My whole-body aches as I stagger up to the entrance to dad’s apartment. The camera above the door flashing a mesh of red lights down at me to make sure I haven’t suddenly been replaced with a robot wearing Millie’s skin. I know from experience of trying to sneak Jason past the thing that, whatever the hell it scans, it’s not just skin deep. The light takes an annoyingly long time as my feet start aching again and I consider leaning up against the door. Only the hard-won knowledge that doing so can cause the scanner to assume I’m breaking in stopping me from doing so. I’ve already had to deal with the building’s security once today.
‘No way there this big of a bunch of assholes to everyone else who lives here. Why do they always make mego through the scanner multiple times?’
I’ve long suspected dad slips the guards a cred-stick or two to keep a special eye on me. I somehow doubt the two dozen or so semi-retired mercs who guard this place would ever normally be so invested in whether one of the residents is sneaking a friend inside. Building security isn’t normally that tight, not even in the slightly up market type of apartment complex dad set me up in after the courts dropped me off at his real house.
“Oh, Millie dear. How have you been? I haven’t seen you the last few days.” I’m jerked from the spite filled memory by the voice of my neighbour of two doors down. The old lady with her oft malfunctioning spine using just a stick today as she comes up the stairs behind me and moves towards her door. The elevator is right there but, from seeing her complete a lap of the building even on days she can barely walk, I can guess that the dried-out looking woman has never been one to choose the easy option.
“I’m fine, Ms Rankin. School was cancelled because of the storm so I just stayed inside and uh, focused on my assignments.”
“Oh, you are a good girl. Do be careful though, I heard there’s been some unpleasantness near the district centre today. One of those illegal markets and a spate of robberies too! It makes me wonder just what’s happening to the city. This certainly isn’t what the Founder’s promised when I moved here, you know?”
I nod and smile in that way you do when an old person is trying to trap you into a conversation. The door having already slid open with a soft whoosh of chill air as she spoke and so thankfully providing me with an easy exit.
“I know what you mean, Ms Rankin. I’ve got to have dinner now and finish up my assignments but you have a nice evening.” I keep up the smile as I hurry through the door, holding in the annoyance wanting to lash out at anything that might delay me from answering my phone. The burner’s heavy weight in my jean pocket had been a constant distraction from the basketball game Claire pulled me into. The worry that I might get too focused on the pointless game making me irritable and distracted for the whole of the one and a half matches we got to play.
That I also had to constantly focus so as not to try too hard and let slip how much faster and stronger I am hadn’t helped either. Neither, the silent presence of the smashed window and slowly crumbling wall that everyone else had just ignored like it wasn’t there. Really, the idea had been doomed from the start and so when the second game had been interrupted, I’d only felt a sense of guilty relief rather than the annoyance shared by everyone else.
‘At least I’d been winning. Even holding myself back, if I was just a bit taller none of them could’ve stopped me.’
The thought flicks through my head and paints a satisfied smirk across my face just in time for the cold room to wipe it away with a shiver as it envelops me in its chill. The heating system controlled by a program that only the lease holder can access and not something I’ve ever been listened to on. Just one more petty reminder about who’s charity I’m dependent on.
I pretend I don’t hear Ms Rankin calling goodbye as the door snaps back into place behind me the very moment that it registers I’ve passed through. The thin covering of faux-wood doing nothing to stop the chill of the metal within from reaching me as I lean back against it with a forced sigh. My eyes closed so I can go a little longer without needing to look at the depressing sight in front of me. Quickly though, the cold seeping into the aching muscles of my back has me pushing away from the door with another shiver filled huff of air that I feel certain should mist as it leaves my mouth.
Eyes snapping open to take in the result of a teenager who’s always had a parent or nannies to look after her now suddenly left alone. A line of dusty and cracking shoes is spilling off a rack to my side. The doormat under my feet a far daker shade of brown than it was a few months ago while the smooth laminate floor filling half of the open space in front of me is scuffed and streaked with a layer of dust I’ve mostly learned not to see. The carpeted lounge area is no better with its stained sofa that I no longer sit on and a chair so covered in cushions and blankets that its seat is almost half a foot higher than it should be. I’d made the mistake of experimenting with my Power while sitting in it and now the cupboards worth of sheets is needed to hide the embarrassment.
The kitchen though, is the worst.
I’d never really appreciated how much mess just existing in a space created until I suddenly found myself living alone. The significantly higher amount created by cooking only further convincing me that takeout and cleaners are the right way to live. For now though, I have to live in the sauce stained and crumb covered kitchenette barely contained by the island separating it from the only slightly better lounge area. The thought that perhaps Claire and Lilly have a point in accusing me of not knowing how to cook having me huff again as I make myself stick-walk over to the kitchen island. Shrugging off my backpack near the door before I slide onto one of the high-backed swivel stools pushed up against the granite counter.
I can cook. Not well but… serviceably. It’s just the cleaning up that I’ve been struggling with. Although, in my defence, I’ve had a very busy few weeks since I turned seventeen.
Today too, I was supposed to be enjoying a nice relaxing day out with my friends and instead I’ve ended up stressing my still recovering body by jumping around right after two days of bedrest. Even if I don’t think I’ve got anymore broken bones or dislocated joints, it still hasn’t done great things for my sore muscles. I really should’ve just said no or phoned-in my part of the game; it was mostly just an excuse for Claire to ogle the private school boys from up close anyway. Yet, despite my frustrations and soreness, I have to admit it was fun to win.
My victorious smirk fading as I reach down to massage my feet with a tired groan that quickly becomes annoyed when I find that I forgot to take my shoes off. Tugging them free with a defeated sigh before throwing them blindly over my shoulder back towards the door. If I’m lucky, they won’t have added too much to the dust and grit covering the floor.
The thought of having to hoover again has me lowering my face to rest against the smooth surface of the countertop. Cheek immediately growing cold and having me shiver despite my best efforts to just stay still. Efforts the restless energy still filling me is making pointless as my fingers tap against the counter with the urge to check my burner. It’s been in my pocket, the actual one on my jeans, this whole time and with the obsessive focus I’ve had on it there’s no way I’d miss a call but still… my fingers itch.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
I shoot up from my spot lying on the counter. Nervous energy finally given an outlet as I spin around with a frown on my face. One that rapidly grows darker as I hear the door sliding open before the last knock has even fully finished. I expect to see security on the other side or, perhaps due to my recent run in with the lizard Supe, a villain about to demand I hand over my valuables.
An angry shout suitable for either of them already being halfway out of my mouth when I finish turning only to find an aggressively plain, and unfortunately familiar, man already walking inside. The look of polite disinterest on his ageless face having all the blood drain from mine as anger is replaced with fear. The last remnants of whatever satisfaction I’d pulled from the game going with it as I feel each and every one of my sore muscles tensing in readiness to spring away.
I can’t think of any good reasons for my dad’s chief problem solver to be visiting right now.
“Millie… right where you’re supposed to be. Well done.” Ceylon doesn’t look at me as talks. My name leaving his lips like that of a dog left with a neighbour who’s spoiled it while he was away. His voice slow and smooth and breathy with a low pitch that forces me to strain my hearing to make sure I don’t miss a word he says. Any one of them could be vital.
“What are you doing here?” My hips bump up against the kitchen island as I jump from my seat and instinctively back up against it. Tongue tangling over itself with the whiplash of his unexpected appearance. My previously tired mind now desperately wondering what I might’ve done to deserve a personal visit. If it was just the phone tracker not working at the weekend then I’d get a call and maybe a new phone with a, presumably, stronger tracker. If it was getting dropped off by Uncle Owen after being in a bad area, I should expect him to be made a messenger of dad’s disapproval. Usually with an email and a worse reception from security. If it was any of other the things I did on Monday then I’d expect, well, possibly this.
I feel my face growing white and pallid as I struggle to keep my breathing under control. The thought of dad knowing about me being a villain, knowing what I’ve been doing, flashing into my head and refusing to leave. My only path to getting the funds I need for actual freedom cut off by threats of unmasking and a jail sentence. One he could almost certainly get commuted to home arrest at a ‘home’ of his choosing.
‘If he knows I’m a Supe, there’s no way he’ll ever let me go.’
My hands grab at the edge of the counter after patting instinctively at my pockets. Gripping tight enough that I feel the stone starting to creak ominously before I cross them in front of me instead. Feeling suddenly very aware of the burner phone in my jeans pocket which, for the first time today, I really, really, don’t want to go off.
For his part, Ceylon acts like I’m not here after casually commenting on my presence. Not even glancing at me as he walks through the door without taking off his shoes or dropping the bulky briefcase he holds in one hand. Shining dress blacks carving a line through the dust clinging to the floor as he passes me by and reaches for the remote that I’d left on the arm of the sofa. An oppressive silence falling over the apartment as the door slides closed again and I get enough control over my fear that blood returns to my face. Just in time for my cheeks to start burning at the mess. It looks so much worse with Ceylon’s primly suited form standing at the centre.
I clench my teeth and fight the urge to look at the floor while he flicks the TV on to the last channel I’d been watching. An endless collection of IRL livestream highlights from around the city this week. Mostly, its people being dumb, no surprises there, or animals being cute. Although, there’s also a good amount of Supe stuff which is why I’d really been watching it.
Ceylon just sighs as the screen shows a man trying to jump onto a police capture drone from a balcony only to have the machine flip over at the last second to snag him inside its cage of legs. The disbelieving screams and laughter of his likely drunk friends as they film him being carried away filling the apartment before it cuts to a video of a gull covered in curry. The bird trying to escape from a flock of others all wanting a taste of its feathers.
“Fitting.” I feel more than hear my jaw cracking as I work it side to side, resisting the surge of anger that has me wanting to crush something from the dismissive finality with which he speaks. The still rising fear that Ceylon’s here because dad knows what I did at the weekend makes it a lot easier.
“Your studies. They are going well.” It’s not a question. Ceylon breaking the silent pause that comes when the now bloody gull flies away. Not turning around until he’s carefully placed the remote back on its perch like it might bite him. Leaving the TV on as he again walks past me without any notice of my wary glower. My eyes following him as he walks to the fridge and barely glances at the bare sides before moving to the nearest cupboard. Opening it only to find dusty shelves and cans of unappetising food I might still eat later on.
“Yes. I’m near the top of my year.”
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
He clicks his tongue at that, the sudden noise making me flinch as his expression changes for the first time into a light scowl. His movements smooth and unhurried as he closes the cupboard at the kitchen’s end and moves on to the next. My lips pursing tighter as I grip my crossed arms in self-directed annoyance at the show of weakness. The pause in the ‘conversation’ dragging on as he continues finding nothing but the evidence of my two-day binge eating.
“Your father was at the top. Always.”
It’s an effort not to sigh in bottled frustration as I watch him continue to go through my empty cupboards. Distracting myself from the urge to snap back with the fear that my burner could go off any moment. I’m not sure if it would be better or worse for me to put it into my Pocket and so risk Rosch not being able to reach me. It’s on silent and so, if I’m lucky, Ceylon might not hear the buzz over the noise of the TV.
“Jason Wright has not been seen since Sunday.” The sudden non-sequitur has me freeze in place as Ceylon closes the last cupboard. Turning back around with a pot filled with tea bags I only get out on special occasions. My wide eyes swapping between the box of my mum’s favourite blend and his bland expression while I struggle over what to say. How much I should assume they know.
“Fuck you.”
I snap my mouth shut before my impulsive thoughts can slip anything else past the roadblock that is my fear over just how Ceylon knows that. I don’t believe for a moment that dad would go to the trouble of actively tracking Jason like he does me. As far as I know, Jason only has burner phones and generally doesn’t keep them for long. Also, unlike me, he’s not often in places that have easy to bribe guards or similar that can keep an eye on him. Most likely, Ceylon just called in to his family and a few other places he might’ve gone too and found out no-one’s seen him since the weekend. Just why he’d do that though is the actual problem.
Also, as the thought comes to my head too late to do anything about it, why he would mention it to me when I’m not supposed to have anything to do with Jason anymore. Except to see if I showed any hint of surprise or worry… Which I hadn’t.
Ceylon shows not an ounce of reaction to my vitriol filled insult nor the quick flash of fear I feel cross my face on realising he was fishing for a reaction. No movement wasted as he places the tea jar down on a patch of less stained granite behind him before stepping forward to reach his hand across the island between us. His eyes meeting mine at last and remaining steady as I force myself to keep glaring up at him. The reminder that I really can’t afford to make dad mad at me right now doing wonders to keep my temper in check. Being grounded takes on a whole different meaning when the only door can be locked remotely and the building’s security can be paid to sit right outside the windows.
“Your phone.” I swallow down the anger as I pull out my personal phone to slide across the island top. Ignoring his outstretched arm in a small show of petty defiance that doesn’t even get him to blink. All the while hating how my hands shake when I finally stop crossing my arms and hating more how I can’t be sure if the trembling is more from anger or fear. Dad wouldn’t send Ceylon just to ask me about a missing friend that I’m not meant to be talking to, nor to get a look at my phone. The man himself makes no move to stop the phone from bumping against him. Keeping his hand extended and eyes steady as he watches me like a particularly predictable bug.
“And the other one.”
Already half expecting the demand, I manage not to visibly panic. Putting on a show of reluctance as I purse my lips into a line and shove a hand into my jean pocket. Immediately sending the burner I expect to ring any moment into my Pocket and replacing it with one of the others I bought earlier today. Fighting down the urge to smirk as I remind myself that it’s only by luck that I’d forgotten to add any numbers or contacts to the rest.
My poker face works well enough however, and Ceylon closes his cold fingers around the little slab of black without so much as a blink. Sliding my personal phone into his suit’s inner pocket, and revealing the flash of a high-powered pistol in a chest holster, as he turns away from me again to pick up the jar of tea. I almost open my mouth to mockingly offer him the burner’s pin code before seeing the lock screen flash open. My smirk souring as I kick myself for being surprised that he’d have some kind of neural-ware behind his high-end faceplate.
Silence returns to my dad’s apartment as his chief dog’s-body busies himself making a cup of tea. Helping himself to a bag from the jar that’s so stiff he’d needed both hands to open it and then heading to the sink in search of a mug he can rinse. Soon picking one from the stacked crockery and placing it under a stream of warm water for now while he reaches for the kettle instead. Filling and emptying it multiple times before seeming happy with the level of limescale still clinging to the inside and placing it back on the stand to boil. Then comes the mug, a new scrubber unwrapped from under the sink so he can slowly and methodically remove every trace of the quick ‘soup-in-a-mug’ dinner I’d made a few days ago.
And all the time, he’s going through my phones like an eagerly awaited e-book.
Standing by the sink with his back to me, I can just catch glimpses of the screen changing colours as he rapidly goes through chats, browser history, app usage and more without ever touching the screen. My lips suddenly dry as I consider how he might notice that I’d visited the Supe-Watch article about Legit’s arrest and that I used the Map app just afterwards. My hands clenching at my side to try and keep down any further shows of weakness. Willing myself to believe that it’s not that suspicious, and that he might not even see it buried amongst all the rest.
With the amount of time that he spends going through first one phone and then the other, it’s almost a surprise to see him move again. Finishing his deep clean of the mug that came with the apartment as he turns back to the kettle that’s just finished hissing. The slow tinkling pour of water filling the near silence before he steps back to the island with his now steaming cup. Placing the saucer down on the counter so he can take an unoffered seat at the island opposite me.
“Do you know why your father employs me, Millie?”
“He likes having someone with a British accent to suck his dick?” The snark slips out before I’m able to stop it. Anger once reined in reaching a breaking point thanks to the long and horrible silence of his tea making. Not that Ceylon seems to care. Not so much as blinking as he slowly raises the steaming cup of black liquid to his lips and takes a long sip. I do what I can to keep the anger in my chest stoked just short of bursting as I meet his gaze. Doing my best not to look away even as I feel my cheeks heating from the implied disapproval.
“I limit embarrassment.” Finally, he frees me from my own mounting embarrassment after finishing his sip with a small sigh of contentment. Placing the cup back on its saucer and pushing it to the side as he slides a phone across the island towards me. A new one.
“Thanks to your father’s pull, ACME Academy will take you even with middling grades. However, having to do so would be… embarrassing.” His smile as he says the last word makes me glad that he’s barely shown any emotion since letting himself in. If Rosch’s grin had been a shark’s impression of a person, then this is a person trying to convince me he’s not a shark. And doing it perfectly. If not for what I know about him, then I’d call it charming. The false warmth so perfectly presented in his eyes making me shiver with a chill that has nothing to do with the cold.
“I’m not at the top but I’m still high enough that-”
“Even the very top in a wage-slave factory like Osterholt is merely adequate in a true place of learning.”
“What the fuck are you here for Ceylon?” My voice comes out tight and stretched with the effort of not saying something else. My barely held in check anger reaching a breaking point as he cuts me off with his accent of cut-glass and effortlessly flowing words. My hands grasping one another in front of me with enough force to shatter the stone between us. An image of me grasping its edge to break off sharpened chunks with which to beat him with doing not quite enough to help calm me down. Getting a look of true surprise out of him would be beyond gratifying but the shit storm that’d follow would make it a bittersweet thing.
Visions of Ceylon’s placid face staring up at me broken and bloodied, or more likely sparking, do still help me get through the long pause as he takes another sip of his black tea. Finally lowering the mug again to reach down and place his briefcase onto the table. Not looking away from me as he inputs a code for the lock and then flicks it over while the top rises by itself.
My throat is terribly dry as it comes to a stop in front of me. Visions of a wanted poster with Pocket’s face on it floating into my mind or, worse, a monitor already in the process of calling my dad. I feel physically sick as the silver briefcase comes to a stop, spinning around a final time as a gorge filled hiccup has me wrinkling my nose in disgust before I quickly try to flex my face into a smile. It’s so much easier to talk to dad when he’s happy.
The only thing waiting for my smile however, is a stack of crisp white paper. I blink down at it in shock, one hand already reaching out to feel the edges and confirm if it actually is real, wood derived, paper. The words printed in a rich black ink across its top only making me further confused.
‘Math problems?’
“You’ve been slipping. In grades. In social standing. In life.” He doesn’t need to look around the room to make me grit my teeth with embarrassment at the mess. Poker face failing me as I glance away from the cold dismissal in his eyes
“These are the assignments your… school wanted you to complete for this unplanned break. I am aware you have not done so. You will complete it on the sheets provided and hand them in tomorrow. There is also further work I have procured from the teachers of the academy your half-siblings attend. They will help you catch up to your future peers.”
For the first time in a while, I’m very thankful that I’m short. It lets me hide behind the briefcase as I pull it over to me and pretend to leaf through the thick stack of paper that likely costs more than a month’s rent for this apartment. If Ceylon could see my face right now, he’d probably wonder why I’m struggling so hard to avoid laughing.
‘School work! Fucking school work! That’s what gets dad’s attention?!’
Except, it had only actually gotten dad’s chief dog’s-body to pay me a visit, not the man himself. Not that I want him to. The absurdity of the moment passes all at once as everything Ceylon just said slides through my reeling thoughts. The temptation to tear the whole stack in half rising almost to the point of action before I force myself back to calmness with a long exhalation of breath.
The court’s say dad has to provide for me until I’m eighteen but he’d made very clear that it doesn’t have to be here. A long stay arrangement at a capsule hotel would also satisfy the courts demands. My anger much easier to bottle as the thought of living in a space smaller than my current bed has me remembering I don’t need to put up with this much longer.
‘Just a few more months, a few more months and I can tell him where to stick his academy position along with all the rest of it.’
“A courier will collect these in two weeks and bring you new ones. You are not to drop more than three points on any of them. Oh, and your father wants me to make clear that he won’t be doing anything else to suppress the video of your little outburst. In his own words, ‘PR is an important skill. Best she learns it now while the stakes are low and the people unimportant’.” With that he stands up, returning his mug and saucer to the sink where he again rinses it thoroughly before walking towards the door without a second look.
I look up with a grimace at the sound of him walking away. Pulling my eyes away from the stack of papers I’d been leafing through, the bottom three quarters almost immediately diving headfirst into topics I’ve never touched on. My brows already furrowed but drawing closer as I bite my tongue to stop myself from asking what exactly dad expects me to do about a video already spreading online. Chances are he just wants this to be another reminder of what he could be doing, if I just learned to toe the line.
‘Although, I do know someone who might be able to help.’
I watch Ceylon start to leave with a confused mix of relief and tired anger. The heady flash-fuel mix of fear and paranoia that’s kept me going since he entered now guttering out as he heads for the exit without giving any sign of knowing my real secrets. I’m still pissed. Extremely so but it’s tempered by the knowledge that this could have been so much worse than some extra schoolwork.
The beep of the door unlocking as it slides open draws me out of my thoughts and I watch his back with a quiet tension as he steps through the aperture. After everything else that he’s dropped on my lap, it feels almost anti-climactic that he’d then just… walk away. The moment I finish the thought of course, being when he turns back with a hand raised to block the door from closing. Meeting my eyes across the distance with the same look of polite disinterest that he’d entered with.
“Of course, your father would’ve been happy to scrub the video entirely if your friend had just accepted his offer. Do let her know that it still stands, albeit with some alterations. An in-house Meta, even an un-masked one, will still be worth the effort to acquire.”
It takes me a moment to realise what he’s saying. One in which he pulls his hand back before I have a chance to answer. Door sliding shut just as my face twists into a snarl and I raise my new phone back for a supe-powered throw. One that would likely kill a baseline if not the almost certainly chrome-head I’d be hitting.
My arm trembles as I repress the urge to launch the traitorous brick anyway, or crush it to scrap in my hands. The soft swish of the door bringing an end to Ceylon’s presence just as sudden as his entrance. His departure returning the apartment back to a state of quiet that’s broken only by the still playing TV.
I stand there shaking with a mix of impotent rage and shameful relief. Jaw working furiously as I fight the desire to destroy the new phone or clench my teeth hard enough to crack. Or, what I actually want to do, go charging after the bastard and demand dad leaves Amelia alone.
“FUCK!” I stuff my hand into my Pocket in lieu of shattering the kitchen island behind me. Slamming my fist into the toughest thing I have inside, the safe, and then squeezing at the edge until I feel the metal starting to warp. I’m not nearly strong enough to actually tear my way into it, as the bruise I can feel spreading across my scored knuckles can attest, but the satisfying feeling of something giving under my hand still helps to calm my trembling rage.
Temper sufficiently cooled not to risk breaking anything I don’t mean to, I let go of the now slightly dented safe and pull my burner back into my jean pocket. Chewing my lip in renewed worry that Rosch might have tried to call and not been able to reach me. The, in-no-way-minor, concern still not enough to stop me from fuming over the idea of dad putting pressure on Amelia. That he’s only doing it because everyone thinks she’s the supe responsible for the mess in that damned video only making me feel even worse.
‘I need to call her. After what she did for me Monday, I should’ve done so already.’
I stand still a moment longer staring at, but not seeing, the door Ceylon just walked through. Body tense and frozen until, with a snarl I wish was directed at something I could break, I spring into rapid action. Not able to do anything to directly deal with my problems besides wait, I rush through my chores for the evening instead. Throwing the slab of homemade lasagna Claire’s dad was nice enough to give me into the oven and not worrying about adding anything else. Right now, all I care about is having the fuel to get better. To keep going.
I do a handful more small things before returning to stand in the spot Ceylon once stood. Tapping my foot and drumming my fingers against the burner to try and work off the restless energy that’s only gotten worse as I moved. My thoughts equally unfocused as they continue to insist on wandering to petty and useless questions on ways that I might’ve spited Ceylon. Questions like what he would’ve done had I taken Claire up on the offer to eat dinner at hers and sleep over.
‘Probably just break in anyway. Not like the cops around here are going to touch someone with an ACME citizenship unless they murder someone.’
And maybe not even then.
I shake my head to push away the thought, pulling off my useless glasses so I can lean lower over the assignments I need to ace in the next few hours. Free hand still tapping on my burner as I try to convince myself to be parted from it long enough for the worlds quickest shower, when the one thing I’ve been hoping and waiting for all day finally happens. The hunk of plastic and steel breaking me from my spiralling thoughts by buzzing violently against my thigh.
Thoughts suddenly clear and focused now that I have a path forward, I leave the stack of assignments where they are to march quickly over to the broken armchair. Pulling up the topmost blanket so that I can slip underneath and create a tent that will hide me from sight of any cameras. Giving no more thought to the chances of Ceylon coming back to ask what I’m doing, and then confiscating my blankets, as I flip out the burner with frantic speed. Swiping open the notification and tapping in the code before any of the words on screen can start making sense. The moment of pale white as the chat loads feeling like an eternity before Rosch’s name at last appears at the top.
Rosch: ‘I am sending you a Map pin. At it, you will find a van with two Med-techs and a Villain called Mail Order. He is your transportation. Be there at 1am, tonight. The job has been slightly altered but, for the sake of security, those on site will tell you the rest. There will be a bonus commensurate with the changes. A generous one.'
CHRISTMAS BOXING DAY
thanks for reading!
