The two walk over to the table and sit down, Dylan adjusts in his seat trying not to sit on the damp spot on his black pants. Dylan looks around and notices various posters covering the wood paneled walls, detailing scenes of revolution from throughout history.
“Your doing?” Dylan asks motioning to the posters.”
“I thought it was appropriate considering everything.”
“So that’s what you guys are? A revolution?”
“Not exactly,” Blake responds, “Yes that is the ultimate end goal, but baby steps. First we gotta destabilize the highlanders and fund it. The other cells deal with recruitment and training and the such, but none of that matters if we fail.”
“So what do you guys do exactly then?”
“We steal and con highlanders from their precious cash and weapons and smuggle it back down here. You helped us with that when you covered for Jeffrey. The orphanage is one of our fronts. That was the first time they investigated it, so we’ll have to find a new one to replace him. Can’t put Jeffrey through that again.”
“What do you need me for then? I’m not exactly a thief?”
“Being a thief can be taught, but what can’t be taught is how to be a highlander. You lived up there for several years. You have the implants, the looks, you know how things work. That’s invaluable. We’ve had to work completely in the shadows before now, but with you almost anything is possible.”
“So you want me go topside and con people? Wouldn’t that be really fucking dangerous?” Dylan asks skeptically.
“This isn’t without its risks. But you said you wanted things to change and this is the best way we have right now. You can help us to get to higher profile targets and it’s not like you won’t be compensated.”
“Well eventually we’ll have you set up topside full-time if all goes well. You’ll get to live the high life of luxury, it’s the only way to convince the bigwigs you’re worth dealing with. You can’t tell me that doesn’t sound tantalizing. Nightclubs, high society, rich food, the women. You have to become one of them.”
“Blake, none of that interests me. It just seems like a stupid risk. What’s wrong with what you’re doing now? Isn’t it working?”
“Kid, I wouldn’t be asking you to do this if we didn’t have to. You know I care for you like a son and you can bet your ass I will be doing everything in my power to make sure you’re safe. I know you can handle yourself in a fight. I fucking taught you.”
“I mean I guess, but how does this tie in with my mother. You said you knew the guy responsible for her death.” Dylan asks seriously.
“That’s the ironic thing. The guy that ratted your parents out, Freud Mayweather. He’s the owner of the PlasWeap Corporation. The biggest arms dealer on this half of the damn continent. He basically runs the defense force single-handedly. If he goes down, it all comes down and we have our chance.”
Dylan’s eyes burn with fury and slams his fists on the table, “Where is he. I’ll go right fucking now. I remember him. He used to come over for dinner all the time. My parents trusted him. That fucking bastard. I’ll rip his guts out.”
Blake raises his hands, “Whoa kid. Calm down. We gotta do this smart or we’ll all just end up dead. We got a ways to go before we even can get close to him. He lives in a damn fortress. That’s what we need you for. You need to work your way up to his inner circle and take him down from within.”
“How the hell am I gonna infiltrate his inner circle?!”
“With patience. You start at the bottom. His subordinates start making mistakes, thanks to us, you start moving up. Get him to trust you. Do to him what he did to your parents. See the betrayal in his face before you take him down.”
Dylan looks Blake dead in the eyes, “When do I start?”
Blake grins, “Now that’s what I like to hear.”
Blake reaches out and offer Dylan a handshake which Dylan returns firmly.
“Let’s go introduce you to the crew. Come on.”
They both stand up and leave the way they entered the bar and continue down the street the entered upon until Dylan got lost in the winding streets Blake was leading him through, but Dylan didn’t notice where he was going. He was fixated on one thing. The image of Freud Mayweather laughing at a dinner with his parents twelve years ago.