Here are the rules of my game.
- Gears mean hearts.
- Sleep is death.
- Money is all.
I cogged what this asshole was all about about before he even ground out two sentences.
“Where do you keep the, uh” he paused and let his eyes sweep all four walls of my store, “lubricant?” He had asked.
It’s the way his eye slits barely opened as he took in my shop. Like he couldn’t even be bothered to look for real. Or worse, that looking with his whole optics would somehow sully him.
It was a simple request, though. Guys like him only cared about what could keep them moving. Function over all. Still, I was surprised he had ventured this far into the stacks without enough of his own lube to get back out. Something about this guys smelled off, beyond the fact that he was definitely an asshole.
“You run out of the good stuff?” I asked as I stepped out from behind the counter to go retrieve a AX11 “lite n tidy” oil. If his internals matched his make then he was probably all fine teeth and springs on the inside - much too refined for grease patches, which were my usual prescription for anyone running dry halfway through the stacks.
His eyes took the room in again in another sweep of the slits, but he didn’t seem quite so arrogant as he did last time. Something about how he was holding his claws in front of him… He was scared. Was he checking for other customers? Enforcers?
“Uh” was all he managed to say.
I stopped and turned to face him. Yeah, he was scared of something for sure. His speech box fizzed like he was trying to queue up a message, but couldn’t decide on what to actually say.
“What kind of lubricant did you say you needed?”
”…” more static from his speech box.
“Would this be lubricant geared for… speed, would you say?” I asked. On its own this wasn’t that controversial, but I brushed by cranium as I said it. My implication was clear: I was asking if he was after illegal mind enhancing substances.
His eye slits shot open like I had taken Ford’s name in vain ((lol)), but by his posture I could tell I was on the right rail. He steps closer towards me. Conspiratorial.
“Yes” he said, “it’s important that I get where I’m going fast.”
Our eye slits locked together for a full 30 ticks. This guy didn’t look like an enforcer, or a thief, but then how could you really tell? Finally I told myself that if he was trying to rob or detain me, he would have put more effort into being likeable.
“Right this way” I said, as I let him into the back, where I kept an inventory of essential supplies for resistance members.
((stop moving = death, bc autos))