It was the kind of rundown, single-story place no rich person would willingly choose to live in. On a narrow sign, in bold black letters, it read: Justin's Business. On the shop's iron door, flies buzzed like resin-drawn pests, resembling the mangy kind that swarmed wounds. The hum of a motorcycle passing through the middle of the neighborhood drowned out their buzzing; in the doorway, a ginger-bearded man was puffing a cigarette while idly scrolling through his phone. A wide grin occasionally bloomed and faded on his cheeks.
"Hello! You must be Justin—the one who replied to my email!"
Justin instantly lifted his eyes from the phone. "Hello," he said, flicking the ash off his cigarette with a thick index finger. "I wasn't expecting you this early."
"Why not?" Meyer didn't understand.
"You didn't respond to my message," Justin answered, as if delivering a perfectly logical explanation.
"Coming here is my response," Meyer replied, confident.
"Well then, fine. I suppose you're looking for the spider antidote. What's it for?"
Meyer was already irritated by the man's booming voice. "It's a private matter," he managed to say, voice low. He wasn't a good enough liar to tell him he was caught in a spider-infested trap. Who would believe that, anyway? Justin, eyes wide with curiosity, watched him as though eager for any kind of story. It wouldn't be surprising if Meyer were to launch into tales of spider legends or hairy-legged horrors. "You're not going to tell me? You're obviously lying."
Meyer tensed. "Your job is to sell. Not question me!" His fists clenched involuntarily. A shadow of disdain crept over his face. The flies' buzzing became even more unbearable in his ears. "Are you giving it to me or should I go buy it elsewhere?"
"Ah," Justin muttered, taking another drag. "There's that confidence of yours. Alright, alright. No need to get so worked up. I went too far—I admit it." He placed a hand over his chest. "But you won't find spider antidote anywhere else."
"Why not? Bug sprays are sold everywhere now!"
His voice carried the tone of an angry monkey.
"I doubt it," Justin said, shamelessly flicking his cigarette to the ground and stomping it out.
Meyer didn't have the mental energy to protest. He just frowned and said, "Fine." Then, submitting himself to a self-imposed anger control test, he repeated, "Fine. As you say."
Justin stepped ahead. "Things always go the way I want them to."
He didn't seem pleased about it. There was no trace of the kind of pride people usually associate with ego. Somehow, Meyer sensed this man was speaking the most direct, unfiltered truths with a strange sincerity. Maybe he should lower his guard—just a little—and get the antidote and leave. Following Justin's heavy, concrete-thumping footsteps felt like a mission.
"Steve Meyer."
Meyer's defensive armor shot up the moment a stranger used his first name.
"How do you know my name?"
He was sure he hadn't used it on any social media or online profile.
"In this cyber age, do you really think it's hard to know, Steve Meyer?"
"Just Meyer. I don't prefer using my first name."
"I'm Justin. I don't like customers in my store, but what can I do? Everyone's gotta earn a living somehow."
"Gerrison Street. How long have you been here?" Meyer found himself asking without meaning to.
The shelves were lined with bottles bearing worn-out labels, a printer cartridge box sat on the desk next to a stack of A4 paper.
"I've been here for as long as I can remember."
"How long is that?"
"Why do you have a problem with years, Meyer?" Justin asked curiously again.
"I can't perceive time flowing in only one direction," Meyer said with a strange smile lingering behind.
"Ah! Right! Like spilled coffee—it never jumps back into the cup, right? What a joke. Thermodynamics was invented because we can't stand the mystery of unknown physical laws."
"You're someone who rebels against the system," Meyer noted.
He wasn't trying to read his mind.
"Not really," Justin replied. "I just speak up when something doesn't sit right."
"What party do you support then?" Meyer asked, testing him.
"Julizi Etke, of course. Any other questions?"
"Julizi Etke? Even if I had a thousand votes, I wouldn't give one," Meyer said. "Ever since they took office, everything's gotten more crowded."
"Then you should've moved somewhere less populated."
"Why bother?" Meyer shrugged.
"No, I'm sure that's not the only reason." Justin sank into his chair. He didn't seem to care about Meyer's comfort. "Something is keeping you here."
Meyer became increasingly aware of the creeping unease inside him. Why was this man, a stranger, acting like he knew him? Asking questions like someone who'd known him for years? As his unease intensified, Meyer asked, "Have we met before?"
Justin's red beard told him nothing. No matter how long he stared.
"What would the answer change?"
"It would affect the trust dynamics between us, Mr. Justin. Sorry, but if you're not handing over the antidote, I'm leaving."
Justin bowed his head. "Of course..." He leaned under the table, slowly opened a drawer, and pulled something out.
A ripple of fear sparked in Meyer's eyes. The seed of doubt, long buried in his chest, sprouted.
The barrel staring straight into his eyes like an enemy... blinking at him.
Justin gripped the handle of the gun like it was nothing at all. "Take a seat, Mr. Meyer. I always prefer to be polite. I just wish we didn't need such things."
Damn it. Meyer furrowed his brows as tightly as he could. He didn't have the strength to play out the movie-like tactics for this situation. At least not right now.
The ambulance—no matter how hard Meyer hit the gas—had been stuck in traffic. The child had been in critical condition. By the time they reached the cold entrance of the hospital, it was already too late. The mother's empty wails burned his ears. And his chest... His every cell screamed that he'd been too late, yet he still stood.
He looked into Justin's eyes, trying to disperse the fog. Was there something familiar there? A tiny clue?
Those large fingers gripping the gun, that bronze hand, the calm expression.
No.
That was what made it terrifying. Justin wasn't angry. He wasn't egotistical. He seemed to carry out this act out of instinct, without any moral conflict. As though it were entirely normal. In his deep green eyes, there danced only a subtle disappointment.
His hand didn't tremble once.
Meyer gripped the torn leather of the chair as tightly as he could, trying to make sense of it all.
Oh, if only the Devil Chip would speak now! I need it! Just say something, anything! So I could escape this fear constantly closing in... escape those capricious green eyes.
"You want this to be over," Justin mumbled uneasily. "But why? How is this any different from breathing? A comment on social media. A single like. Don't those things also point a gun at someone? Right in the heart of human dignity. With gleeful cruelty. A curse. A mockery. The greatest curse of the cyber age!"
His thick, red lips twitched. Crooked teeth flashed.
"When my son took his life over one of those comments, Mr. Meyer, I had the chance to reevaluate the entire world. Should I be grateful for that? Hah!" His smile twisted with both rage and grief.
Meyer, unable to connect any of this with the gun pointed at him, swallowed dryly.
"But—"
Justin cut him off. A man pointing a gun while the door stood open...
"What does any of this have to do with you?" His words were oddly emphasized. "Are you the problem?" He raised the gun a little higher. It now seemed to be held not in defense, but in aggression.
"It has nothing to do with me..." Justin grinned with crooked teeth. "No connection at all. Nothing to do with you. But the voice inside me just wanted to play this little game."
His fingers tightened on the trigger.
Meyer took a deep breath.
Death? Was it really that close?
As close as it had been in that child's eyes at the hospital?
People always thought of the past in their final moments. His heartbeat accelerating, Meyer thought of Jennie. Would she be sad? Would a flicker of robotic emotion cross her face? A ripple?
The weight of the questions landed like a metal bowl on concrete.
BANG!
Meyer took a deep breath as if trying to blow away the darkness in his vision.
BANG!
His eyes slowly opened.
The gun was empty.
"It was just a little game that gave me joy," Justin said, bursting into laughter.
Meyer was in shock, frowning, trying to grasp the complexity of what had just happened.
"Hold on, I'll go get your antidote. It comes with a price tag and a few extra zeros. But don't worry—I take installments. Credit cards welcome."