There are hundreds of tables. Long ones. Round ones. U shaped ones. All facing a stage, far too big for the single tuxedo wearing man, sitting off the edge and swinging his legs. “Who would’ve thought?” he calls into the mic. “My boring brother ending up with the most interesting, beautiful woman in West Side!” The crowd are cheers. 

The smell of food yanks me sideways. Along the far left of the hall is a table of seemingly endless dishes. “Ohmyfuckinggod,” I gasp, gunning forward. 

Wesleyas’s brother continues from the stage. “Yet here we are! I guess all that activism works for something eh? Other than draining the family fortune on terrible investments, haha!” The crowd is half laughs and half groans. 

I block out his obnoxious voice and grab a plate. I begin piling food, covering the entire surface area. I’m, not even halfway down, so I start layering the food, building a great gastronomical pyramid. Fuck, there’s dessert too. Balancing my plate one my left arm I begin layering a desert plate. 

Salif taps my shoulder. “Look to your left.” 

I gasp. There is a beer tap, ten nozzles long. Good lord I am blessed and life is good. With my food in my right hand and my dessert plate clenched between my teeth, I begin pouring. I start at the first. Hazy Oxberry. 

Who gives a fuck? 

I run my hand down the lane and pour each and every one into my tankard, leaving me with a swirling, hissing, brown monstrosity. 

“What’s your table ticket number?” Salif asks, filling his tankard with a measly single beer. 

“Huh?” 

“Your table ticket. It shows you where to sit?”

“No idea.” 

“Ah, whatever, just follow me.” 

I nod. We weave through a set of tables, nearly to the front stage. Salif sits at the single empty seat amidst a table of nearly twelve, impeccably slick men and women I can only assume are businessmen, aristocrats and bastards. 

“Kistral, my girl,” Salif says, hushed, bumping elbows with the woman next to him. She’s slender and bald. Looks kind of like a pencil. 

“Hehe, too busy for friends nowadays are we?” Kistral whispers. 

“Ah, just the business taking off at long fucking last.” 

“Speaking of friends, what is that?” she points at me.

I set my mountain of food between them, spilling my overflowing beer onto the perfectly white table cloth. On the table next to us, an old man stands to go get a refill. I grab his chair, dragging it into the narrow gap between the two of them. “G’day t’ya ma’am,” I say, leaning forward and kissing her hand as she’s slicing through synthetic meat. 

She recoils as if I were a cockroach. 

I am a cockroach. 

A cockroach in a wedding. 

Wesleyas’s brother clears his throat. I’d love to punch him in his Adam’s apple. “But enough about the special couple. Let’s drink!” he throws his hands in the air and is received with perfectly mediocre response. 

I begin to wolf. Loud as possible. Kistral is sprayed with my carnage. As much as I feed on my plate I feed on her disgust. There is no greater joy than the frown from those who live beyond my scope of life. They might not have to see it but they will have to smell it. At least. 

“Wait! Wait! Sorry,” Tauren skitters onto the stage, grabbing the microphone from her soon-to-be brother in law. She casts her stage-seasoned nervous smile. The chatter suppresses for a moment. “Before we feast, I know you’re all super hungry, sorry, but I just want to introduce some friends. Yes, I will be doing the main performance,” she does a little curtesy. She is the only person who could stop me eating right now. “But before I take the stage, I want to introduce The Collapsing Gap, who will be opening the performance for us today!” 

A collection of skinny, baggy clothed teenagers saunter onto the stage. Tauren presses a button on the tiny remote in her hand and their instrument holograms render. With no introduction, they explode into violent, guttural thrash. Several of the bureaucrats gasp. I grin, head banging. 

“This is fucking hardcore,” Salif says, corners of his mouth upturning. 

“Only Tauren,” I reply. 

She makes her way through the table, dishing compliments and accepting hugs. I race to the beer tap, fill three more and return to my seat. Before she reaches me, I feel her warmth beaming from afar. “Kallix! There is no way!” 

I grin sheepishly as she hugs me from behind my seat. 

“Yeah, he actually reminded me about it, I had totally forgotten,” Salif says, laughing. 

“You made it too! I can’t believe it,” she hugs him next.  

“Got you something,” I say, sliding out the record shot, “The End is Dear?” 

She shrieks in a way that tickles my spine. “Yes! Yes! Thank you so much!” she hugs me again. 

“It’s from us,” Salif mutters, shrugging sarcastically. 

Someone calls Tauren from another table. She kisses me on the cheek and rushes off. 

I return to my food. Cheeks definitely not red. 

“She’s still not going to let you hit,” Salif says, elbowing me in the ribs. 

“I been hitting that since I was fifteen. And don’t worry, this guy’s like eighty five, give me a five years and I’ll be back.” 

“Which guy?” Duke Wesleyas asks, suddenly behind me. 

Fuck. He appeared like a ghost, holy shit. 

His sour face cracks into a smile. “I’m just kidding,” he claps my shoulder. “Sorry for the awkward seating arrangements,” he gestures around. “But unfortunately I’m going to make it a lot more awkward…” 

What is this guy’s agenda?

“You lot are the largest investment influencers, corporate officials and lawyers with connections to Cloud and Air in my network. There’s a reason I’ve gathered you all here.” 

A shriveled prune of a man with a more jiggling neck fat than a chicken, coughs, stands, and a takes off. 

“Good day, Sir Jofferat,” Wesleyas nods, saluting him. “Anybody else afraid of discomfort?” 

There are a few murmurs, but nothing direct. Many of them seem to squirm under his gaze. 

“Alright. I want to prepare you all. I will be addressing everybody here about the coming corporate merger. I’m sure you’ve all heard my vocalization about the incoming legalization of Bansilin. You are all in positions to earn the most money and allocation of power from this move, which is why I need you all to hear me out. At least, those of whom I hope have a spine.” He pauses for a moment, watching the reactions. 

“Radical,” someone mutters. 

“Radical? If preventing the profiteering from the destruction of individual personality beyond bodies of consumption is radical then yes, consider me that.” 

“The corporate merger will reduce malpractice, unsafe use, spreading of the plague and other diseases, overdoses from cut substances…” Kistral says. 

“Perhaps, but it will provide a corporate incentive for mass consumption. Think about how many people use. Think about how many more will start once the ads are plastered everywhere and it can be recommended by a doctor. I would ask how many of you all use, and thus are having your judgement clouded, despite your judgement determining the fates of millions of others, innocent and uneducated. Ignorant to the fact that their souls are being sold in meetings over drinks.”

“Duke, some of these things are beyond our control,” Salif says, meek voiced. 

“Individually, for sure. You are merely an investment director, in charge of the fortunes of a few minor billionaires. Those few, even if they listen to you, could never even surmount the pressure needed to change the tide. However, the group of you all here, united under common directive and genuine moral groundwork? We would be a force to be reconned with.”

“If you are so desperate for this, what is to stop you from siding with terrorists like the Swifters?” Kistral asks. “It’s radical anarchists that want to dissolve the free market. The government shouldn’t decide what is for sale, the people should.” 

“Terrorists like Zorikan might have a distorted image of a similar goal, twisted with violence and vigilantism, but we align no more than the north and the west. He thinks he can change the world with power and gunfire. All he achieves is attaching anti-corporate change with extremism. Men like Zorikan turn the average watcher of the news further into corporate hands. When you as a mother see images of him attacking police barracks, all you can wish for is more power in our capital overlords to protect you. He pisses on the pure ideology he thinks he supports. No, I do not associate with that fear monger. I condone nothing he does, and I think he should rot in a prison.” 

“Tell me about it,” I grunt.   

“But still,” Wesleyas continues, “I believe he has more clarity of mind than anyone who could support this merger. Think critically, my fellow scholars of economy and politics. Think of the effects this will have on widespread society. It is only those corrupted by the use of this malicious, seductive chemical that cannot see past its dangers. They can’t see past how it has dissolved their families and their relationships, because they are blinded by their career success and their enhanced orgasms.” 

I scan the table. By their averted gaze and stifled hands, I can tell that the majority of them are in deep. I know Salif is. 

“Please, think about what I’ve had to say. I will be arranging a committee after this wedding. I have secure locations set up where we can discuss and plan without being watched. I am certain we can make a change. Together, we have the connections and the influence to do it, we need only use the care we’ve hidden in our hearts. Remember to try,” he says, and stands and leaves. 

Damn. I only understood half the words he said, but those that I did, I cannot hate. Aristocrat or not, this guy is onto something. I break the silence. “Who’s in?” My gaze reaps their fear. I slap Salif on the arm. “C’mon man, what’s the harm?” 

“I don’t know man… The deal I’ve got coming is huge. And I promised Salina that we would put Sedsa in a corporate school. I need this right now man. You’ve got to understand.” 

I slug back my beer. “You didn’t hear a single word he said, did you?” 

“You were the one calling him a shitty aristocrat. He’s probably just doing this for publicity. You know it’s trendy to be against the norm right?” 

I burp, loud as possible. “I assume that goes for the rest of you?” 

They continue eating. 

“Fuckyeah, let’s shoot our entire civilization in the balls so that our kids can go to slightly more prestigious schools. Absolute moral monoliths of righteousness aren’t we? Fucking junkies. Fucking addicts. Sell your brain, I don’t give a fuck.” 

“You have smoke stains on your shoulder. Liquor stains on your chest,” Kistral points out. “To talk to us about our addictions...” 

“I wish I had a word for your type of people, but luckily I didn’t spend the first eighteen years of my life in a brainwashing camp.” 

“I’ll go,” says one of them. He’s unassuming, shaggy haired, tall framed, soft faced; except for the eyepatch that covers most of the left side of his head. “If you go for the meeting, I’ll go with you.” 

I stare at him, blankly. “You’ll what?” 

“I’ll go to the meeting with you. My name’s Malyko, I’m a chemical operations director for a division of Cloud and Air. I’ve studied the drug. I agree with the movement, even though I’m a user.”

I’m taken aback. “Alright. Yeah. Fuck yeah, man. Let’s do this.” 

“What would you even be contributing to such a committee?” Kistral jabs. “It’s for those with influence and funds, which of those do you have?”

I look at her. I look through her. I stare into her eyes, into her soul, hunting for weakness. Hunting for a crack. I will sear her consciousness with my gaze. 

She doesn’t break. We’re at eye level yet she’s still looking down at me. The contempt is blazing. I can feel her polite disgust through her contacts. 

So I spit right into her eyes. 

She screams. 

I laugh. 

“Security! Security I’ve been assaulted!” 

A burly, mustached man who sits next to Malyko pushes his chair back and stands. “Alright, that’s enough. Who let this creature in here?” 

“This creature is the thing you created by not looking at where your money ends up,” I squawk, slugging back another beer. 

The burly man rolls his sleeves up and marches to me. 

“Hegalf, calm down, let me talk to him,” Malyko says, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Spoilt brat needs a lesson,” Hegalf barks, pushing through chairs to get to me. 

“Spoilt? Coming from a trust fund baby?” I jeer as I slug down a third tankard. 

“I’m self made, jackass,” he grunts, reaching me. He throws a hilariously slow left hook. 

I duck, sliding down in my chair, and watch with pure joy as his fist connects with Kistral’s head, clocking her sideways. “Perfect metaphor, you put your money to one thing and its got some unexpected consequences. Poetic isn’t it?” 

Kistral is screaming, now even louder than the punk metal raging on stage. 

Hegalf tries to grab me, but I slide under the table. He yanks the table cloth up, spilling half of the drinks. He ducks under, lashing out one arm but I’ve already scuttled up the other side. A fat, orange lady shrieks as I worm between her legs. When I roll to my feet, I knock my shin on the chair leg sending a splinter of pain up to my knee. 

Hegalf presses forward, but Malyko tries to block him. “This piece of shit needs to be taught a lesson!” he roars, shoving Malyko aside, making him crash into the next table. He moves towards me, but I leap up onto the table behind us and kick a plate straight at him, directly in the neck. He coughs violently, doubling over. 

“Eat shit, trust fund princess,” I spit. 

It’s only now that I realize the band has stopped playing, and everybody in the audience is looking at me. Two bouncers are shuffling through the tables, making their way over. 

Malyko dusts himself off, then helps Hegalf up. He’s still coughing, his face red. “Let’s settle down for a moment, shall we?” Malyko says. 

“Bro, dude, what the fuck is going on?” Wesleyas’s younger brother demands, suddenly nearby. “Who is this kid and why is he attacking guests?” he looks around. 

“He came at me,” I protest. “You all saw it!” I point at my table. 

“Kallix! Get down, you’re scaring people.” It’s Tauren. She waves the bouncers off, walking up. “C’mon.”