Clock Breakers

Rule 1: Remember Who You Are

I sat frozen on the bench under the busted streetlamp, watching and listening. The card hadn't said who they were or why they wanted to talk to me; I should've read it as a threat, but for some reason, I didn't. It wasn't a brick in my window or a broken door, just a text from a number that didn't answer when I tried calling. The next bench over was illuminated, the lamp flickering every few seconds as it hummed in exhaustion. The footsteps were loud in the quiet night, sharply clicking heels and dull thudding work boots. Then a different pair: sharper, richer. I stayed still. They stopped just a few feet away, on the edge of the lamplight.

"You know, not many people like meeting at midnight."

I stayed quiet. He took another step closer.

"Look, I know this is a weird situation. Can I sit with you?"

"Are you the one who messaged me?" I asked.

"No," he said, "that was my boss." He sounded governmentally level.

"Then I'm only talking to them." He shifted uncomfortably.

"No one talks to them. Look, can I just explain why you were contacted?" He was growing impatient. I heard his clothes as he turned to look over his shoulder. I heard nothing else nearby.

"You're not used to being out this late."

"Huh?"

"You're nervous. You're looking around, you feel like someone's watching you. They aren't."

"Well, you don't know that..." I squinted up at him. He was still drifting over the bushes between us and the complex. Most of him was hidden by a puffy jacket, collar upturned. He met my eyes, scanning me quickly. He cleared his throat quietly.

"So uh... can I explain now?"

"Questions over demands equals submissiveness," I said, turning back to the street. "But fine. What do you want?"

"That text... what did it say?" I turned back to him, no longer watching him subtly.

"You said your boss wrote it."

"Yeah, I also said no one talks to them." He watched as I silently pulled out my phone and handed it to him. He was wearing gloves.

"It's not that cold out yet."

"It's decently chilly," he muttered, reading over the message. "And aren't you cold? How long have you been out here?"

"Doesn't matter, I like temperature." He glanced up at me momentarily before nodding and handing my phone over. "So?"

"So that was more detail than I was expecting, honestly."

"Your boss texted me from a random number saying they know who I am and what I did. That's detailed to you?"

"Well it tells me everything I need to know, I'm decently sure why you were picked now."

"You still haven't explained what I was chosen for."

"Right... I'm not sure I'm legally allowed to yet." He turned to eye the complex behind us before looking down the street both ways. "How are you on money?"

"Alright," I growled, standing and stepping close to him, "if you're trying to mug me, try it and see what happens."

"No, no," he said, holding up his hands and shaking his head, "not mugging. Helping. Sort of. I meant to say... all expenses would be covered and you get a pretty good paycheck. Also my boss may or may not have noticed you recently got out of a job."

I sighed and cocked my jaw. Whoever these guys were, they knew their stuff. Typically, it would be red flag central, but considering they sent the collegiate bartender out to grab me at midnight rather than anyone who could fight...