Rimelion: The Exploiter

9. Tin-can

Frustration bubbled up, and I slapped him. Lucas touched his cheek, surprise flashing in his eyes. "What was that for? I'm trying to help you!"

"Don't be dramatic—I just grazed you." I shrugged and, feeling a smile tug at my lips.

The doorbell rang, and Tin-can opened it. To my shock, my brother walked in. "Adam?" I blinked, stunned. What the hell was going on? The last time I'd seen Adam was ten years ago, in future, on his daughter's prom night, when I tried to apologize but messed it up completely. We hadn't spoken since.

He looked from me to Lucas. "Lucas." A slight relief hit me—he remembered my friend. "Where's John?" Lucas was so flustered he started stammering nonsense.

"Tin-can, what did you do?" I demanded, turning to the only one capable of such a reunion.

"Sir John," Tin-can said, probably for Adam's sake, "the medical procedure was experimental with a less than 1% success rate. Naturally, my presence elevated it to over 99% success, though I had to notify—"

"I still have Adam listed as my emergency contact," I interrupted. "Sorry, Adam. It's me, John. Now... Charlie."

Adam stopped interrogating Lucas and turned to me, his eyes narrowing. "So, you finally decided to change?"

I stepped closer. "Not exactly. I decided not to change, but my company gave me this test AI, and it, uh... altered me. Without asking." I extended a hand, nerves twisting in my stomach. "I'm sorry, Adam. For everything. For how I acted at Lisa's birthday, how drunk, how I... well, how I was."

Adam let out a long sigh. "Jo—Charlie. Yeah, things aren't great between us, but... you're still family." His expression softened slightly as he glanced at me. "I let it go a while ago, but the girls..."

I couldn't hold back anymore and pulled him into a hug. "It was because of your girlfriend. I said she looked like a marshmallow. That was... well, me."

Adam gently pushed me back and sighed again. "There's a lot I don't understand, and I need answers, but for now, I'm just glad you're okay. We'll talk soon, all right? Not too soon. I need time to process this."

"Yes, sir," I said with a small salute, just like we used to when we were kids. That finally drew a smile from him. He nodded, turned, and headed out the door.

"On that note, Lucas, come on now. A drink solves everything." I grabbed his hand and stormed out.

The familiar sight of the bar washed over me like a wave of calm, especially as the sixty-something bartender grinned in welcome. I made my way to my usual spot, taking in the warm, bustling atmosphere. As I glanced around, a soothing warmth settled over me, almost like when my stepmother would tuck a blanket around me and hand me warm milk. A small, unexpected smile tugged at my lips.

Then, an unfamiliar discomfort crept in. People at the bar were looking at me differently—longer, with eyes that felt less casual and more... curious, or something worse. What was going on? Was it the lack of makeup? Or my slightly tangled hair?

Shaking off the thought, I turned to the bartender and ordered my favorite drink. "Hey, old man, can you make an Old Thyme Sour?"

"Sure thing, young lady," Patrick replied, nodding toward a retina scanner. Right, I wasn't John anymore. I sighed, complied, and the scanner approved me for drinking age.

"That one's gonna take a bit, so how about a whiskey on the rocks while you wait?" Patrick asked.

"Perfect." I settled back, taking a sip as the familiar burn of Irish whiskey warmed me up inside. Lucas finally arrived, looking as if he'd waded through a crowd of angry punks on his way over, which he probably had. His grandpa's pace was too much for me and I ran ahead.