Osa slouched on the sagging couch in his cramped living room, a half-empty beer sweating on the coffee table. Noah leaned forward, phone in hand and eyes bright with opportunity.
Osa slouched on the sagging couch, a half-empty beer sweating on the coffee table. Noah leaned forward, phone in hand.
"I gotta hand it to you, your connections came through," Osa said. "We're actually clearing major numbers."
"Told you I'd put you on the map," Noah said. "Speaking of—did Jared pay his debt yet?"
"No. I'm still waiting on him."
"I know his mom got cancer. Maybe give him a break?"
Osa's brow furrowed. "How do you even know that?"
"Saw her at the hospital downtown. Haven't seen her since high school graduation, but it was her. I asked her how she was doing, and she said she had been doing better but relapsed and wasn't in remission anymore."
Osa shook his head. "I can't be cutting corners. I'm trying to get my family across the border to Cascadia. Every single bag counts."
"How big is your family?"
"I've got ten siblings, man. Cost me a fortune to get four brothers and two sisters set up here in Cascadia. How do you run in the same circles as Jared?"
"High school. Same history class. We studied the Crimson War together—the Sumer massacre, Anau called 'population control.' Millions butchered."
Osa snorted. "Bloodiest lesson in the textbook." He snatched the remote from the table and jabbed the power button. "News is on. Yesmin invited Milton Sudan to Jayland to gawk at the new parliament upgrades."
After a minute of channel-surfing, he landed on the live feed. Yesmin and Milton sat across from each other on garish yellow sofas in the parliament's common room, a low table between them like a barrier.
Yesmin sipped from her mug, voice measured. "Zo-pak speakers are unhappy with you as ruler. They say Cascadia offers no jobs for them—no path forward."
"That's so true," Osa muttered, leaning closer to the screen.
"I can't afford to accommodate Zo-pak speakers in my country," Milton replied. "The problem is that the Sumer population is out of control. Too many illegal immigrants are coming into Cascadia through boats. I need more money invested in patrolling the border."
"Bullshit!" Osa barked and turned off the television with the remote control. "Milton Sudan is a fucking idiot! Won't even help his own people. Zo-pak speakers built half of Cascadia's docks and farms, and he treats us like invaders." Osa grabbed his beer bottle from the table to drink. "The leadership and laws in Cascadia need to change. Milton Sudan doesn't give a shit about Zo-pak speakers."
Noah took a slow swig from his bottle. "Can't argue with you there."
Osa's eyes gleamed now, dark and feverish in the dim room. "I'm planning a rally. A massive one. I need you there—front row, spreading the word."
Noah raised an eyebrow. "Hustling is one thing, Osa, but a political rally? That's going to cost a pretty penny."
"The product's moving so fast we can't count the bags quickly enough. Trust me, the street corners are gonna bankroll this."
Noah set his bottle down carefully, the mood shifting. "What's the angle?"
"To push back," Osa said. "Zo-pak speakers have been second-class citizens too long—denied jobs, housing, respect. No more waiting for scraps from Milton's table. We take what's ours."
Noah grins. "Count me in. But how do you plan to pull that off?"
"Through all means necessary. I'm not scared to get my hands bloody." Osa smile darkly.