Xin

Xin was immaculately dressed. From his finely tailored suit to his freshly shined shoes, Xin made effort to portray himself as a professional businessman who did important business like things. Everything in Xin’s life that he had any control over oozed “I’m an important business man. I have important business to deal with. Do not begin to think that I am anything but all business.” His hair was a slicked back homage to Gordon Gecko. His position as VP of sales at Deimos United meant his staff had heard the “always be selling” speech from Glengarry Glen Ross more times than anyone should have to. Xin was all business and he wanted his life to reflect that.

        That was the main reason he hated coming down here. Sub-basement three was not about business. Sub-basement three was about the old days and Xin hated the old days. They were messy, vile, and chaotic. Not the good kind of chaotic, the kind that got the creative juices pumping and sharpened Xin’s capitalist instincts, but the kind that ended with blood on the floor and no janitorial service to be found within miles.

        The new way was better. Xin loved the new way. Blood was still spilled but it was from his client’s wallets. If you lost a battle now, you went to the bar across the street and had a long hard drink. If you won, you went to the same bar and had two hard drinks. Either way you went home, got in your silk sheeted bed, watched whatever late night comedian had the most interesting guest (Xin preferred animal trainers because it was still a pleasure to see lesser beings subjugated) and then you were off to bed. No hiding bodies, no fleeing for your life, no constant reminders of your semi-mortality. Just business.

        Xin sighed and turned back to the creature sitting across from him. He shifted somewhat awkwardly in his chair as he did so. Even the seating was from the old days. There was no lumbar support to be found in Sub-Basement Three.

        “Peter,” Xin sighed, “I wish you would stop this silent treatment nonsense. It would save us both a lot of time and frustration. I hate coming here, you hate being here. There is a better way.” Xin leaned forward, resting his arm on the table while still maintaining his perfect posture. All his business books called this pose, “commanding the table”.

        “You could just explain to me what Raymond is doing and why his movements have been so muted lately. We know he’s plotting something. We all just want to make sure it’s nothing that will upset the balance of power. You know how he can be. Always looking for his next big adventure.” Xin leveled a steely gaze at the top of Peter’s head as the “prisoner” still hadn’t even bothered to look up from his manacled hands. Xin found this exceptionally unprofessional and he hated people who were unprofessional. Xin tended to be cruel to people he hated, even in this new world.

        “After that nasty falling out with James…” finally a reaction. No real movement, but there was definitely a noticeable chill in the air now. “and that terribly unfortunate incident with Alexia.”

        “Don’t talk about her.” a whisper from across the table replied.

        Xin smirked, “Why not old sport? I figure you need to talk about what happened. It might help you become more cooperative. After all without Alexia and her truly tragic death you wouldn’t have your absolutely smashing nickname!”

Xin’s eyes darted to Peter’s hands. Clenched and shaking. This was clearly working, why had the boys in the back room told him not to bring up the assassination? It was obviously the most effective line of questioning. Fools. Maneuvers like these were why he was moving up the ladder here. Bold decision making was simply required to succeed with this hollow shell of a man.

        “What was that nickname again?” continued Xin theatrically feigning ignorance. “Peter the Pitiful? Peter the Powerless?”

        Peter Gelbin’s hands stopped shaking as he raised his head to finally meet Xin’s gaze. A pair of steely blue eyes glared out from a nest of long unwashed stringy hair. “The Patsy. They call me Peter the Patsy.”

        Xin laughed and clapped his hands together in mock amusement, “Of course! Peter the Patsy! How delightful! The perfect moniker for the man who not only got to watch one of his friends die in front of him, but then became the most hunted man in this universe or any other. All because his “friends” were too enraged to actually make sure that he did it!” Xin stood and leaned over the table.

        “Yet you continue protecting those lovely friends of yours. Even after they figured out what James had done they still never came for you. Instead they left you to rot in the wasteland while they went off to get their vengeance.” He inched closer. “They never even gave you a second though. They let you be taken by us and put into another hole in the ground. This hole Peter.” Closer still. “You will never be anything more to them then a man unworthy of consideration.”

        Xin was mere inches away from Peter. His knuckles were straining against the cold metal of the table. His eyes shone with the righteous light of capitalistic victory. He was a shark. He was in control. He would break this man open and use everything that fell out to maintain this wonderful new world. Xin would never go back to the old way. He would never ever go back.

        He would also never see Peter coming.

        Peter’s hands sprung from his lap and the bindings fell away from his wrists. They wrapped themselves around Xin’s open and exposed neck and began to squeeze. Xin’s eyes instantly began to bulge as he felt Peter’s iron grip tighten. His was figuratively shocked and then as Peter’s hands and eyes began to glow with a cold silver light the figurative became the literal.

Xin’s final thought was, “Why weren’t his shackles locked?”

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        A few minutes later the door opened and an exceptionally average woman wearing an unexceptional red pantsuit stepped into the room. Where Xin had made every effort to use his appearance to appear more daunting and clever than he was, this woman valued understatement and subterfuge.  She showed no concern or surprise to find Peter calmly sitting back in his chair, completely unbound and wearing an immaculately put together suit and tie. His hair was long and unkempt and his beard was shaggy and wild. But the suit was impeccable.

        Rebecca audibly sighed and walked to the table, grabbing and righting the chair from the floor where it had been kicked. Taking a seat and folding her arms she cocked one light red and manicured eyebrow at Peter. “Was that completely necessary?” she said in a voice dripping with irritation. Though careful consideration would lead a listener to believe her irritation was not directed at Peter.

        “Necessary?” gruffly replied Peter while adjusting his new pocket square.  His voice sounded like a low riding car driving through gravel. It was a voice unaccustomed to being used. “No. But he deserved it. Don’t you warn these little shits Rebecca? We still have an agreement and I expect them to uphold it.”

        Rebecca sighed again before replying, “I do warn them Peter. But it turns out that CEO doesn’t carry quite the same fear and respect as High Commander General. So they all take my very clear instructions as tests of their ability to do my job,” She smiled lightly. “There was something to be said for the constant state of war. It kept the troops in line.”

        Peter finished his adjustments and met Rebecca’s eyes. “It sounds like you miss it.” He leaned across the table and his eyes briefly flashed silver. “Would you like to go back?”

        Rebecca watched Peter’s display of power dispassionately. She had seen this light show before. They held this tableau for a few moments longer before Peter sheepishly looked down at his freshly shined shoes. “My apologies Rebecca, it has been a difficult afternoon.”

        Rebecca sat quietly for a moment taking in the cold metal walls of this bare room that Peter made his home. In the corner sat a threadbare cot, there were no windows, and no comforts of any kind. It was a prison designed to his specifications. “I apologize as well. Xin,” there was a brief hesitation from Rebecca before she continued, “was perhaps not who I should have sent.”

        The silver glow in Peter’s eyes vanished as he laughed lightly, leaned back, and crossed his legs, “Well I don’t know what I expected after my little, mishap with Phandra.”

        “Mishap?!? How many of my people are going to have “mishaps” exactly?” Rebecca replied, eyebrow arching once more.

        “To be fair,” Peter opened his hands wide, attempting to display innocence, “how was I supposed to know that her brother was at Kryton? Besides that it’s not like I blew him up specifically. There was a whole army there. I’m sure lots of brothers died.”

        Rebecca’s gaze turned withering, “I’m sure she found that comforting. We could ask her if she wasn’t a small pile of dust and ash.”

        “I didn’t make her pull that knife.”

        “You certainly didn’t encourage her to put it down.”

        “Technically I did. It was just a shockingly strong encouragement.” Peter’s grin widened slightly and he waggled his eyebrows at the woman sitting across from him.

At this, Rebecca threw her hands into the air and stood, pushing the chair back from the table and turning briskly to the door. “You’re impossible and I have better things to do. I’ll find someone more suitable to keep you company Peter.”  She knocked twice and the door swung open on a hallway that extended in cold, metallic dispassion in either direction. She turned back as she stepped from the room, her face once again turning serious. Her eyes grabbed hold of Peter’s and her voice hard and resolute said, “I don’t want to go back Peter. But I’m afraid we may have no choice. Raymond isn’t making sense to any of us.”

        Peter smiled slightly, “Did anyone in his position ever make sense to you?”

        Rebecca sighed and rolled her eyes beginning to shut the door behind her. “Goodnight Peter.”

        With that, Peter was alone again with his new suit, his cot, table, chairs, and his thoughts.