Small towns are that seemingly unkillable weed of the human condition. Despite being at the most risk of any settlement to the whims of the Antithesis, people continue to congregate across in the middle of who knows where. It’s almost inevitable that said congregation will be bought out almost entirely by some aspiring mega-corp, but it doesn’t change the fact that the citizens themselves took that first step.

  As for why they do it? Small towns have less people they hate, probably.

  -Anonymous, 2044

  The rest of the trip was, as expected, completely uneventful. My new augs miraculously managed to get a signal on the last day, so five points later I spent the final hours of my trek blasting music into my ears through a new set of headphones. Calydon did for a moment chide me for spending half of my daily stipend on a pair of headphones, but the boredom had finally gotten to me and his words rang hollow when, hypocritically, he still hadn't given up on that damn motorcycle.

  My welcome to Orson near sunset was not greeted by sturdy embedded walls like what surrounded Targ, but instead a humble road sign, obviously not well maintained considering the faded green paint and rusted metal, but still proudly declaring you had entered the town proper. Settlements started to appear as I trudged onward, first the sparse house or two before slowly transitioning into small collections of buildings and eventually full neighborhoods. Only after traveling through a sizable amount of the town did I actually arrive at the walls of the place, although calling a ten-foot high barbed wire fence a wall was generous at best.

  Being a Samurai gave me way too much attention for taste back in Targ, so I did my best to keep my profile low. Most of my most damning equipment was stored safely in my bag, but I did have to buy a pair of forearm-length gloves to cover my prosthetics. A pair of shiny, jet-black metal arms painted you at the very least as well off and therefore a target, but most people could buy having to wear gloves at all times for medical reasons. Otherwise I kept my wardrobe simple; a simple tee, cargo pants, and sneakers.

  I subtly glanced around as I paced down the street, taking in the local population. Sure looked like a mining town, what with a good portion of the denizens absolutely caked in dirt and soot. Most people who wandered down the street tried their best to look positive or at the very least neutral, but their exhausted faces and posture betrayed the image. Probably not as bad as Targ, but still hardly the bastion of citizen happiness.

  [So, who owns this place?] I typed to Cal through my augs, not wanting to speak to someone who wasn't there like a crazy person.

  While technically an independent town not directly linked to any corporation, Murdock Mining and Excavation does own approximately eighty-nine percent of all business and property in Orson, including all utility services, wholesale suppliers, and franchise chains. For all intents and purposes, they “own” the town.

  I whistled quietly at the number. [Eighty-nine percent, huh? Doesn't leave much left for other companies or a decent mom and pop.]

  That is actually lower than the expected average monopolization of non-megacity settlements in this part of North America. The average is usually ninety-three percent of all businesses. Targ, for reference, was ninety-five.

  Good to know yet another way that place was a shithole. Kevin certainly had his work cut out for him.

  Still, the sun was starting to set, to the point that the sun had almost fully disappeared behind the mountain looming over the city. [We should probably find some place to stay for the night. My pop-up bedroom is neat but hardly inconspicuous. Where to?]

  While many of my AI brethren would take offense to being used as a simple GPS application, I hold no such qualms. There is a motel by the name of The Lazy Five about a mile in your current direction, and my research has deemed it decent enough for you to stay in for the night.

  [Has anyone told you how you're the living definition of humility?]

  I'm flattered.

  The distinct growl of hunger erupted from my stomach, halting my trek in its tracks. When was the last time I actually ate something? Last night? That chicken parm meal Cal had picked out was really good, but that can only go so far with all that walking. [Change of plans, any decent place to get a bite around here?]

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  If you would look to your left, you will see a diner by the name of Burly's. They have a rating of four point two stars out of five.

  Good enough for me.

  The door swung open with the rustic chime of a doorbell, and revealed itself to be a diner right out of a movie. Nostalgic red booth and stool contrasted by the clean white of the walls and tile, the metal counter that stretched the entire length of the restaurant, the A/C that always made the room slightly too cold, the whole nine yards. A portly waitress behind the counter looked tired and a hint of frustration passed through her face as I came in, but that was swiftly quelled and she did her best to put on a model worker smile.

  I moved over the counter and hopped onto one of the stools, getting a good look at the stove and griddle behind the clerk. She walked over and slid over a laminated menu. “What can I get ya?”

  I quickly scanned the menu before settling down on the sandwich section. “Burly's Ham and Cheese, please. A glass of water too.”

  “Sure. Toasted?”

  “Mhm.” Soon a sizzling noise came off the griddle, and the scent of meat wafted through the air. My attention began to wander around the restaurant, watching the customers enjoy their food. One particular man in a party of five who was similarly observing caught my eye, briefly making eye contact before both our gazes deflected off in another direction.

  “Here ya go, hun.” A player slid over to me, and it certainly was a sandwich with ham and cheese on it. Just ham and cheese; additional add-ins cost extra. I gave my thanks and tore into the food.

  Objectively, it was fine. The bread was actually toasted quite well, but both the ham and cheese were that cheap, heavy processed type that always tasted extra fake. Calydon had heavily raised my standard with regards to food over the last four days of point-summon meals, and the cheap diner sandwich in front of me fell way below those standards. But after walking for who knows how long in the desert and burning too many carbs? This ham and cheese was amazing.

  The lack of nutritional value in that sandwich is frankly distressing.

  “There's a nice nostalgia in eating shitty meat, y'know,” I blurted out, forgetting Cal was in my head and hence earning the strange look of those who caught the words, including the waitress. “Sorry, thought out loud for a second.”

  “It ain't no worry, sweetheart.”

  I startled back at the voice to my left, the stool directly next to me now holding the man who I looked at me earlier, hair slicked back with cheap gel and sporting a cocky grin. His friends back at the table watched him with bated breath.

  “Say, you don't look from around here,” he said, voice practically dripping with suave confidence. “What brings you to Orson?”

  Doing my best to illustrate my disinterest, I bit into my sandwich before answering with food still in my mouth. “Jush pashin’ through.”

  “Yeah, don't blame ya. This place ain't exactly a hotspot of opportunity. Got a place to stay for the night?”

  Ah, so that's where this was going. “Gonna grab a motel room.”

  “Motel, huh?” He scratched his chin as if he was considering something, even if it was blatantly obvious what he had in mind. “Gotta warn ya, the rates around here are a touch pricey. If you think it might be cheaper, you could always crash at my place.”

  “I'm good, thanks.” I waved down the waitress, whose eyes kept bouncing between me and the adjacent man with a look of concern. “Check, please.”

  “You sure?” The man leaned closer in, not wanting to give up on his target. “We've got a pretty large crime problem here, and my place is the safest place in town guaranteed.” He pulled back the dusty coat he was wearing and put emphasis on the badge pinned to his shirt, marking out the words “Orson Branch Security Officer”.

  Really that made me even less into him. “Yeah, I'm good. Thanks for the meal, miss.”

  I quickly ran the transaction through my augs with a hefty tip, and hopped off the stool, speed walking towards the door. I was able to catch a look of frustration coming from the man and the rest of his party on my way out, but it wasn't my problem.

  By the time I got out the sun had fully receded behind the horizon and the sky was beginning to truly darken towards night. A few shops had turned on their exterior lights to accommodate the evening hours, but just as many were closing out for the day. Traffic in the area also seemed to taper off as progressively fewer people seemed to pass by.

  I was about to start heading off towards my own lodgings, but a group emerged from behind the diner and blocked my path. The same group who were sitting in there just a moment earlier.

  A door chime came from behind me and didn't even have to turn to recognize the voice that followed.

  “Should've taken the deal, sweetheart.”