owner slowly rose a shelf that had been overturned in the riots that occurred a few days ago.  Harold's corner store, a moderately successful cafe known as 'Pick-me-Up', in a corner of Little Paris, had been hit exceptionally hard, most of his goods stolen, his shelves and stands now broken splinters littering the floor.  

However, the aged man’s cleaning would be interrupted by the sound of the bells on his front door, traditionally a signal that someone had entered his little establishment for his business.  Harold’s eyes rose from his upturned shelves to find three men standing in front of his door.  They were all dressed in formal attire, tailored suits and silken button up shirts among them as two of the men, the noticeably burlier of the three to be specific, rummaged around to find an unbroken table. The third man, a chiseled face with slicked back black hair, approached the old proprietor with a polite, charming smile.

"Good morning, sir." The man said to Harold, "Do you have a minute to talk?"

"Well no, mister, I'm afraid I don't." Harold replied in a weary rasp. "I have a lot to clean up, and my business is closed for the time being, I am sorry, but you guys are going to have to leave."

"Hold on, that is actually what I wanted to talk to you about." The man said, reaching into his jacket to pull out a small business card. "I represent a conglomerate of wealthy entrepreneurs within Lost Haven looking to bring our city up to a certain standard of living. We desire to make this city exactly what its name represents, a haven for its citizens, something we all can be proud to call home."

Harold gave the man a shrewd squint as a hesitant hand took the card. The card labeled the man as one Gabe Hall a representative for something called 'The Renaissance Project', which did not have any other definition available on the card aside for a number and email to reach Gabe, a standard business card to say the least.

"Oh? And why does that concern my cafe?" Harold asked, scooping up some broken coffee mugs. "What interests do your bosses have with little guys like me?"

"Well you see, Mr. Whittaker,  among other small businesses you are a very important part of the cultural side of Lost Haven. Without little hole in the wall places like yours, Lost Haven would be just like any other city."

"You sure about that, Mr. Hall?" Harold chuckled "You sure it isn't the freaks in spandex throwin' cars that make our city 'unique'?"

“Well of course, that plays a factor, people around the world will want to see the superpowered guardians of bur city, but they won’t stay unless places like this exist to serve them coffee.”  Gabe replied, placing an idle hand back in his pocket once Harold had taken the business card. “That’s why it's up to our elite to invest, to keep this city in top shape.” 

“So what, you want to help me rebuild?”  Harold asked, placing the card in his pocket. “What, are the rich just becoming charitable out of good faith?”

“Well, in a perfect world, yes, but in reality that is not the case, there is a cost.”  Gabe replied, his eyes never leaving Harold as the old owner dumped out the broken mugs into a nearby trash bin.  Leaning on the counter, Gabe continued “In order for the Renaissance project to make renovations, we need to have primary ownership of this establishment.  You get to keep the business on the property as well as manage the people you keep under your employ.  However, we will take the deed of the building you are established in, as well as make any changes or additions we see fit.  We also will control the building’s maintenance workers and ask for %10 of your revenue in compensation for our investment.”

“So….you want the money my business makes and control my building....in exchange for paying for it?”

“That’s the general agreement, Mr. Whittaker.  Just think of it as us paying your property taxes for the rest of your time established here.”

There was a long silence, Harold leering at Gabe from behind the counter, studying the well-dressed man’s chiseled features as he grabbed for one of his few good coffee cups.

“You know, for the record...that’s a tempting offer.”  Harold began, watching as the man pulled paper and a pen from his jacket. “I don’t really have the budget to make full repairs right now, and after the riots, we need all the help we can get.”

“Excellent.”  Gabe began, placing the papers on the counter and clicking the pen for Harold to sign. “We’ll just need your signitu--.”

“Except for one thing, I don’t take bribe money from thugs.”

Gabe stopped mid-motion, his eyes darting up to Harold as he spoke, pen still in his hand. “I’m...sorry, you must have this transaction mistaken, we are perfectly legitimate busin--”

“Bullshit.  You don’t think I can see what’s going on? You don’t think I hear the other businesses nearby getting the same offer?  Harry told me that three men in suits approached his corner store yesterday, offering to pay for the damages in exchange for the deed to his store.  Mary said the same thing about her flower shop this morning, and Garrett with his butcher shop this afternoon!”

At this point, Gabe had remained silent, broadcasting a stone-faced glare at Harold, but letting him continue.

“And while that’s strange in itself, let’s talk about the businesses that saw guys like you before the riots, huh?  How Joey’s shoe shop was untouched during the riots?  Bill’s hardware store?  Jessie’s hair salon??”

Gabe continued his silence, reaching into his pocket for a small black smart phone.  Maintaining eye contact with Harold periodically as he began to operate the device.

“You guys may think you’re sooo secretive, but you ain’t.  People are beginning to know there is something sinister behind this shit, we’re putting two and two together.”  Harold said, pointing an accusing finger at Gabe. “I don’t know who exactly you’re working for, but you go tell them that we aren’t going to associate with gangsters, y’hear me?”

Gabe said nothing in response, his concentration now broken as the light glow of his phone basked along his suit, his thumb lightly swiping on the phone’s screen.

“Well?  What do you have to say to that?”  Harold asked, “You done trying to slick talk me?”

With a short sigh, Gabe leaned onto the table, now forcing eye contact with Harold once more.  His demeanor had changed drastically since Harold had berated him.  Gone was the friendly, charismatic gentleman who had come in the building, replaced with a cold, stoic figure now boring holes into Harold. “Mr. Whittaker, while I appreciate your enthusiasm, I’d very firmly suggest you sign the paperwork.  Especially now that you’ve deigned to call out our organization with no proof.”

“Oh?  And what’s going to make me change my mind, huh?  You going to break my store some more?  Because there is not a lot to break here, let me tell you.”

“No, the building is still a potential asset.”  Gabe said, turning the phone for Harold to see. “But we know where you sleep.”

At first, Harold did not understand Gabe’s chilling comment, but once his gaze fixed on the phone’s screen, it became remarkably clear.  The phone was displaying a picture, one that caused Harold to recoil, the color to clear out from his face.  He could see the photo was a picture of himself and his wife, sleeping in their residential home, in their king sized bed.  He exchanged a panicked glance to Gabe, who responded in a cold, cruel tone.

“Not only that, but we know where your kids sleep, too.”  Gabe responded, thumbing through the screen to display two other pictures, one of Harold’s daughter, a college graduate who had moved across town, sleeping in a bed of her own. “Under the circumstances, if you refuse I can't garuntee that something...unfortunate won't happen to them.  With this knowledge, signing the paperwork might be the safest thing you do all day, yes?” 

A mixture of anger and fear contorted on to Harold’s face.  The mug he was cleaning began to crack in his grip. “You...you son of a--”

“Yes, yes, I know, I’m awful.”  Gabe said, pulling the phone back into his coat pocket and turning on his heel, headed for the door. “Nevertheless, you now know the weight of this situation, as well as what happens if you don’t comply.  I’m going to leave the paperwork and my associates here to see you sign that paper.  As for me, I’ve got other business to attend to.”  He grabbed a hold of the door handle, briskly walking out of the cafe.  He paused in the doorway, making a short turn to give Harold one last glance before he left.

“I’m sure you and I will meet again real soon, Mr. Whittaker.”  Gabe said, giving a small smile. “Until then, make sure to take care of yourself.”
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