Who would have thought he’d find himself in the company of Caesar, younger brother of drug baron Ishmael Calderone? Hairo had once been in a raid to capture him. It had failed, and maybe that was for the best. In any case, Caesar, when he accepted Hairo into the Excommunicado security sendees, had no issue with him.
Caesar Calderone himself, better known as Colonel, was also a military veteran. He personally interviewed every applicant to the company, needing only a short time to make a clear-cut decision. Often it was ‘no.’ Nobody knew what influenced him, but Hairo was lucky; Colonel approved his hiring.
In their meeting, after describing the company’s requirements to the new hire, Caesar said on parting:
“Make a character in Disgardium, Hairo.”
“Is that mandatory? I thought my work didn’t involve video games.”
“I’m afraid it does!” Caesar’s voice rattled like a bunch of nails in an iron bucket. “The company’s purpose in real life is merely to support the Excommunicado clan in the game. Our businesses are no more than investments. Do you know who the investor is?”
“The clan?”
“Right. Most of your duties will be in real life, but first and foremost, you are a member of Excommunicado. You just get your paycheck from the company.”
At first, Hairo got an old veteran as a partner, but he soon retired. A new Exco noob replaced him—Willy Brizuela. Routine took over: alongside Willy, Hairo patrolled the clan’s residential district, protected Colonel’s mansion, escorted the clan leader or someone from the office on trains… It was boring. Boring and humiliating: players in the clan’s main staff treated him and the other sendee workers with contempt. This was not expressed in words or deeds. After all, according to corporate policy, everyone was formally equal. But it came through in looks, tones, whispers behind backs.
As it emerged, the function of the security sendee was not just security, but also intelligence and counter-intelligence, and what Colonel jokingly referred to as proactive defense, by which he meant his brother’s protection racket. Excoinmunicado was always at war with someone, be it hot or cold: with competitor clans, the government, the Triad… And that meant that when two serious Threats appeared, Colonel gathered his security officers in secret and told them to start digging. He didn’t just want to find the Threats in real life. He also wanted to prevent his sworn friends from the Alliance from suspecting anything.
After studying the analysts’ reports, Hairo decided that one of the Threats must be a noncitizen. Hairo himself was one, and from a place known as Hell on Earth, in the Guyana Cesspit. He got citizenship through ten years of sendee in the peacekeepers, then changed his address, but never forgot his old noncitizen friends. It was them—in the Guyana Cesspit and neighboring Cali Bottom—who he went to for information.
When one of his agents told him of some strange events in Cali Bottom, Hairo’s ears pricked up like a hunting dog on a scent. He started to dig, and his efforts were rewarded: one of the students he and Willy intercepted in the sky over Cali was the Threat! But he hadn’t decided what to do with the information yet. First he needed to meet the Threat, understand what he wanted. Maybe get some more intel…
He downed a painkiller, drank down his coffee and got ready for work. His wife Maria kissed him, adjusted his collar and sighed anxiously.
“Hairo…”
“What, dear?”
“Have you spoken to Caesar? About that promotion?”
“Yeah. He told me where to stick it. When Joao learned that I’d gone over his head, he shouted loud enough to break windows.”
“Oh, no…” she groaned. “We could lose our home, Hairo! If you don’t confirm your status, they’ll increase our mortgage rates… What about Isolda? How will we pay her…?”
“I’ll fix it. Don’t worry…” Hairo pulled his wife close and hugged her.
He hadn’t yet told her of the money from the Threat in Dis. He’d split the money fifty-fifty with Willy, and it was all still in the game. He had to think about how to get it out. Back then, when he’d met those teenagers in Cali Bottom, Hairo had improvised. But now that all his hunches were paying off, to his own limitless surprise, and he’d gotten the money for the copper bar, he was panicking, afraid of losing it. Nothing prevented him from withdrawing it all to his account. Nothing except the unavoidable questions from the financial services. They had unlimited access to player transactions in Dis, and the metal bar he’d sold for a million wasn’t worth even a single gold coin. There would be questions that he could not answer. And then… Hairo didn’t want to think about what might happen then.
“Gotta go, darlin’,” he gently released his wife and left the house.
Once at the base, he met his partner, detailed the plans for the day. They agreed a work front and Hairo and Willy set off on their patrol routes.
“Brought it?” Hairo asked soundlessly, just moving his lips.
Willy nodded.
Flying above one of the Zones, their Shark stopped above a small village of the Wild Ones. That was the name for the inwinova that left for districts declared by the authorities as unfit for life. Inwinova! Hairo spat mentally. Individuals of no value to society—that’s what sneering citizens called noncitizens. But Hairo had childhood friends from among the people who lived in those places. Willy knew people there too. Good people, with big hearts…
The partners regularly dropped crates of UNB rations—universal nutrient blends—along with clothing and medicine. But today, the cargo contained something else.
“I gotta take a leak,” Hairo said loudly for anyone who might be listening in the future.
The Shark stopped a couple of yards above the surface. Willy silently passed the crates of machine-guns and ammo to the people that met us. They were old
