The walk to the meeting grounds along the city’s outskirts was nerve-racking.

He had stuck to the main roads in the hopes that his escort wouldn’t try anything with so many witnesses around. All the while stressing about if he was walking too fast or walking too slow; whether or not he should have looked back at any point or would that have tipped them off.

Walking for nearly an hour in a state of perpetual terror, too scared to try anything as he wasn’t fit enough to escape the numero twins behind him. He could get Her Majesty to bite them but even if she could get past their armour, there was little chance her poison would do anything against proper adventurers when it couldn’t even kill some spoilt fop.

The worst part was that he didn’t even know if he even needed to worry about any of this. He didn’t know if the city had made a deal or not, it was just a possibility that his mind came up with, and that lack of knowing was truly excruciating. While one part of him kept on about him being as good as dead, the other part kept chastising himself for wasting his time on fanciful notions, that he wasn’t important enough to be the target of some grand scheme. And then his ego would flare-up; if he wasn’t important, then why did he have an escort that may or may not want to kill him? Then he would cycle back to the whole being as good as dead thing.

No, he just had to hope; hope that he wasn’t about to be royally screwed over by the people who had every reason to do so.

And on they walked. The constant strain of not knowing whether or not he was about to be killed, killing him.

He saw the gathering up ahead, the pit in his stomach grew as the acidic tingling sensation beneath his skin seemed to grow cold enough to give him the urge to shiver. With every step closer, his heart felt as if it skipped a beat; his mind a continuous loop with the thought that any moment now everyone would drop the act, that every man, woman, and child would reveal themselves to be agents of the city’s elite kill-squad. Or some stupid shit like that. It was idiotic to think, but his brain just wouldn’t let up.

If the city really was out to get him, they would have done something by now. It wouldn’t even take much, as a child with a rock could probably brain with little to no effort. While he had invested everything into his constitution, he still wasn’t fit by any definition of the word. He had been far more active here than back on earth, so his leg muscles might have developed a bit.

On a positive note, he had lost quite a bit of weight in the past year, unfortunately, that was probably due to stress more than anything else. It was something at least, he thought.

But none of that really mattered any more, whatever might be in store for him lay just ahead.

As he and his company approached the…well, he didn’t know what to call it as it was basically a small field with a bunch of people hanging about, instinct seemed to guide him to the centre of the grounds where he saw a short man with the blackest hair he had ever seen. For a moment he thought it was a dye job it was so pure in colour, but the city didn’t have any industry that could make hair dye, especially a dye that would adhere to the strict environmental protection regulations that the city practised and enforced.

The man walked over and grabbed Goodie’s hand in a vice like grip that threatened to crush every one of his bones into a fine powder.

“Hey there, you must be our VIP?”, He asked Goodie.

Was he? Or was he just being arrogant in thinking that. His brain helpfully supplied him with the image of him saying yes just as the real VIP presented themselves.

“Yes, sir” was all Goodie could squeeze out as he wondered what he needed to do to adjust to life with one hand, his eyes darting around in search of anyone else who might have been the VIP that the man before him was looking for.

“Now, what makes you so important that the city’s willing to toss about some of its coin?”

“Nothing, sir.”

Grinning as he spoke, “This city doesn’t spend money for nothing.” If he was indicating some sort of joke, it went right over Goodie’s head.

“I think it’s a golden handshake of sorts, I had a run in with a noble…two actually…sir.”

“It’s Eric; did you kill them?”

“No, si…Eric.”

“Steal from them?”

Goodie just shook his head.

“Rape?” quirking an eyebrow as he asked it.

“Fuck no!”

“Then what the hell’s the problem?”

“I think the fact that I’m alive is sorta the problem.” Goodie stiffened as he said it, his thought turning to all the stress he had been building up this past week; he could feel the corner of his eyes beginning to tear up. He tried to control himself, the last thing he needed right now was another breakdown. That moment alone with the old man was already enough to scar him for life, crying in the middle of the street, where everyone could see him, would have been the end of him.

“Is that so?” Eric looked at the ground for a moment, “Well, that’s why we left in the first place, so we wouldn’t have to deal with any of this political shit.” He turned as he spoke, leading the small group away from the crowd.

“Now, this city might be kicking you out, but at least they’re sending you off in style.” The man had led Goodie to the back of camp.

When Goodie had heard that he was going to be going off in a waggon, he had imagined a stereotypical, crossing the wild west type of waggon. A wooden cart with a cloth cover that always reminded him of a bonnet. But what he saw before him wasn’t that. Not even close.

It looked kinda like a truck. A toy truck. A giant, blackish-grey, plastic, toy truck.

The front cab, a dark grey box with a wind shield on the front. There was small gap where the engine compartment would have gone, a pair of reins hung through it. A long, pole like thing was attached to the front of the cab, Goodie assumed it was what the horses would be harnessed to. He also assumed it could fold down, as it was currently facing straight up like a flag pole, or the world’s weirdest erection.

The trailer, although Goodie couldn’t see a way for it to disconnect, was weird. It was long and wide, and actually went up on over the cabin. A two decker. All the edges and corners were rounded, obviously so it wouldn’t poke the eye out of whatever giant toddler that this oversized toy was meant for.

The whole thing was supported on six huge tires. Not monster truck big, but big enough.

Eric tapped the tire, “Made by one of your lot.”

“hm?”, Goodie looked at him in confusion.

Eric waved his hand at his neck, it took Goodie a moment to realise that he was indicating Her Majesty, who was doing her best impression of The Heart of the Kingdom, only black.

That aside, Goodie was stuck on a single question. Why?

“Why?”, he asked.

“Why would they spend so much money on me?”

“What?” confused for a moment, Eric followed Goodie’s line of sight to the truck, “Oh no, it isn’t expensive. In fact, it’s a little cheaper than a normal cart, it’s just that there’s no market for them, what with embargo and all.”

That may explain why they weren’t being driven outside of the city but Goodie hadn’t seen anything like it on the streets. He may have spent most of his time underground, but that didn’t mean he was oblivious to what happened above it.

Eric seemed to guess what Goodie was thinking.

“It’s not plastic…nano-carbon something or other, the guys who made it seemed to have a real hard-on for whatever they called it.”

Never said he guessed right.

“If it’s so good, why haven’t I seen it before?” Goodie knew it sounded rude the moment he said it.

Eric gave him a look, but Goodie lacked the social experience necessary to translate its meaning.

“Well, now this is just a guess, but I’m thinking that you don’t make it over to white street all that often, now do you?” Eric said a moment later.

Of course, he didn’t, white street was for richest of the richest. With the city’s culture being strongly influenced by the arrivals from earth, the introduction of capitalism had created a rising middle class amongst the locals. Naturally, the first thing they spent their money on was a gated community to keep out all the unwanted. White Street. It wasn’t a woke joke or anything, it was named after Angela White, a former member of the council that reformed the city’s accounting practises or something like that, about twenty years ago.

“Of course, they’d be more interested in passenger carts than mobile homes.” Eric continued.

A thought occurred to Goodie, “What did mean by cheap?”

“Hm?”

“You said this thing was cheaper than a cart but you also said the city was throwing around coin?”

“Oh…ah…I told you it was made by one of your lot, right? Him and an elementalist, just the two of them. Their quick but there’s still enough of a back-log that you have to pull some strings to jump ahead of the line. Also, the city paid us enough that we could take about a hundred families with us if we chose to.”

Eric scratched his chin while he thought about something, “Somewhat odd considering they usually like to pretend we don’t exist. More politics, no doubt.”

“Speaking of which, I’ve gotta go” Eric then turned and left.

“Wait, don’t I need horses for this thing?” Goodie yelled, a tight knot forming in his gut as the fear of being stuck flashed to the front of his mind.

“You’ll get ‘em.” Eric yelled back as he waved his hand.

Goodie’s mouth opened and closed a few times with a desire to ask something more, but for all that he wanted to ask, for the life of him, he couldn’t think of a single question. He stood still as he watched Eric leave. Here he was, with no purpose, no options, no hope.

So, he thought to himself, this is it. This is the rest of my life. He looked out over the city he had once called home, then turned to view the currently one waggoned waggon train.

It was a little while later that he noticed his escort had left. The people he had feared were going to kill him had vanished, and he been completely oblivious to their passing. The fact that they completely outclassed him, as obvious as it may have been, was like a punch in the gut. His stress peaking at the knowledge that he truly didn’t stand a chance. The worst part of it all was, now that they were gone, he was completely alone. And that felt far worse than having potential assassins trail behind him. Bad enough that he would have paid them to stay longer.

He took a deep breath and thought about what to do next. He stared at the waggon truck thing. His waggon-truck…thing. He took another look round before he decided to give the vehicle a closer inspection. Not to hide in it, just look around it for a bit.

As he opened a door in the rear of his thing, his mind wondered if the truck actually belonged to that real VIP that had yet to arrive.

“Fuck” he said. Some days he really wished he could shut his brain off.

He entered his new home.