THE COLLECTOR

T wasn’t rain. The forecasts called it rain, it looked like rain, even produced the same petrichor, but he knew it wasn’t rain. You knew because the street signs and business facades were stripped of all color; you knew because when the water pooled you could see the iridescence; you knew because raindrops weren’t supposed to burn when they landed on your skin.

They all knew, but who had the time to do anything about it?

No one did, for they were the cogs of an unceasing machine; a machine whose purpose they could only guess at. They all knew that they were there to make money, but how and for whom was anyone’s guess. They all were subject to the same rule: growth above all else.

Growth was measured by the value of the dollar, which ceased to be a currency and was replaced by company tokens. The dollar was now exclusively a measurement of success, a number that needed to go up; every man woman and child was a tool to ensure as much. Every worker had a small computer on their person. Most people favored the arm models which strapped around the forearm for easy access. There were whispers of workers having their computers attached surgically, but no one knew how true that was.

As far as Arthur Halperin was concerned, the truth hadn’t been known by anyone for a long time now.

Arthur was a journalist, or at least that’s what his ID said. He considered himself a glorified editor, but even then he knew his power to change what he was given was next to nothing. Every day he would sit in his cramped office, waiting for the reports to come in, wondering if the hassle of applying for a career change permit was worth it. The reports were never really reports; rather, scripts to proofread before being fed into the archives. These days news outlets didn’t bother broadcasting as information required licenses to view.

The clock ticked down to lunchtime; that half an hour was the only free time he had left. He tried to enjoy those thirty minutes as much as he could, but stopping to smell the roses only gets you so far.

Today was different.

Five minutes after the computer initiated his break, an alert was sent to his supervisor as he left the premises.

At 10 minutes into lunch he stepped out from the covered walkway into a rain soaked alley, trudging through puddles, leaving flecks of his rubber soles as he went. In the alley a lone steel door called out to him.

He hadn’t noticed the door since this morning on his walk to work, but when he did, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Arthur didn’t know if he would get in trouble for this, but he had nothing to lose, save for a job he despised and a home too empty to return to.

At 13 minutes the door closed behind him.

“Thank you for meeting me on such short notice, Mr. Halperin.”

He wasn’t here to meet anyone, at least not explicitly, but there could be no mistake— the shadow in the corner was talking to precisely the person it wanted to.

“I’ll try to keep this brief, as you have about fifteen minutes to get back to it.”

“You going to dock my pay for being away from work? I take it you’re with the secret supervisors.”

The figure stepped closer and it was as if the shadows lengthened to accommodate its new position.

“An understandable mistake. I am not here on behalf of your superiors. I am an agent of my own designs, designs you might assist with.”

He was talking to the competition. Some rival corporation prodding into the archival network. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t realized sooner.

“If you’re after company secrets, I’ve got nothing. Even if I was interested, you think they tell me anything?”

“I’m not interested in learning anything. But you might be.”

“Meaning?”

“You have no secrets to give, Mr. Halperin. It’s my understanding you value the truth. No? You despise this world you wake up to. You despise the master that sits on your desk and follows you wherever you go.”

“We all do, but that can’t be changed. I’ll be on my way now.”

No good could come from him being here. Arthur turned around.

The figure let out a sigh.

“What did she say to you?”

Arthur froze.

“That night, what was the last thing she said to you?”

“I don’t care who you are, no one…”

His rebuttal was drowned out.

“Her last word.”

“Finally,” Arthur said, quietly.

“Now you understand?”

Arthur nodded. “I’m listening.”

The shadows receded, revealing a man in a suit, a plain briefcase in his right hand. The man was more or less unremarkable, if not for his eyes. Arthur couldn’t help noticing they felt a little different each time they looked at him.

“My name has no use, so you may call me whatever you see fit.”

“Noted.”

The figure waited for a moment then moved on to business.

“You are familiar with Jakub Thresh, correct?”

Arthur nodded. “Next in line for the Thresh fortune, and the city chair.”

“Indeed. Jakub has a secret, however, one I offer to you freely. I insist upon one condition, however.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “And what would that be?”

“Keep it to yourself. For the time being.”

“Deal.”

“Jakub Thresh is not the son of Malik Thresh, who was not the son of Benjamin Thresh.”

Arthur was expecting more.

“And? Why does blood relation matter? The successor is chosen anyway.”

“There is no blood relation. It is the same blood. These men are one individual.”

Arthur scoffed. “The Thresh line goes back generations. One man couldn’t live that long, no matter how much money he has to waste.”

“It wasn’t money,” the shadow whispered.

“It is irrelevant all the same. Don’t forget this little chat of ours is supposed to be for business— or did you also forget you have ten minutes to get back to your station?”

He’d forgotten.

“What do you want from me?”

The figure opened the briefcase and presented the contents: a single pre-formatted archival ticket, the exact kind his employer used.

“Simply that when you return to your station, your first ‘script’ to feed the machine shall be this one.”

Arthur took the ticket. “So that’s the deal you wanted to make?”

“Don’t misunderstand me. This is not a deal—rather, a chance alignment of interests. I know the hatred you carry for this reality, the injustices you and countless others suffer. You hold the final piece of a chain reaction. Once in place, things will start to change dramatically, I assure you.”

“One last question. What do you get out of all this? Can’t be nothing.”

“What I am owed.”

RTHUR didn’t remember the walk back to work. He was sitting at his desk, staring at the archival ticket; he couldn’t feed it in without his supervisor getting an immediate alert. Three minutes passed. Two minutes until he was issued a fine for time-theft. A ding on the monitor signaled a department memo had been sent. He clicked on the little bell.

[Congratulations!] Profit factors for the quarter have been recorded at [0.13% increase]. In response to your department’s [above adequate] performance, there will be [pizza] [in the break closet] for [all employees]. You may return to work now.

Arthur couldn’t make a decision; he knew he couldn’t trust the figure he spoke to, but he couldn’t stand the thought of waiting in line for a sliver of pizza. His eyes were drawn to the corner of the room, where the shadows started to merge.

“Do you not trust me? Arthur?”

“What happened to ‘Mr. Halperin’? Seems an odd time to drop the formality, unless, for whatever reason, you think it would behoove you to use my first name.”

The figure tilted its head slightly, meaning Arthur had a foothold.

“I’ve been wondering about you a bit,” Arthur continued. “You see, I used to be in the business of digging up information— and that was tough work. A world where everyone keeps their secrets well hidden. All the same, I got good at it. I know you aren’t a competitor; money obviously is not what you’re after.”

“I’m merely a collections agent, is that not clear?”

The figure was motionless.

Arthur got out of his chair and faced him.

“You wear the suit, but it’s not really you is it? You talk the part, but you don’t act it. I’ve been thinking about what you said to me: ‘this is not a deal, rather a chance alignment of interests.’ We’re not partners here. If I feed this script into the machine, what guarantee do I have anything will get better? I could check, but people would get involved; a fact you know.”

The figure remained still.

“So that leaves me in a bad spot. This will change everything, for better or worse—but I don’t have the information to make a decision. Information I couldn’t obtain. I just don’t know what to do.”

The figure spoke. “What would she have…”

Arthur raised his hand and halted the figure’s reply.

“No, no, no—you played that card already. If you’re going to manipulate me, you need something actionable; knowing my past isn’t enough to pull off coercion. At this rate I might throw this in the trash.”

The figure was still, but the shadows in the room seemed to grow darker.

“You won’t do it? I can just put it in myself.”

Arthur placed the ticket down on his desk.

“Be my guest.”

The figure did not move.

Arthur began to rummage through his drawer.

“You and I both know you can’t. That’s not how the rules work. If you could do it yourself, you could’ve killed me on my break and input the script before anyone found my body. You’re not averse to killing I assume; I mean everyone knows some people are desperate enough to kill for tokens…”

Arthur pulled a tool from his drawer— a common hole punch.

“…but you won’t kill me, nor submit it yourself. That’s the rule. You won’t kill me because I’m the only one who might do it. You won’t because you need to stay in the shadows.”

The corners of the mouth on the figure were rising slightly.

“You have nothing to bargain with here. If you will not do it then I must find a new avenue.”

Arthur lined up the punch over the ticket.

“You see that’s the thing, I’m not trying to negotiate.”

Arthur punched a hole, modifying the script.

The shadows began to stretch and contract.

“What are you doing?”

“Just some editing.” Arthur didn’t look up.

“You could be doing great harm!”

The figure flickered at the edges, as if the puppet master had lost control of the strings for a moment.

“Maybe. I couldn’t possibly say.”

Arthur made another punch.

“What I can say is— I know a fake when I see one. That goes for people too.”

Arthur held the ticket up with both hands, observing his work.

“This script hasn’t been edited at all—that’s a red flag. Moreover, you might dress like one of us, but you’re not. I can’t say who or what you are, but I can say your goals certainly do not align with my own.”

The figure wore a full smile now.

“You think you can turn this around by making modifications you can’t even read? You must be delusional.”

Arthur put the hole punch back in his drawer.

“I don’t think I can turn this around. I tried to make this world a better place and failed every time. I believe you understand what that feels like.”

The smile faded.

“Then why are you doing this? You could be doing great harm.”

Arthur chuckled. “Greater than the harm you would’ve had me doing? I doubt it. You want to play the part of man so badly, then let me help you commit to the bit. At the end of the day, we’re still powerless against whatever fate the world has in store for us, just as you are powerless to stop this.”

Arthur continued. “Kill me if you want—”

He inserted the ticket.

“But it won’t change your position. Either way, I’m done talking to you.”

The figure took a step closer the same instant the script’s contents were submitted.

The figure was gone.

Arthur was looking right at it, but he knew nothing more than the shadow wanted him to see.

HERE was plenty to do. If things really were about to change, he had people to warn and tokens to spend before collapse. He sat at his desk for the last time, working with a passion he hadn’t felt in years. For once he believed there was a way out of this corroded prison. People were going to need help, and they wouldn’t get it from their employers. Arthur sent emails to his associates, telling them they needed to have an urgent meeting. Arthur took his briefcase and reached for his computer, but hesitated. He wouldn’t need it anymore.

Arthur smiled as he walked out the door to his office.

“Finally.”