Mafia (DNF)

Twenty-one

"This is huge," I complained, showing my arms to Dream. The sleeves covered my hands completely. "Why did you even give me this?"

"Because you look adorable," he chuckled, snapping a picture on his phone. I turned red.

"Delete that!"

"Sorry, it's mine now." He scrolled through his phone, and I wondered how many pictures he'd taken without me noticing.

"I'm tired," I pouted. "We already have three, that's plenty."

"You should get a watch," he replied, slipping his phone back into his pocket. "Let's go look at their display."

There was a glass case at the counter, and the cashier was smiling brightly, probably because she knew she'd get credit if Dream bought me a ridiculously expensive watch.

"How can I help you today?" She said cheerfully.

"Just a watch. Do you want silver or gold?" Dream asked, turning to me.

"Uh, silver maybe."

He turned back, and pointed at a silver and black watch, with "Benson" engraved at the top.

"One of these, please and thanks."

I peeked at the price, and almost fell over. $6000? I thought watches were just clocks?

The cashier looked a little disappointed. "Could I offer you this alternative? It's a Swiss brand, and they-"

"Don't waste my time. Just one of these."

I didn't question it, because the watch she pointed to was priced at $12,000. I was still baffled that you could spend half of year's worth of my salary on an accessory.

We headed out of the store, and he nudged me. "She'd sacrifice her soul to sell me an expensive watch, don't let them fool you. Quality doesn't price higher than a couple thousand."

"Like that's not expensive at all," I muttered. He wheezed a little bit, and I looked at him surprised. I'd never heard him make that sound before, he sounded like a teapot.

"The most expensive watch in the world is priced around 30 million dollars right now," he told me, and this time I tripped over myself. He caught me, and wheezed more.

"What the hell? You could solve world hunger with that money!" I exclaimed.

He just shrugged. "The world of the rich doesn't care about anything, unless it gives them money or fame."

I guess that's just the way things were, but suddenly eating the rich didn't seem like such a bad idea.

We were pulled out of our idle chatter when a voice came through our earpieces.

"Boss, emergency. Someone's bombed a factory, the one where we were developing the prototype."

"I'll be there in twenty, send a car over," he ordered immediately.

"What prototype?" I asked.

"An important one," he said irritably. "Stupid pink-haired bastard."

"You think it was The Blade?"

"I know it was him," he replied. "Let's go, before all the reporters start crowding the roads."