New World // Old Problems

A dimly lit bar, an antique in the electricity infused digital era. Everything was wood and metal and stone, there was not a single ounce of technology within the walls that connected to the Network. It was a dark corner in a dark spot on the grid and those who went there liked it that way. Today, there were no patrons. It was an empty bar. Except the bartender tied to a chair in the middle of the room. The lighting was enough to show that he was beaten. He had been tortured, but he had not broken. The bartender was not alone. His tormentor was simply taking a break in the shadows. The tormentor's phantom voice carried throughout the bar.

"They say that advancement carries a cost, but that price is rarely paid by those pushing forward. It is the ones they lead behind, the ones they climb over, and the ones standing in their way that pay the price. When settlers landed on the coast of the Americas, they expanded their horizons in the New World, but at the cost of the natives. The land was fertile and ripe, the techniques were different but the agenda was the same. There was fighting, maybe it was because the natives realized the threat of disease that the settlers brought with them or maybe it was because the settlers were not content with sharing this New World they found. Regardless of the reason, the fighting began as it always does and the New World devolved into the same Old Problems."

The tormentor paused, he expected the bartender to say something. He must have been disappointed with the bartender's silence because the tormentor stepped out of the shadows. He was more than just clean. He was pristine. Polished, perfect, newly minted. His black suit was as flawless as the shadows around the bar. "Are you not curious, Mr. Bassett, as to why I bring up the colonization of the New World?"

Still silent, the bartender looked defiantly up at his tormentor.

"It's because you're the Old Problem." The tormentor squatted down so that he was at eye level with the bartender. "Not you specifically, but you are included. This place, it's an abomination. Just standing here I feel like your pathetic excuse for an establishment is trying to infect me. There is dirt on the floor, where do your patrons even track it in from? The nearest soil, outside of the Apothecariums which are heavily restricted, is over a mile from here. The New World is come again, Mr. Bassett, and it is my job to make sure that these Old Problems aren't holding the rest of us back. Do you understand?"

Silent, defiant. The bartender did not take his eyes from his tormentor.

The tormentor stood up and walked over to the bar, he was tempted to wipe a finger on the dirty bar just to prove his point, but he refused to stoop so low as to dirty himself for such a notion. He did not need the bartender to understand the finer points of the dilemma, just the broad outcome.

As the tormentor turned back to the bound bartender, a string of nanites dripped down from his glove and formed into a black pistol. "One last time, Mr. Bassett, where can I find Console Ghost?"

Finally after hours, it seemed like the bartender broke. He chuckled a painful chuckle and responded to his tormentor for the first time, "Console Ghost, most people would say that is just a legend. A story to give hope to those with boot prints on their backs. A chance for those cast aside and thrown away to even the scales."

Nanites did not create purely solid objects, they shifted and shimmered if you watched for it. The nanite pistol shimmered with sparks when the tormentor pressed it against the bartender's temple, "I am not going to ask again."

The bartender smiled, "Then don't. Even if I wanted to tell you, I couldn't. Until you jackbooted down my door and kicked all my patrons out, I didn't even know that I was playing host to Ghosts. If I had known, I would've told them to get lost. Can't afford this kind of trouble."

The tormentor let out a sigh, "I admire your defiance, Mr. Bassett, and I agree. This trouble cost you everything."

The gun went off with an electric crack rather than a bang, and the bartender slumped lifeless to the side. His weight slowly pulled the chair off balance and it toppled to the ground as his tormentor watched.