Redlock opened his eyes. It took time to get his bearings. He stared at the white ceiling for a long time, feeling a sense of misplaced nostalgia, and almost called out for Dr. Holland to ask about the end of the game. When he turned his head, he saw Oscar sitting in a chair next to him, dozing. A machine beeped, and Oscar started awake with a sharp intake of breath.
“Morning, sunshine. Dr. Wu said you’d be up soon. How are you feeling?” His smile seemed sincere, and he looked concerned.
Redlock croaked out a word that Oscar mistook for “pain.” It took him a few more tries to get across that he was asking about the game.
“Oh, the game? You did real good.” He added in a whisper, “Everybody thought you were doing your best. It played out just how they wanted.” Oscar leaned back and raised his voice back to normal speaking volume. “How does it feel to have your old face back?”
Redlock felt his face and found bandages covering his cheeks and jaw. “I—I didn’t consent to this,” he tried to say.
Oscar didn’t seem to hear that. He reached into his jacket pocket for something. “Your mother asked me to check in with you when you recovered. She’s already settling into a condo in Cincinnati.”
“Here’s your cut for not winning the game. I would have thought it might be nice to get paid to lose, but seeing you, I know it isn’t. Still, it’s a lot of nuyen.”
He set a credstick on the table next to Redlock’s hospital bed and stood. “I guess this is goodbye. I hope things go well for you in Ohio. Maybe I’ll watch a game every now and then.”
Redlock cleared his throat, which sent him coughing.
“Whoa, easy there,” Oscar twisted the top off a bottle of water and held it for Redlock to drink.
Redlock drained it quickly, wiped his mouth with his forearm, and tried speaking again. “What happened at the end? I didn’t score?”
“Nope. Landed just shy of the goal. It was real close. Your coach called for a review and everything. From what I hear, the Italians were on the edges of their seats. They thought for sure you were gonna double-cross them.”
“What about Glitter?”
“She’s alive, but lost her left leg. I hear the team’s been working on a fundraiser to get it replaced.”
Though dull behind the numbness of pain meds and his being made mostly of metal, Redlock’s sense of relief threatened to overwhelm him. “Coach won’t sign off on a replacement?”
“Yeah, but they want to get her something special.”
Redlock decided what to do with his mafia payout.
“Oscar, I need a favor.” He picked up the credstick and checked the amount. He was startled by how much there was. Probably enough for a beta-grade cyberleg.
“What do you need?”
Redlock handed Oscar the credstick. “All of it goes to the leg fund.”
“Wow, that’s awfully generous of you. I suppose you’ll be making plenty more soon enough in Cincinatti.”
“Next, tell Dr. Wu that I didn’t consent to the facial surgery, and that if they doesn’t put it back the way it was, I will murder them. Painfully.”
“What?”
“Third,” Redlock winced as he sat up but raised his voice over Oscar’s confused protests. “You tell my mother she can go frag those Italian pricks of hers. I’m staying here. I owe the Panthers a championship win.”
“You’re…staying?” Oscar sounded surprised, but not disappointed.
“Shut up. Fourth, forget Redlock and his mother. I don’t want anything more to do with them.”
Oscar slumped in his seat. Then he began shaking. It took Redlock a moment to realize the man was laughing. Then he slapped his hands on his knees and stood up.
“Glad you‘re sticking around, kid. Larry, is it, then? I hope you don‘t mind if I paraphrase your messages to your mother... You do know how she’s going to take this, right?”
Redlock nodded as he settled back into his hospital bed, but didn’t say anything, not really caring how she reacted. For the first time in his life, he was truly free—and he wasn’t going to waste a single minute of it.
