Story code: ST-000231
Part 2: Joint Liability
Arthur wrenched his arm backward with a violent jerk, finally breaking the barista’s iron grip. He stumbled a half-step toward the center of the café, clutching his bruised wrist against his chest. The sheer, unthinkable absurdity of a service worker physically attacking him over a digital tip screen sent a spike of pure, unadulterated rage through his veins.
“Are you out of your mind?” Arthur shouted, his voice echoing off the exposed brick walls. “I am calling the police!”
He turned his back on the counter and marched straight toward the exit. He reached out, wrapping his hand around the thick aluminum handle of the glass front door, and shoved his weight into it.
The door didn’t budge.
Arthur grunted, planting his wingtipped shoes against the floor mat, and pulled backward with both hands. The heavy pane of glass rattled in its frame, but the thick metallic deadbolt at the top of the doorframe held fast. It wasn’t just locked; it felt as though it had been fused shut.
He spun around. Behind the counter, the amber glow of the iPad cast long, unnatural shadows across the ceiling. The giant digital digits were still dropping.
*Four.*
*Three.*
*Two.*
“Unlock this door right now!” Arthur commanded, taking a menacing step back toward the pastry case. “This isn’t a game! I have a train to catch, and you are committing false imprisonment!”
Devin wasn’t looking at him. The barista had dropped entirely out of sight.
*One.*
*Zero.*
A mechanized, grinding wail erupted from the front of the store, so loud that Arthur had to cover his ears. Above the large bay windows facing the street, thick coils of corrugated steel shuttering-the kind usually reserved for securing businesses in high-crime areas after midnight-began unrolling at a terrifying speed. They slammed into the floor with a deafening crash, plunging the café into a suffocating, windowless darkness.
The ambient overhead lights instantly snapped off. A split second later, the small, dome-shaped camera mounted above the espresso machine emitted a sharp chirp, and a grid of harsh, crimson emergency lights flickered to life along the baseboards.
Arthur pulled his smartphone from his coat pocket, his hands shaking as his thumb fumbled across the screen. He bypassed the lock screen and jabbed at the phone icon, intending to dial 911. He froze. The upper right corner of the screen, usually displaying full 5G bars, now showed a small icon indicating absolutely zero service. The heavy steel shutters and whatever architectural modifications this café possessed had effectively turned the room into a dead zone.
“Hey!” Arthur yelled, his voice cracking as his initial outrage gave way to the first icy tendrils of genuine fear. He rushed back to the counter, leaning over the shattered ceramic saucers and the crushed scones.
Devin was huddled on the floor tiles in the narrow walkway between the register and the drip coffee machines. The boy had his knees pulled tight against his chest, his hands clamped over the back of his neck in a defensive posture. He was rocking back and forth, hyperventilating so hard it sounded like he was choking.
“Get up!” Arthur demanded, though he noticed his own voice lacked its previous authority. “What kind of extortion scam is this? You unlock that door, or I swear to God I will throw this register through the glass!”
Devin slowly tilted his head up. His face was ghostly pale in the red emergency lighting, his eyes wide and unblinking. “You didn’t tip,” the boy whispered, his voice trembling with a hollow, devastated clarity. “I told you to tip. I begged you.”
“It’s my money!” Arthur snapped, pointing a stiff finger at the kid. “It was a three-dollar coffee! I don’t owe you a premium for doing your job!”
“We don’t get paid for our job!” Devin cried out, his voice breaking into a hysterical sob. “We lease the apron! We lease the space! The algorithm expects a twenty-percent yield on every transaction, and if we fall short, it assumes we’re stealing company time! It recovers the deficit from our collateral!”
Arthur stared at him, utterly bewildered. “Then they dock your pay! That’s a labor board issue, not a reason to trap me in a building!”
“They don’t dock our pay!” Devin screamed, pointing wildly at the heavy, reinforced steel door leading to the back stockroom. “They recover the equivalent market value from our biometrics! It’s in the contract! It’s in the terms of service we signed!”
Arthur opened his mouth to tell the kid he was delusional, that such a thing was legally and physically impossible, but a sudden, violent screech of metal cut him off.
The sound came from the back stockroom. It sounded like heavy pneumatic gears disengaging. A low, thrumming vibration traveled through the floorboards, vibrating through the soles of Arthur’s shoes. Something heavy was moving back there.
A sharp *ping* drew Arthur’s attention back to the counter. The iPad swivel stand automatically rotated on its motorized base, tracking Arthur’s movement and aiming the screen directly at his chest.
The amber screen had shifted to a stark, blinding white font on a black background.
*GRATUITY INFRACTION LOGGED.*
*CUSTOMER INTERFERENCE DETECTED.*
*JOINT LIABILITY ENGAGED.*
Arthur’s breath caught in his throat. Beneath the text, the original three-dollar charge had vanished. In its place, a new total blinked with a menacing, steady rhythm.
*OVERRIDE FEE: $2,500.00.*
*PLEASE SWIPE CARD TO CLEAR DEBT AND UNLOCK EXITS.*
“Two thousand five hundred dollars?” Arthur gasped, stepping back from the screen as if it were radioactive. “Are you insane? I’m not paying that! This is kidnapping!”
The heavy steel door to the stockroom shuddered. A thick, metallic clank echoed from the other side, followed by the hiss of pressurized air. The door handle slowly began to turn on its own.
Devin scrambled backward against the cabinets, pressing his back into the wood. He looked at Arthur with tear-streaked cheeks and eyes utterly devoid of hope.
“Swipe your card,” Devin whispered frantically, pressing his hands against his ears again. “Please, just swipe your card. The Collector is awake.”