[Inside a bar in Arcadia, a gregarious man orders drinks for all. He’s flashing credits for everyone to see, reveling in the popularity his good fortune and high spirits afford him.]
“Another round for the bar!” He exclaims to raucous cheers from the patrons.
[Seated in a distant table, his back to the wall, a quiet man sips whiskey, his features hidden beneath the brim of a flat cap.]
“That’s a lot of coin, friend.” The quiet man says, his voice penetrating the noise of the crowded bar, as if speaking directly into the gregarious man’s ear. ‘
[The gregarious man makes his way to the table, a wide grin plastered on his face.]
“What can I say?! I had some good luck and I wanted to celebrate.”
“Everyone could use a little luck. How did fortune smile on you?”
[The gregarious man pauses, considering.]
“It’s a long story, guy.”
“I like stories.”
“Yeah… well, I ain’t really got the time or interest to tell it. See, I got my friends here that want to celebrate! Why don’t you just enjoy the free drinks and lave me be? You have a good ni-“
[The quiet man raises his hand and gestures slightly, commanding an odd authority while doing so. The quiet man feels compelled to sit and does so, physically unable to resist.]
“Let me tell you a story. Stop me if you’ve heard it.” He begins. “See, there’s a guy, fancies himself a hustler. This guy gets himself involved with some less-than-reputable characters in The Slums, guys that are scoring a lot of credits. Stick ups, robberies: small time stuff, but adds up, right? And this guy, he thinks he’s smart, yeah? Figures he can skim some of those credits.”
[The gregarious man tries to leave but can’t. It’s as if something is forcing him to stay seated.]
“And that’s how it starts. A little here, a little there. But before this guy knows it, he’s in over his head and what’s more? These guys he’s ripping off are onto him.”
[The quiet man produces a single bullet and begins to deftly twirl it between his fingers.]
“He figures he’s gotta disappear. So he takes as much as he can and vanishes. He stuffs credits into his pockets, gets far away, and changes everything about himself: he looks different, he talks different, he’s even got himself a brand new name.”
[The gregarious man’s eyes follow the bullet. Something is etched on it.]
“And for a while, that worked. But his ego got the better of him, couldn’t leave well enough alone. Just his nature, I guess. And that’s the thing. He could change his name, he could hide, but he couldn’t change who he was. He’d been trying to run from his past, but you can’t outrun a bullet.”
[He taps the bullet onto the table, the thud of the brass serving as a period to the statement.]
“Would you look at that? This one’s got your name on it.”