This chapter was written by SebJenkins
Sampson strutted down the street like a proud peacock patrolling its turf, feathers protruding loudly from behind framing his glorious talents. These streets were his after all, he'd claimed them ever since the release of FrindyPeeks.
Sharon Toller brushed his left arm as he rounded the corner towards the south side of town, Joan Murphy passed him on his right not long after. She was married, had been for seven years now, one child, and another on the way. The information rolled off his eyes like a rhyme off a rapper's tongue, as his HUD silently went about its business, revealing all.
Of course, the majority of people had their FrindyPeeks profiles set to private, their hordes of information, posts and photos viewable only to those they deemed 'friends'. However, every single person on the app shared one friend, 'The Creator', namely Sampson.
His HUD device showed him the latest information for any person that he happened upon in his day to day life. He told himself that it was to stay one step ahead of the curve. But there was a strong aspect of nosiness in there too.
Despite being labelled as 'friends' with everyone that he passed, he had coded FrindyPeeks to only reveal his first name in return.
It was all rather ironic really, as ever since he'd left Abby, Sampson didn't have anyone to call a friend, maybe an acquaintance, but not a friend.
But in all honesty, that didn't matter too much to Sampson, not in this stage of his life. For the first time in a long time, he had purpose, power, a reason for being. He had FrindyPeeks. And now he was on his way to meet the most influential man in the United Kingdom's resistance.
Tony Foster remained unknown to the majority of the great unwashed, merely a story or a legend. If you were to ask anyone on the street, Joseph Randall now passing Sampson on his right for instance, they would claim that the resistance died long ago, either that or it had never existed.
Sampson's brain let out an egotistical, internal grin. It was cute to him, the notion of secrets. Tony Foster, the most secretive man in the city, meeting Sampson, the king of the secrets. It was sure to be an interesting conversation.
He took a few more twists and turns through the busy cobbled streets, his HUD's pedestrian satnav taking him on the most scenic route possible. It was a habit that he had picked up over the past year, but not a bad one. You couldn't be too careful when you had something to hide after all.
After passing by a few more Pauls, Brendas, and Tims, Sampson finally arrived at a quaint but bustling coffee shop. It was an ideal location for a meeting of this nature, noisy and busy enough that the two men would go relatively un-noticed, but not so busy that the wrong person might wander in at an opportune moment. It had been Tony's idea, Sampson couldn't do it all himself.
He took a deep, calming breath, before pressing his hand on the door, and striding in with one assertive step. If Tony was already in place, he wanted to appear in control of the meeting from the get go, he was the one bringing information to the table after all.
And then it hit him, that deep breathe hissed out of his lungs like a deflated balloon, and every ounce of confidence once flowing through his veins escaped like an unforgiving transfusion. Standing in the queue for coffee, two or three people away, a certain name jumped out at him.
Abby Wilson. 29. In a relationship.
What was she doing here? The whole point of this location was to avoid chance meeting such as this. What was he supposed to do now? Leave? No, if he left it would be unlikely to ever get a meeting with Tony again. If you spook a man like that once, he'll sink into the shadows for a year. Should he confront her? Get the pleasantries out of the way, or the unpleasantries maybe. Sampson always forgot that although he often checked in on Abby to ensure her safety, the last time she saw his face was when he upped and left.
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