II. Dreams

It had pleased Reject to hear his radio 'appearance' had gauged notable reactions from Jon Kellar, Jay Jameson and, to a lesser extent, Quake.  DisOrder manager Andrew Excelsior had phoned him earlier in the day to 'break the news'.  To Excelsior's chagrin, however, Reject had still refused to give up his self-imposed boycott of all GZW2K1 media.  Excelsior had told him that it was impractical - Reject needed a medium through which to get his word out to his upcoming opponents, Excelsior had reasoned.  Reject hadn't argued.  In fact, he agreed 100%.  The difference maker between the two was that Reject's instinct was to look further than the confines of GZW TV and radio...  Ironically, he'd set his sights on a vessel far more money-hungry than his own employer's.

That's what had brought him to this particular McDonald's branch on this particular Thursday morning.

As far fetched a scheme as it was, he knew it'd be effective.  He checked that the main door was locked securely once again before doing another lap of the restaurant floor.  Armed with the manager's own machine pistol, Reject satisfied himself that things wouldn't get unnecessarily ugly.  He'd had to knock the manager out cold but the miserable bastard would be as right as rain in an hour.  And the day's task would be finished by then.  Scattered around the floor were cowering restaurant patrons - some scared out of their wits at the thought of being the victims of what was arguably an armed robbery, others trying to sneak the last of their Breakfast-sized Big Mac's down their greasily, heavily padded throats.  They made Reject sick.  If he wasn't there for a specific reason, he probably would've lectured them on the mindset of the DisOrder.

But he was there for a specific reason.  Checking that the Kabar knife was still in his left boot, he made his way up to the counter.  The three cashiers had their palms flat on the workspace in front of them like six oily hams.  It took a lot out of Reject not to hurl at the sight.  Slowly, he removed the balaclava from over his head, revealing his identity to the fifteen or so frightened souls in the restaurant.  He scanned each and every one of their faces, getting a good look at each.  Of course, his intention was the complete opposite - He wanted every single one of these people to know just who he was.  He couldn't wait for his description to be called in to every police station in a ten mile radius.

"Okay civilians, this is what we're going to do."  He began in a tone a little underwhelming for an armed robber.  "I don't want your money...  I don't even want this gross conglomerate's money...  What I want is simply the undivided attention of three men."

Eyes dart in all directions as the men within the restaurant glance desperately at one another.

"No, not you.  Or him.  Or the fat one.  Or the other fat one.