“I am no saint, I’ve killed a few but I’m definitely not one. I am however a hypocrite. As such I will tell all of you reading this that you shouldn’t keep grudges while having held quite a few in my day. If you make it long enough in the game you are going to end up being forced to work with or for someone who is directly responsible for some of your hardships. The money will be good and you will say that it is enough for you to put it aside for the mission, but it won’t be and you will get distracted and potentially killed. So either learn to forgive the other person or just kill them, I find it is hard to hold a grudge against a dead guy.

That being said, if you make it to the very end of the game and find yourself as one of the “old guard”, as the young guys started calling us, then you will find that thing that you thought was unforgiveable is inconsequential. Few enough of us make it to old age to hold on to grudges and you will find yourself reaching out to the person who wronged you just because you have something that connects you two. You will seek out your old enemy in the hopes of not being so alone.”

“Dammit, I fold.” John cursed as he tossed his cards down and poured himself a glass. One of the other guys at the poker table had brought in a bottle of brandy so that they could opt out of storytelling for the night.

The older guys at The Bunker had started the poker game as way to unwind and had instituted a few rules to make it more interesting. First and foremost was the rule that the first guy to fold had to tell a story while they played. The hand after he finished his story decided who would tell the next story. They continued like that until someone passed out. After the first couple of games they had added more rules. People who ran out of chips had to tell a story to get their chips back and the person who brought the booze that week didn’t have to tell stories.

Thus, John found himself having to tell a story from his past “Alright, to start off with I will need to tell a little preface to this story. When I was on my first bank job one of my teammates got unmasked and I had to kill the only witness. I framed an unconscious guy for the deed because this was back in the day when you had to do that kind of thing. The public bought it and I thought that we had dodged a bullet but I should have been paying better attention.”

“I was coming out of theater with our gunner, Ramirez. Right as I turned to look at him and tell him something I felt an intense pain and wetness on the left side of my face. The next shot hit me in the chest but I was wearing the suit we had gotten from a previous mission, it was the only suit I owned, and it was lined with bullet resistant cloth. I felt like I had been kicked by a horse but the adrenaline took over and I stopped feeling the pain. Ramirez had already spotted the shooter and was running towards him.”

“It was an older man holding an old police revolver. I could see the anger pouring off of him as he looked at me. He tried to shoot me again, despite Ramirez’s charge, but I hit the deck and the shot caught a bystander in the leg. He would have shot again but Ramirez got to him before he could. The autopsy identified him as a cop from the days before the security firms took over. They theorized that he had snapped or that I had been in the way of his intended target, quite a few rich people at the theater that day, but I went digging to find out why he seemed familiar. Turns out he was the father of the guy I had killed in the bank job about eight years before. Long story short that was how I got my first cybernetic eye and one of the many times I nearly died because I wasn’t paying enough attention.”

“You ever find out who ratted you out?” One of the other guys at the table asked.

“Some exec who was hoping that the guy would go after our hacker. The exec thought he was becoming a liability and wanted him out of the picture. I dealt with him in the usual way.” John waved away any more questions and started the next hand.