Chapter Text
Twenty-five thousand dollars.
You play the conversation on repeat in your mind, the details blurred but the numbers clear. You know you wouldn't even be considering it if this wasn't a life or death situation, but failing to deliver would be fatal. This is no ordinary condition, it's the kind that comes with terms. Your health is perfectly fine, and you need to pay up for it to stay that way.
If only you hadn't been at that nightclub. If only you'd let your rational mind lead when a distressed man had shoved a bag of white powder into your hands and begged you to get rid of it. If only you'd handed it to the bouncer and explained what'd happened, instead of flushing it down the toilet in panic. If only you'd realised that you were being set up, and your actions hadn't led you to dispose of some very costly cocaine, putting you in the debt of the gangster who'd marked you in the first place.
As they'd dragged you into the back of a van and strapped you to a stretcher while they played doctor, your heart had been in your throat. They'd rigged up a monitor for authenticity, but you were certain that the steady beeping it vocalised wasn't a reflection of your true pulse. You saw the variety of tools, unrolled and gleaming in the faux light. You knew you had a price to pay. The man in the role of medic delivered the news like a professional, likely not wanting to blow his cover should someone overhear the commotion. It was a crystal clear message. Repay the debt or die.
If you actually got your hands on that amount of money, you'd leave the country. Even if you paid it back, the threat likely wouldn't stop with them accepting that amount, so instead, you'd take your riches and get on the first plane you could catch. A one way ticket to safety. Of course, you said none of this to the menacing group as they released you and shoved you back outside. You got in your own van and drove until morning, not daring to go home in case they followed you and learned where you lived.
Which brings you to now.
Sleep-deprived and running on fumes, you spot a stall by the roadside. You have to double-check that you're not hallucinating, because it seems like a rather strange occurrence. But no, even as you gently rub your eyes and blink to clear your vision, the stall remains. With the most peculiar sign.
ONE CLICK = 1 DOLLAR
By this point, you've brought the van to a halt, partially out of curiosity and partially for your own safety. You stop the engine, fumble with the seatbelt you barely remembered to put on in the first place, then open the door and practically fall onto the road. Luckily, you land on your feet, and once you've found composure, you make your way over to the man, who has been watching you with mild interest.
"Hey there," he greets you warmly. "My name's Harvey Harvington, and..." he trails off, smile faltering slightly. "Are you alright?"
You laugh tiredly. You've never been further from 'alright' in your life.
"I need twenty-five thousand dollars for... an operation," you respond, not wanting to get into the finer print. "The news has floored me if I'm honest. That kind of money doesn't grow on trees."
Harvey's smile grows, and he reaches behind the booth before producing a single dollar bill. You stare at it as if you've been starved for weeks and it's a morsel of food.
"I believe I can help with that!" he states cheerfully. "Welcome to my booth. Each time you click me, I'll give you a dollar. Sounds like a swe-"
"Click you?" you interrupt, confused by the phrasing. "I'm... standing in front of you, how do I click you? This isn't one of those situations where 'click' means something else, is it?"
With a soft laugh, Harvey shakes his head. You register a flash of perplexity in his own expression, but he covers it quickly.
"No no, it just feels less creepy to have a sign encouraging people to click than it does to touch," he explains amusedly. "Advertise an opportunity to touch someone in a booth and you've got a whole different crowd."
"And encouraging people to click you brings out the innocent and pure of mind?" you ask wryly.
"Well, you're my first customer, so I don't know yet," he admits. "Are you innocent and pure of mind?"
You struggle to answer this. Two days ago, you'd have responded with such certainty, but now you're on the run from a drug cartel and possibly about to do something shady for money.
Thankfully, your lack of response doesn't seem to bother Harvey. If anything, he's endeared by how you falter, his gaze intense and head slightly tilted.
"I see," he states after a moment of silence. "I'll have to keep an eye on you, then."
He places down the dollar bill, and you almost reach for it. Almost. Instead, you pin your hands to your sides and resist the urge, knowing it isn't yours to take yet.
Harvey folds his arms again, then rests them on the stall, catching the bill beneath his elbow. He looks between you and the sleeve of his jacket, seeming to guide you with his eyes. Tentatively, you reach out and give the fabric a gentle poke. As if animated by the gesture, he uses the elbow to push the bill towards you, and you take it. If you're being honest, you didn't think today would consist of poking a man for money, but here you are. After tucking the bill into your pocket, you look up at the digital counter on the stall. It reads $1. If he had time to input that number, you missed him doing so, and if it updates automatically, that's some interesting but borderline worrying technology.
"You're going to need more than a dollar," Harvey prompts you gently. "Go on, tap away. Try to reach a hundred, it'll happen quicker than you think."
Ensuring that you don't apply enough pressure to actually meet his arm, you play your fingers along his sleeve as if performing a piece on a piano. Harvey sits in silence as you do so, slightly startling you when you reach $100 and he speaks again.
"See that shop button up there?" he asks, gesturing to a button that seems to be affixed to the stall, but you hadn't noticed it until now. "When that turns yellow, it means there's a cool new item to buy. Check it out, buddy!"
You raise an eyebrow, then reach up and press the button, stumbling backwards with a yelp as a drawer slides out with a feather in it. You feel like there's something next to the feather, but it seems blurry in that area, as if you're looking at it through the distortion of a flame.
Trying to gloss over the fact you just got jumpscared by a shelf, you take the feather and push the drawer back in. Harvey watches you expectantly, then subtly pushes his sleeve back using the booth, exposing his wrist. You testingly brush his bare skin with the feather, getting a flicker of a reaction out of him, and gaining $2 instead of $1. It seems like he's maintaining a poker face until you reach $300 and he bursts out laughing.
"S-Stop that!" he giggles. "Nah, just kidding. Keep going!"
Growing a little bolder, you trace the feather along his arm, covering as much of the exposed flesh with tickles as you can. Before you know it, you've reached $500 and the shop opens up again. You tentatively give the drawer a push, ready for its sudden extension, then peer inside. Sat under the new price tag is a needle. Your eyes widen, and you almost take it, but the way it tugs at your mind is magnetic, and that registers alarm bells. You shouldn't want to wield a piece of pointed steel as much as you currently do.
"There's a needle in there," you state uneasily.
"A needle?" Harvey echoes, his voice wavering and smile dropping completely. "Oh... well... let's see how this goes."
He looks equal parts surprised and relieved when you dust the vanes of the feather against him.
"You didn't buy it?" he asks quietly, reaching over and stilling your hand. His skin is warm and soft, fingers resting lightly between your knuckles. "I didn't know it was there. I knew about the feather, but..."
Silence descends once again. All you can concentrate on is his touch, knowing that it's an affectionate gesture and nothing more, yet unable to breathe a word in response. He seems to realise this, withdrawing and folding his arms as if stopping them from acting without his permission.
"But I didn't know about the needle," he concludes.
This seems like a pointless statement considering he already gave you the information within it, but you get the feeling he's holding back from saying more.
"This is your booth, isn't it?" you ask, almost rhetorically. "How come you don't know what's in the shop?"
"My wife set it up for me," he states, and you see his eyes twinkle at the mention of her. "She thought it'd be nice for me to give back to the community."
"The community has the opportunity to stab you with a needle," you inform him flatly. "Do you and your wife get on?"
"Of course we do!" he responds brightly. "We have a son, Toby, a pet gerbil, Soups, and we've been happily married for ten years! I never had anyone before her, she's my one and only."
You wave your hands around the drawer, motioning pointedly towards it, then give him an exasperated look.
"Okay, so maybe she did put a needle in the shop," he begins earnestly, "but she probably believes in acupuncture and just wanted to relieve me of my stress."
It takes every ounce of restraint not to take the man you've just met by the shoulders, and give him a gentle but purposeful shake. You know the signs of denial when you see them, his happy marriage may be a façade that even he believes. You're trying to give this 'wife' the benefit of the doubt, but unlike him, you're struggling to find a justification for this kind of tool.
"Well," you announce after a stretch of awkward non-verbal communication, "I'm going to tickle you until I've got the full amount, if that's alright?"
"Tickle away!" he replies jovially, springing right back to being the confident man you met earlier. "It might take some time, but I'm here to support you for every step of the journey!"
It takes a long time, but eventually, wrists slightly aching from repetitive strain, you get your total up to that magical $25K.
You toss down the feather in victory, notes spilling from your pockets, and give Harvey a somewhat exhausted smile. He smiles back just as brightly as always, reaching behind the booth to grab something, hopefully a bag to help you carry the money. As you stand on tiptoe and try to peer over, something heavy and hard slams into your side, shoving you out of the way. You stumble and grab one of the wooden posts, glaring at the source of your newly-bruised ribs, but they don't seem to notice you.
Harvey straightens up again, then, as if he's been reset to the beginning of your encounter, introduces himself and begins to explain the booth to the pushy newcomer. You watch as they listen with evident disinterest, then begin jabbing him in the arm with their finger. He encourages this without so much as a hint of protest, so you stay quiet and observe. Once the feather's purchased, they whisk it around his chest like they're dusting a dirty surface, then they dive back into the shop as soon as the opportunity arises. He doesn't get a chance to even speak before they begin pricking him with the needle, causing tiny droplets of blood to well and descend his face.
Your jaw tightens in anger, and you wrap your arms around the stranger's waist, trying to drag them away from the booth. They elbow you in the ribs with one arm, somehow still attacking Harvey with the other, then twist and throw you off with surprising force. You stagger in the dirt, regaining your balance, and launch yourself at their back as they pluck a hammer from the shop drawer before aiming it right between Harvey's eyes.
CRACK!
You close your eyes tightly and wait for the scream of pain, cursing yourself for being too late, feeling bile rise in your throat. But when all you hear is the ringing in your ears, you cautiously open them again. The stranger is limp in your arms, and as you drop them in horror, blood begins to seep into their beanie before spreading out in a steady pool around their head. You lift your gaze to the terrified Harvey, questions written all over your face. He swallows hard, then shakily steps away from the booth, exhaling slowly.
"You... stopped them," he explains weakly. "They turned to attack you instead, and you knocked them off balance... they hit the booth... with their head."
"Are they... dead?" you ask in a croak.
Your relief that Harvey isn't, perhaps overshadows your fear that the stranger is.
"I don't know," he murmurs, catching your wrist before pulling you gently but firmly towards your van. "I'll drive," he adds, when he sees how much your hands are shaking. "We need to get out of here before the police show up."
You climb into the passenger seat in a daze, hearing the engine purr as Harvey keys the ignition. Your gaze inevitably seeks the unmoving body by the stall as you stare out of the window, and the van pulls away from the curb and the person you've left bleeding out beside it.