Sleepy Bois Turnabout?

A man in a suit sat alone at a table somewhere. It looked like some kind of bar, but he was the only one there. The floor was entirely clear except for the single table and chair he sat at. The windows were either covered or nonexistent, it's plausible he was in a basement.

He sat calmly, silently, but storm clouds practically swirled over his head. The air was so thick with tension you could practically snap it.

The man didn't have a weapon on him, but the vibe of the room was such you'd assume anyone who walked in would get shot, with no hesitation.

The man reached out for a bottle and poured himself (another) glass of something strong.

Damn it.

Wilbur, that son of a bitch. He should have known he'd get screwed over by that fucking sad-boy wannabe at some point.

He thought he was enough of a nobody to stick around forever, keeping the customers satisfied as the goody-two-shoes face of the store and keeping suspicion off of what goes on when it's not open. Wasn't it like a dream job? Didn't he have a musical career on the side to keep him content? Wasn't he perfectly happy playing the role they'd assigned him?

God, it was bad enough his personal business was going to suffer but Wilbur's plans were going to throw a wrench at a lot of people, and he just knew they were all going to be breathing down HIS neck to solve it, just because Wilbur was "one of his."

Hah. If there was anything funny about the situation, he'd laugh. Wilbur wasn't "one of his" any more than the shmucks who bought from him, less in fact. At least his customers knew what the hell actually paid the bills of the place. The fact Wilbur had that whole conversation right inside the shop only proved it.

The man slammed his glass down on the table, pulling out a phone. He shuffled past hours of what appeared to be recordings from a security camera until he got to a specific part.

He rewound, intending to actually listen to the words now that he was over the surprise and frustration of their existence.

——

"It's supply and demand. I want to get potions made legally and safely. If it's all out in the open we'll be able to monitor who's buying what and, more importantly, since it's a safer option that won't get you shot or in jail, it will be overwhelming competition for the brewer gangs. Take away their monopoly, their business, their power. Why risk going to a shady dealer when you can purchase a regeneration at your local pharmacy, probably for cheaper?"

——

He snorted. Oh, how original.

——

"We have the recourses, it's the fear-mongering and the people taking advantage of that fear to violently enforce a shortage for a higher prophet that are the problem. If we normalized them and it wasn't taboo to know how to safely use them it would be common knowledge how much is dangerous and what to avoid."

——

It was a shame Wilbur wasn't stupid, he might've actually continued to be useful.

Well, he did have this entire conversation inside a brewery but that said more about HIS smarts than Wilbur's stupidity. It was kind of the point he didn't know, this could honestly just be chalked up to bad luck.

Bad luck for Wilbur, really, really, good luck for him.

——

"It's not perfect, and I know I'm not the first guy to try and put in place a plan like this, but unlike those guys, I actually plan to go through with it."