Devon pocketed the phone and then stepped out of the locker room and checked out the Game Booths.
There was a green light in some doors and red light in some—red light meant that it was occupied, and green light meant it was available.
Fourteen out of twenty were occupied—and it was only early in the day—which talked a lot about how popular the game centers were.
Students often came here to rent Virtual Reality Helmets. It was cheap enough. Purchasing one was too high of a budget for most of them.
"Hey, boss!"
James greeted with a salute.
A brown-haired man walked in. He wore a casual buttoned shirt and jeans. He had a little stubble on his chin and a full head of hair.
It seemed like he was close to forty years of age.
"Is everything going alright in here?"
Woodrow asked.
"Yes, we were just discussing the Talent Draft. Did your children apply for it?"
James asked, rubbing his hands together, like he was trying to curry favor with the owner of the game center.
"They did. I believe my oldest son has a good chance."
Woodrow touched his nose, a habit that he had developed over the years, whenever he was proud about something.
His oldest son was his pride and joy—he had been playing Innerworld for a couple of years now and even created his own guild!
There weren’t many eighteen-year-olds with their own guilds.
Bang!
At that moment, they all heard something strange coming from the direction of the Game Booths—it sounded like someone was kicking a door.
"What the hell is going on in here? Devon, go check it out."
Woodrow said, like he was ordering peasants to go do his bidding, as if he were a feudal lord.
It was part of the job, so Devon headed out to check the Game Booths, and saw that one of the doors had opened.
"DAMN IT! DAMN IT! DAMN IT!"
In one of the Game Booths, a dark-skinned man was kicking the wall. It was like he was trying to kick a hole in the wall.
Virtual Reality Helmet was on the ground next to him. It was broken. Like he had smashed it into the ground.
"You need to pay for that; I hope you know that."
Devon said with his left hand inside his pocket.
"What did you say?"
He turned to look at him.
This man was lean. No muscles whatsoever. Probably weighed around the same as Devon, who was a solid 160.
Yet, he had tattoos of a snake winding up his arm. It gave him a dangerous look, which was only emphasized by the scar running down his right cheek.
"You need to pay for the broken Virtual Reality Helmet. We do have camera recording that showed you enter the Game Booth with a perfectly intact helmet.
"Then, the door opened, and the Virtual Reality Helmet was on the ground—broken as you can see right there."
Devon pointed towards the broken Virtual Reality Helmet—it had cracked open like an egg with wires and circuits spilling out.
"I’d suggest you leave, right now. I am not in a good mood."
He stepped towards Devon. Standing one head taller than Devon. He was obviously trying to intimidate him.
Trevon was his name.
"And I’d suggest you pay for the damages. I wouldn’t want to do this, but we can always call police officers to solve this problem."
Devon said.
"I just died in Innerworld. I am really pissed. You don’t want to know what happens when I am pissed."
Trevon said angrily.
"You will get over it. There is one-day death punishment, and you just lost some levels and items, but that is not the end of the world.
"You can always get those back.
"However, if you keep going, you will do something you regret. Things can become much worse for you."
Devon said.
It was already obvious at this stage that he wasn’t scared of Trevon—not in the slightest—and his eyes narrowed.
Trevon thought that he could easily intimidate some random Game Center worker—because he could tell that he was a New American.
Trevon, on the other hand, was Thug American—they prided themselves on being tougher and stronger than New Americans.
In their opinion, New Americans were pussies. Cowards. Losers who would go running to their mommy at the first sign of trouble.
New Angeles just happened on the border between Thug America and New America—it was a topic of countless discussions about who really owned this city.
"I don’t have the money with me right now."
Trevon said—sounding more calm-headed than before—as if he had finally cooled down.
"We have your address and number on our system. We will send the bill to your house."
Devon said.
"...Whatever."
Trevon put his hands inside his pockets, bumped shoulders with Devon, and then walked away while his jeans sagged low, almost showing his boxers.
He was also walking strangely, with a wide stride, like he was trying to show off.
"You handled that as well as always."
In that moment, Kylie came forward and said—she was watching the entire thing unfold—and was ready to call help if it ended up in a fight.
"Just needed to talk some sense into him. Their heads get very clear, very quickly if you threaten them with some jail time."
Devon said with a smile.
He then picked up the broken Virtual Reality Helmet, and looked at the wall, which had a little dent, sadly.
"I think we need to close this booth for a while. Can’t let the customers see this booth when it is in this state."
Devon said.
"I’ll tell Woodrow."
Kylie said, and then took her sweeping brush into a carry and headed out towards the back to have a word with the boss.
Devon closed the door and made the light red—so nobody would wander there.
’I expected him to throw at least one punch. What a shame. I kind of wanted to see what would’ve happened.’
He chuckled happily and then juggled the broken Virtual Reality Helmet in his hand and then tossed it into the garbage bin.