BRICKWELL STREET. 9 PM..
The street was darker than most. Not in the scary way. In the absent way. Like the streetlights had decided this corner wasn't worth the electricity. No sirens. No cars. No sound but his own breath and the soft crunch of gravel beneath his sneakers.
The building was… sketchy.
Not abandoned. Just empty. The kind of empty that felt intentional.
221 Brickwell Street had no signage. Just a polished black door that opened as he reached it.
No lock. No buzzer. Just opened.
He stepped in.
Cool air kissed the back of his neck. Not AC. Something colder.
He took the stairs. Didn't trust the elevator. Too many horror movies had taught him not to trust fast moving metal boxes when strangers were involved.
At the top, a hallway stretched in both directions. Only one door stood open, a wide office with no nameplate.
Inside, a woman sat on a black leather couch, legs crossed, one arm along the top like it was her private kingdom.
The only light came from a desk lamp behind her, casting her silhouette in gold.
She didn't look up when he entered.
"Darren Nova," she said, as if reading from a script. "You're late."
He hesitated at the door. "Traffic."
She smirked, finally raising her eyes. "I like how you panic. It's honest."
"I like when people lead with red flags. Saves me time."
"That sarcasm…" she said, tilting her head. "It'll age well. Sit."
There was a chair. Low, leather, too comfortable for a room this empty. Darren didn't move yet.
"Who are you?"
"Liz." She tapped her temple. "Barter Broker. And before you ask. No, this isn't a cult, and yes—your system knows I'm here."
His system pinged again.
[Notice: Passive System Overlap Detected]
[Advisory: External Yield Framework Present – "Barter Broker"]
[Risk Index: Unmeasurable]
[Proximity Protocol: Yellow]
Yellow? That was new.
"You sent the message," Darren said. "The 'bring your greed' part."
"You should work on that."
"You brought it, didn't you?"
He finally sat. The chair sighed beneath him.
"Why me?"
"Because you've harvested," Liz said smoothly, crossing one leg over the other. Her voice had a cadence, a slow economy of syllables, like every word had interest accumulating on it. "Because you didn't vomit after. And because your system didn't kill you."
"Kill me?"
"Is that why they vault guy was going crazy?"
She didn't answer.
"You're a baby stock with volatile yield. Untapped instincts. I like that."
He narrowed his eyes. "Are you here to recruit me?"
Liz leaned forward.
"Recruitment is free. I'm here to trade."
The air shifted.
Darren felt a pulse behind his eyes, like a weightless gust through his mind.
[Goldscript Alert: Barter Protocol Detected – Value Drift: Ambient (Low)]
"I don't like trades where I don't know the price."
"You will," Liz said, smiling like a cat watching a trapped mouse try to reason with gravity. "But only after you've paid."
She stood now, stretching like a dancer, slow and deliberate. Her fingers traced along the back of the couch, the way someone might touch a spine.
"There's a man. Hotel. Room 1702. Retired defense contractor. Regrets enough to fill a stadium."
She turned back to him.
"You want to grow your wealth? Your reach? You want to understand what this power really is?"
She walked closer, a half meter from him now. Not touching, but somehow closer than skin.
"Then follow. Learn. Harvest. And one day… I'll collect."
Darren stared up at her.
"Collect what?"
"That," she said, tapping his chest once—over his heart. "is what makes it fun."
***
Darren stayed seated.
Liz stood near the window now, hands tucked into her coat pockets, face lit by the distant city skyline. She didn't speak at first, just stared out as if watching stocks fall and fortunes rot. Maybe she was.
"Tell me something," she said finally, her voice lower now, almost bored. "What did it feel like, your first harvest?"
Darren tilted his head. "You mean the exact moment I accidentally sucked a man's panic into my imaginary bank account?"
"Yes."
He paused. "Like opening a door in a burning house. Smoke everywhere. Breathless. But not choking. Like... relief. And then money appeared."
Liz's mouth curved faintly. "That relief you felt? That's what we live on."
She turned back to him, stepping closer again. Her heels didn't make a sound. Like the floor didn't dare announce her presence.
"Most people take years to harvest that cleanly. You did it without training."
"Lucky me."
"Luck," she said, stepping behind him now, her breath near his ear, "is when desire meets timing."
Darren turned slowly in the chair to face her again. She didn't back away.
"So this guy… Room 1702. Why him?"
"Because he's full of expensive emotions. Guilt aged like wine. He used to authorize missile strikes from behind polished desks. Now he drinks until his guilt settles into his liver."
"You could have harvested him yourself."
"I could." Her smile returned, this time sharp. "But I'm giving you the opportunity."
He studied her. "And in return?"
"You learn. You earn. And eventually… I collect."
"Still not telling me what you'll take?"
"That's the fun of it."
She turned to a small glass table beside the couch and tapped her manicured finger on a black leather card holder.
A business card slid out by itself.
No words. Just a barter symbol — a stylized scale formed of numbers.
"Take it. You'll need it later."
He picked it up carefully. The moment his skin touched the card, Goldscript buzzed at the edge of his vision.
[Notice: External System Token Acquired: "Barter Sigil – Tier 1 Access"]
[Effect: Limited Interaction Access with Broker-Level Entities]
[Warning: System Overlap May Result in Untracked Debt]
"Untracked debt?" Darren said aloud. "Isn't that just a credit card?"
Liz smirked. "Now you're catching on."
***
He turned to leave.
But Liz spoke once more, and the softness in her voice caught him.
"Don't rush the harvest, Darren."
"Meaning?"
"Emotion must bloom before you pick it. A man who feels regret is not ready. A man who's drowning in it? Worth his weight in emeralds."
He paused at the door.
"And if I change my mind?"
"Then the world stays small. You keep scraping fear off strangers. But if you walk into that hotel, you start seeing what real wealth looks like."
He nodded once.
"And you?" he asked. "What do you get out of this?"
She met his eyes.
"I like watching new blood get hungry. I like watching value change hands. And I like watching what men do when they realize money isn't the most powerful currency anymore."
Darren turned and stepped out into the hallway.
Behind him, Liz whispered, just loud enough for the system to hear:
"Let's see how fast you rot, Nova."