Greg Veder vs The World

Cutscene: Brockton Truck Simulator

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

April 16, 2011

1:15 PM

It refused to stop shaking.

Huang Wen couldn't get the thought out of his mind as he made the turn onto Suntree Lane, several people screaming at him and honking their horns in complaint at his sub-par driving. The older man knew that at least one person would be calling the number on the back of his truck, complaining to someone in management about their "reckless drivers".

It was expected, of course, regardless of how pointless the complaint would be. He wished he could have explained to them that it wasn't his fault, but he doubted they'd care in the first place. There was always that one person who had to make their complaints known, regardless of whether they were valid or not. Personally, Huang couldn't relate to that mindset.

Tilting his head slightly, the delivery man's attention was drawn to his truck's radio, the busted up thing finally tuning into a station after months and months of nothing but silence and static. "...eetings, Brockton Bay. You're on with Ben Rhodes,"

"And Tina Gershup," Another voice cut in, obviously female if the name alone wasn't enough of a clue.

"Listening to WKVW, with your Bayside talk, news and smooth,smooth tunes." A jingle played as the radio host paused, reciting the station's name in a musical tone before fading out. "First on the agenda today, Tina, is something we've all been hearing about these past few weeks,"

"Let me guess, Mayor Christner's re-election campaign?"

"I wish, but this is a bit more gruesome. The BBPD put out some new information on the Archer's Bridge Merchants. You remember all the reports?"

"That I do, Ben." There was the unmistakable sound of papers being shuffled coming from the radio as the female host paused. "Last I heard, about two weeks back, there were three found dead and about four times that many brutally beaten."

"Double both those figures and you'd be right on the money. Police aren't sure if they're dealing with an eager new cape, or more than likely, rival gangs making a play for territory.

"New cape seems unlikely, Ben."

"You say that, Tina, but we've had three new ones show up out of nowhere at about the same time."

There was a slight pause from the woman, almost as if she stopped herself before saying something, only to continue moments later. "What? Do you think we have some sort of serial killer cape running l-"

There was an audible scoff from the male host, the man clicking his tongue several times as he interrupted his female co-host. "Of course not. Of course not, Tina. Not at all. But what I have to ask is why any other gang in this city would really want Merchant terri-"

Shaking his head slightly, Huang turned off the talk radio and tightened his grip on the steering wheel, trying once again to keep it from shaking under his grip. Making his way down another road, he quickly left the angry drivers and the local news behind, both on the road and in his thoughts. There was too much on his mind for him to keep mulling over small things like that, far too much.

Immaculata, one of this city's few private schools, was another of the things filling his mind, another distraction he was thankful for as he drove down the less crowded streets of Brockton Bay. His oldest was due to start school there in just a few months and Huang couldn't help but be happy at that simple fact, regardless of what it meant.

The fact that she was accepted had been a pleasant surprise for everyone, his wife unable to hold back her excitement as she hugged their daughter upon reading the acceptance letter. All of them came together as a family, raining praise on his daughter's head for her achievement. It had been a wonderful moment, the man couldn't deny that, but Huang's ability to enjoy the moment had been soured rather quickly by one simple thing.

Or rather sixteen thousand things.

Huang had stared at the letter for several long minutes, utterly silent while his wife cried tears of joy in the background. The smile he gave to his daughter had been hollow, a response to the one she gave him more than anything else. How could he tell her that there was no way he could afford this much, that there was no way she would ever see the inside of a school not filled with leering boys in red and green?

Immaculata was well-known for providing scholarships to graduating students worthy of them, students with the talent and motivation to make something of themselves. Huang knew that this was an opportunity. This was his daughter's opportunity to be more than just the daughter of a delivery man, an opportunity he couldn't turn away.

Looking into his daughter's hopeful eyes and his wife's tear-filled ones, he already knew that he couldn't bring himself to do it.

Yet, the money…

Huang paused at another intersection, tilting his head to the left. His eyes met those of the younger man — more boy than man, really — of Japanese descent standing with his back to the wall, smiling through the cigarette in his mouth. A flick of the head and a raise of a tattooed arm told Huang all he needed to know and he made to turn, heading down yet another empty side-street as the Japanese man jogged ahead of him, slipping into the entrance of a wide alley.

The driver shook his head slightly, pulling himself from his own thoughts as he turned the shuddering wheel to reverse the cargo truck into a filthy alley. It wasn't so much the garbage or litter, of which there was surprisingly little to be found. No, what made this place feel so dirty was the general environment. Regardless of everything else, it seemed to give off the air of being a place no one respectable would want to be caught in.

It certainly wasn't on his usual route, that much was certain.

Although, it was rather pointless to worry about his route now, given that he wasn't even on the clock. Huang hadn't been on the clock for the last three days, really, and today was no different.

Three days.

In those same three days, his supervisor had called him twelve times, each time with a variation of "Are you sure you're sick?" on the younger Vietnamese man's lips. Huang couldn't fault the man for his repeated questioning, what with Huang being one of the few drivers that he had. Still, the slight anger that rose in his chest at the man's repeated offers for extra pay if he came in regardless couldn't be tamped down, Huang several times finding himself hanging up the phone on the other man before he could finish speaking.

Thirteen years of driving a van for the same company for four different men, delivering fish to the same companies in the same city and none of it was enough.

He needed more.

He had to get more.

The truck driver let out a low breath as he slowly shook his head, still wondering what could be causing his wheel to shake. It couldn't be the wheel alignment, he knew that for sure. It hadn't been too long ago when the truck had been serviced. For something to go bad not a few months later was highly unlikely, considering his company's mechanics took as much pride in their jobs as he did.

Wheel still shuddering, Huang came to a stop at the back entrance of yet another seemingly abandoned warehouse, a wide steel roll-up door directly at his back. The delivery man heard the back door of his cargo truck unlatch itself and open wide, the Japanese man standing behind the vehicle doing his portion as quickly as Huang had expected before turning to the warehouse.

Staring back at the now-opened roll-up door through his side view mirrors, Huang was faced with another uncomfortably familiar sight. His lips twisted up into a grimace as he spotted them, once again finding himself questioning if this was all worth it.

He had to wonder what all of them had in common with each other as he saw them again, the group somehow as diverse as past ones had been despite being composed of entirely different people. Young women in such tight, revealing clothing that they could be nothing other than prostitutes filed into his truck, some of their faces bearing marks that Huang wished he couldn't tell were bruises. Among their number were others, varying in age as much as they did skin color and walks of life. Children about the right age to be in high school, some of them still in uniform, as well as older men and women who looked like they should have been sitting on a park bench feeding birds rather than walking out of a dingy, worn down warehouse.

They poured out of the warehouse door in a huddle, each of them seeming to cling to each other for support despite not actually holding one another at all. All their eyes remained downcast, each one barely twitching as they walked into the back of his truck, their bodies disappearing one by one. Following all of them from behind and getting into the truck last were young men — all of them obviously ABB — hauling boxes into the back of his truck, each of them looking oddly contrite.

And just like that, the crowd was finished.

Huang heard the back to his truck shut closed and he felt his breath catch in his throat once more as he waited for the next part. A few seconds later, the same tattooed man who had led him down this side alley opened the passenger door to his truck cab and slid into the seat next to him, a look on his face that didn't match the ones his friends wore, oddly pleased as it was.

"Tenku?" The young man held up a black bottle of beer, the container covered all over with yellow hiragana. It was a Japanese product, Huang knew that much, one that still remained popular due to it being one of the few liquor companies that survived the fallout of Kyushu untouched.

The truck driver's eyes flicked to the drink before snapping back to the smiling face sitting in his passenger seat. The smile seemed to add to his hesitation, leaving the older man unsure if turning down the young man across from him would end up badly. After a long moment, Huang finally shook his head, waving away the man's offer with a muttered, "Thank you."

The gang member laughed at Huang's visible anxiousness, opening the bottle of beer with nothing but a hand wrapped around the edge of his shirt and a single quick twist. "Hey, don't worry, old man. After this, you're getting your money and you can keep your head down."

Slowly nodding at the laughing man's words, Huang turned the key in the ignition, the rumbling engine coming alive. The truck driver brought a hand to his brow, wiping off all the sweat on his forehead with the back of his sleeve as he let out a shuddering breath.

Both hands fell back onto the wheel as he leaned back in his seat, Huang Lin holding on to it like a lifeline. His gaze dropped down to the object in his grip, the older Chinese man swallowing as he leaned back in his seat.

Three days of of this and still…

Why wouldn't it stop shaking?