In the bustling heart of the city, nestled among the towering skyscrapers and neon signs, stood the “Cup of Commodity” coffee shop. Sponsored by major industry giants, it was a haven for those seeking refuge from the relentless pace of life. With its cozy atmosphere, it offered an array of aromatic beverages and freshly baked pastries, creating a warm and inviting environment for families and friends to gather.
But this coffee shop had a dark secret hidden behind its facade of cheerfulness. It was more than just a place to grab a latte or a muffin. It was a hub for a twisted pastime that had gripped the city’s residents: betting on the lives of young runners who attempted to evade capture.
The Tracker Board, mounted on the back wall behind the pastry bar, ranked the top 20 Runners. Large flat-screen televisions, strategically placed around the room, looped the most recent runner updates. People huddled around tables, eyes glued to the screens, as the drama of these young lives played out in real time. Bets were placed at any cash register, but identification was required—a chilling reminder of the stakes involved.
On this particular day, the coffee shop was abuzz with anticipation. You could hear a pin drop as everyone’s eyes were fixed on the television screens. It was a remarkable run—the freckle-faced 14-year-old commodity had evaded capture for 12 days, a feat almost unheard of in this chilling sport.
The boy, fueled by youthful naivety and a sense of invincibility, had taunted the Retrievers with clues to his hiding places, convinced he could outwit them all. For a moment, it had all been fun and games.
But in a world where profit trumped morality, even innocence had a price. An anonymous spotter, motivated by financial gain, had sent a photo pinpointing the boy’s exact location to the Retriever.
The local television station played the clip several times, the boy’s terrified face broadcast for all to see. Beneath the grim underpass, crouched in the dirt, the boy begged for his life. Tears streamed down his face as he pleaded, “Wait! Please! Can I see my mom? Can I talk to her?”
Annoyed with this particular Runner’s desperation, the Retriever smiled coldly and pulled the trigger.
The “Cup of Commodity” coffee shop erupted into a paradoxical celebration and displeasure. Money exchanged hands, bets won and lost, as this tragic Runner soared to the all-time favorite list. The boy’s mother would receive a small cash award from the “Cup of Commodity” for her son’s efforts, a macabre compensation for the loss of a child who had been just another pawn in the twisted game they called entertainment.