Internet 24

New Affair (Part 1)

In 2019, The Washington Post stated that malls are dying in the United States. It's the year 2035, and the Lone Star Mall in Texas has survived the Post's declaration of death, barely. It is the nation's 5th largest mall. The American Kingdom all owns the title of number 1.

The Lone Star Mall houses a theme park, hotel, and a militia of stores and restaurants. Lone Star Mall may be alive, but the Post's words inch closer. The tourist coming for the spectacle is the only thing keeping it alive. Even the outlets surrounding the building are a maze of wonder, with the cracks in between the stores housing the city's unsavory residents.

One of them is standing there right now. In the side parking lot in one of the outlets is a man named Kent. He stands six feet tall with a sturdy build. To the bone-thin thirteen-year-old boy he is speaking to, he feels ten feet tall and as wide as a semi-truck. The boy, Drake, grabs the straps of his backs pack and stares at the man's black boots.

KENT

Now, you're going to take this to your school, 

and I want you to sell it all by the end of the week.

Drake wanted to stop by the mall to grab himself a new shirt for a date he had. He finally dared to ask the girl he liked out, but he wasn't aware the alley was this man's go-to spot to find new talent. Unknown to them both, someone watching from a distance knew.

The man pushes a plastic bag filled with a rainbow assortment of "adult tik-taks." All the pills are color-coordinated and packed in individual small plastic bags.

DRAKE

I... I don't want to.

KENT

This is a great financial opportunity for you. 

Create a foundation for further fiscal growth 

or help mommy with the bills. If you can't do this.

The man leans in close.

KENT

Well, that means you'll need a special one-on-one 

business seminar. To get you in the right 

headspace to work.

The man clinches his fist. A drop of sweat slides down to the tip of the boy's nose. He can hear his blood racing through his body. The man's pupils are small, focused. If you stare deep into the black of them, you can see the cracks in his psyche.

The words bubble in the boy's throat. He wants to say, "no, get away." He knows he needs to sprint as far away as possible, but his feet are sunk into the ground. Nothing can break the trance he is in, until a shadow cast over the boy's face.

The slurp from a straw impaling a chocolate chip frappe the boy's stare. Standing behind the thug is dark skin man named Donald "Don" Isabela. The top of his bald head barely reaches the man's shoulder. The boy, who is 5'3, barely has to look up to stare Donald in the eye. He has a thick beard with a clean lineup. Don is wearing a navy blue suit with a thick brown t-shirt; sneakers that shine almost as much as his freshly shaven head. His frame would suggest that he frequently goes to the gym to build muscle, but you can tell he skips cardio by his round stomach. His blue, metallic watch jingles while he races his cup to take another sip. The hot exhale after that sip fogs the bottom frame of his horn-rimmed glasses.