Kill Switch: Chapter 52
Snitches Get Stitches
Vonn Senior starts talking about billboards on the moon.
“Wait a second,” I interrupt. “What about Yide and X and Bunnfield and Claudette? If I accept this job offer, I want all of them, including Cosmo, once he’s rehabbed, to be Upper Management of Vonnville.” I guess it’s my turn to spitball now, the data processing in my brain – some vague notion of all of us overthrowing Vonn Senior, waging war against Vonn Industries from the moon. We can work out the details as we go…
“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Vonn Senior says. “These colleagues of yours are a bad influence. Very inefficient. Very unproductive. After all, you have done quite a great deal of damage. You killed a Top 100 Influencer, a couple guards, and hijacked dNet. There will need to be a scapegoat. And the fact is, your colleagues, aside from Taco and Ginger, are of no use to me. They will need to be deathbeamed – after a fair trial, of course – in order to give The Within the catharsis, the sense of justice they crave. As part of that process, you will need to testify against them. Again, my PR team will work out the details.”
“No,” I say. “There’s no deal unless my colleagues are saved too.”
A vein bulges on Vonn Senior’s neck. “I’m afraid, Vonn 19, that you are in no position to make demands. I have the power, not you. Even as CEO of Vonnville, you will be kept in check by a board of advisers who will make sure that your decisions serve the best interests of Vonn Industries.”
So there’s the truth, I think. That whole spiel about independent thinking: just a sales pitch. In reality, I would be a pawn.
“Forget it then,” I say. “The deal’s off. Unless my colleagues are with me, I’m not going anywhere. And I’m sure as hell not going to testify against anyone. It’s like a good colleague of mine once said, snitches get stitches.”
Vonn Senior strokes his chin, then balls up his fist. “I can’t believe I delayed my cryotherapy for this.” He walks over to Smitty, grabs the glock, points it at me. “I oughta shoot you right now, you ungrateful little bastard.” His teeth are clenched, his finger jittering on the trigger.
“And rob your followers of the satisfaction of watching me die beneath the deathbeam? Tsk, tsk, tsk, Mr. Vonn Senior, I thought a media mogul such as yourself would know better than to pass up on an opportunity for a viral gaze.”
The vein, at this point, looks as thick as a snake.
Still clutching the glock tight, Vonn Senior turns the gun toward Smitty.
I think he’s going to hand it to him.
And Smitty apparently thinks so too, because he reaches for the gun.
But before his hand reaches the barrel, the gun goes off, and Smitty slams into the wall of screens. His body crumbles, goes slacks, falls to the floor, blood pouring out of his chest, his neck whipped back, his eyes wide, his mouth agape.
The other security guard bursts in and surveys the scene, gun raised.
Vonn Senior turns toward him. “Clean up this mess, Smitty 2. And after that, bring Vonn 19 to the holding cell, and then have the ad baby lab run some tests on his genome. I don’t want Vonn 657 carrying whatever gene has made Vonn 19 so inefficient and unproductive.”
Vonn Senior lifts up his blazer and puts the glock in his belt loop.
“Virality aside,” he says, scowling at me, “I personally can’t wait to watch you die, Vonn 19. You’ve been a massive disappointment to me. Zero ROI. I hope you rot in inefficiency.”
He swaggers toward the door. Smitty 2 follows, saying something about needing to find some cleaning supplies. The door slams shut, leaving me alone with Smitty 1. I pick up the remote and turn on the screens, letting the images blanket me in a cold glow.