Glitch of the Good Samaritan

Chapter 6: A Toast to Treason

"I am not doing a cabaret dance, and I am definitely not going to suffer from permanent squeaky-toy hiccups," Henry muttered to himself, pressing his ear firmly against the frosted glass pane of VIP Lounge 3.

"Mew," the orange-and-white kitten squeaked softly from his breast pocket, its tiny whiskers tickling Henry’s chin.

"Shh, little buddy," Henry whispered, raising his smartphone. "We are in the middle of high-stakes corporate espionage. If Jackson hears us, he’s going to turn us both into permanent liabilities. Now, let's see if this microphone can pick up their conversation."

Through the thick glass, Jackson’s smug, nasal voice drifted out, sounding entirely too confident.

"The database is fully compiled, Mr. Sterling," Jackson said. "Every single client profile, proprietary financial algorithm, and transaction history is on this encrypted drive. It’s a clean sweep."

"And you are certain the forensic trail points entirely to your annoying accountant friend?" another voice asked—a deeper, more refined voice with a cold, aristocratic edge.

"Henry?" Jackson laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "Please. The man is a dinosaur. By tomorrow morning, security will have handed him over to the federal authorities, and I’ll be sipping mimosas on a yacht in Monaco. He doesn't have the brains to prove his innocence."

"Hey! I have a very respectable brain, you slick-haired parasite," Henry hissed under his breath, adjusting his grip on the phone. "Keep talking, Jackie boy. The court is going to love this audio file."

"Excellent," Sterling replied. "The Genesis Group appreciates your efficiency, Jackson. Once the offshore cryptocurrency transfer is fully cleared, the encryption key is ours."

`[WARNING: SENSORY RADAR DETECTING HIGH-LEVEL ORGANIC ANOMALY.]`

Henry blinked as a bright red holographic warning box suddenly materialized directly in front of his eyes. "Oh, come on. Not now. I'm in the middle of a recording!"

`[TARGET IDENTIFIED: REPRESENTATIVE STERLING.]`

`[STATUS: PRE-FATAL TOXIN EXPOSURE.]`

`[FOREIGN SUBSTANCE DETECTED: POTASSIUM CYANIDE IN THE CHAMPAGNE FLUTE.]`

`[ESTIMATED TIME TO INGESTION: 00:45]`

"Wait, what?" Henry gasped, squinting through the frosted glass. He saw Sterling’s hand hovering right above a sparkling glass of champagne. "Someone poisoned his drink? Who?"

`[SOURCE: UNKNOWN. QUEST ACTIVATED: THE CLUMSY CATERER.]`

`[OBJECTIVE: INTERVENE AND PREVENT REPRESENTATIVE STERLING FROM DRINKING THE POISONED CHAMPAGNE.]`

`[TIME LIMIT: 00:35]`

`[PENALTY FOR FAILURE: PERMANENT COMPULSIVE TAP-DANCING FOR 48 HOURS. EVERY STEP YOU TAKE WILL BE A SHUFFLE-BALL-CHANGE. HAVE A GREAT SHOW!]`

"Tap-dancing?!" Henry yelled in a furious whisper. "For forty-eight hours?! Are you completely out of your mind, you glowing piece of malware? I’m in a high-security casino, not a Broadway musical!"

`[TIME REMAINING: 00:28. TARGET IS REACHING FOR THE GLASS. SPEED IS HIGHLY RECOMMENDED.]`

"But he's a corporate criminal!" Henry argued, his heart rate spiking. "He's literally buying stolen company data! Why do I have to save him?"

`[THE SYSTEM VALUES ALL HUMAN LIFE. EVEN THE SLEAZY, ILLEGAL ONES. CHOP CHOP, EX-ACCOUNTANT.]`

"Fine! Dammit!" Henry growled. He tucked his phone back into his pocket, smoothing down the black kitchen apron he had stolen from the pantry. "I’m going to regret this. I am going to heavily regret this."

He took a deep breath, grabbed a random silver serving tray that had been left on a nearby cleaning cart, and threw his shoulders back. He didn't have a plan, but he had +1 Dexterity and a highly active Stealth Walking stat. It was time to put on a show.

BAM!

Henry kicked the heavy wooden doors of VIP Lounge 3 open, sending them slamming against the interior walls with a resounding crash.

"Apologies! Huge apologies, distinguished guests!" Henry screamed, bounding into the room with his eyes wide and a manic, sweating smile plastered across his face.

Jackson jumped nearly a foot in the air, his slicked-back hair practically standing on end. "What the—who let you in here?!"

"The emergency hydration squad has arrived!" Henry yelled, sprinting toward the mahogany table.

Mr. Sterling, a tall man in a bespoke charcoal suit, froze with his fingers wrapping around the stem of the poisoned champagne glass. "What is the meaning of this? Who is this disheveled person?"

"I am the senior associate of liquid asset protection!" Henry announced, his boots slipping on the polished floor. Actually, he didn't slip at all, but he forced his body to twist and flail wildly to sell the act. "Whoa! Watch out! Errant floor wax! The janitorial staff has committed a severe liability infraction!"

"Get him out of here!" Jackson roared, gesturing frantically to the two massive bodyguards standing near the walls. "Grab him! He's—wait. Henry?!"

"Going down!" Henry screamed.

With a spectacular, gravity-defying plunge, Henry launched himself forward. He utilized his permanent +1 Dexterity to perfectly calculate the trajectory of his "fall." He flew across the room, his chest hovering inches above the table, and swiped his arm outward like a hockey stick.

SMASH!

The silver tray clattered against the table, and Henry’s forearm slammed directly into the poisoned champagne flute. The glass shattered into a hundred sparkling shards, sending a geyser of pale, toxic liquid splashing directly onto Mr. Sterling’s pristine charcoal suit jacket.

"My suit!" Sterling shrieked, leaping out of his chair as the damp fabric clung to his chest. "You clumsy, incompetent peasant! This is bespoke Italian silk!"

Henry hit the carpet with a heavy, dramatic roll, sliding right under the mahogany table and coming to a stop at Jackson's leather shoes.

`[QUEST COMPLETED: THE CLUMSY CATERER.]`

`[REWARD GRANTED: POISON RESISTANCE (LEVEL 1) ACTIVATED.]`

`[BONUS REWARD: SYSTEM GRACE - TAP-DANCING PENALTY DEACTIVATED.]`

"Oh, thank goodness," Henry breathed, lying flat on his back. "My knees are completely intact, and my ankles don't feel like dancing."

"Henry?!" Jackson gasped, his face turning an incredible shade of purple as he stared down at the man under the table. "How are you—you’re supposed to be in handcuffs! Or in a river! What are you doing in a kitchen apron?!"

"Actually, Jackson, it's a very breathable cotton blend," Henry said, casually sliding out from under the table and dusting off his knees. "And your hired help in the stairwell are currently experiencing some highly educational lessons in basic electrical currents. You really should pay them more."

"You... you ruined the deal!" Jackson screamed, his chest heaving with pure, unadulterated rage. "Do you have any idea what you just did?!"

"I saved a life, actually," Henry said, turning to Mr. Sterling, who was frantically wiping his lapels with a dry napkin. "Sir, I highly recommend you don't lick your fingers. That champagne was laced with enough potassium cyanide to put down a healthy draft horse."

Sterling froze, his hand stopping mid-wipe. "What did you say?"

"He's lying!" Jackson yelled, pointing a trembling finger at Henry. "He's a disgruntled employee! He's the one who leaked the data, and now he's trying to sabotage my transaction!"

"I have the recording right here, Jackson," Henry smiled, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone. "Every single word of your little villain speech is saved on this device. You're finished."

He tapped the screen to play the audio. But instead of Jackson's voice, the phone emitted a loud, high-pitched static whine, followed by a violent fizzing sound.

POP.

A thin wisp of grey smoke curled out of the phone’s charging port. The screen went completely black.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," Henry muttered, staring at the dead device. "The champagne splash. It got into the auxiliary jack."

`[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: LIQUID DAMAGE DETECTED. ALL LOCAL MEDIA FILES CORRUPTED. DEVICE LIFESPAN: TERMINATED. REMINDER: THE SYSTEM IS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR PERSONAL PROPERTY DAMAGE DURING EMERGENCIES.]`

"You stupid, useless piece of glass!" Henry yelled at the phone, shaking it violently. "Why is your water resistance rating so terrible?!"

Jackson looked at the smoking phone, and then slowly, a dark, incredibly wicked grin spread across his face.

"No recording," Jackson whispered, his voice dripping with venom. "No evidence. And you just walked right into a soundproofed, private room with no security cameras."

"Jackson, what is going on here?" Sterling demanded, stepping back toward the locked fire exit. "Is this man telling the truth about the poison?"

"It doesn't matter what he says, Mr. Sterling," Jackson hissed. He slowly reached into the interior pocket of his tailored grey suit jacket, his hand wrapping around something heavy and metallic. "Because neither of you is leaving this room to talk about it."

With a swift, fluid motion, Jackson pulled out a sleek, matte-black semi-automatic pistol.

CLICK.

The sound of the safety being switched off echoed sharply in the silent, tense room. Jackson raised the weapon, pointing the barrel directly at the center of Henry's forehead.

"Whoa, whoa, Jackson!" Henry raised his hands, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. "Let's be reasonable here! Let's look at the amortization schedule of this decision! Murder is a highly depreciating asset!"

"Lock the doors!" Jackson roared to his bodyguards. "Put the room in lockdown! Nobody leaves!"

CLACK. CLACK. CLACK.

The heavy steel security doors of VIP Lounge 3 slid shut, their electronic locks turning red as the room went into complete, airtight isolation.

"Any bright ideas, little buddy?" Henry whispered, his eyes locked onto the black barrel of the gun.

"Mew," the kitten squeaked, quickly ducking its head back inside his pocket.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Henry muttered.