“Look, I just want my sandwich.”

The man eyed me from underneath his dirtied baseball cap with a predatory gaze. He seemed jumpy, like the barest whisper of movement from me would set him into action. But what that action was, I did not want to know.

He might have been a burglar thinking that my little café was an easy target. But now that every transaction was done through their Government appointed living wage cards, what was left to steal? The worn down chairs? The rickety ceiling fan? The peeling wallpaper?
  
The man placed cash: solid pieces of metal that chinked on the bar. I looked at the near antiquity, completely stunned at the barely remembered sight before I realised what it meant.

This man did not want to be tracked.

He looked at me, his fist clenching and unclenching. It was at that point I realised just how big he was underneath the full body jacket. And I did not mean tall. I was tall, but he was the kind of big that could crush my rib cage with a hug. And then I realised he said something.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled as I tried to avoid his piercing gaze. My God, those were bullet holes in his jacket!

“Can I have it?” he half asked, half growled.

I realised I held the sandwich in my hand, the smooth plastic container flexing in my grip. My chest heaved as I looked beyond the shadows that covered him like a shroud, beyond his piercing gaze, and to the bulge strapped around his hip, silently whispering immediate death to anyone that crossed him.

My knees turned to jelly and I propped myself against the counter. This was no ruffian off the street. This was certainly no burglar. This was someone much, much worse. “You’re him, aren’t you?” I breathed, “The Ghost.”

He looked me dead in the eyes, the intensity so overwhelming I barely noticed his hand sink to the concealed firearm. I froze. “I am just a customer,” he said. “Now can I have my sandwich?”

I could have just given it to him and ended this sorry state of affairs. If I had, he would have left and I could have returned to my happy ignorance and beyond the gaze of the watching State. But no. I had to open my mouth to the deadliest man the Government could not catch. It was because of him that the country was so messed up. It was because of him that they took control of everyone’s money. And it was because of him that the only patron I got was the taxman.

This man had singlehandedly ruined the country. So how could I pass up the opportunity to do what news reporters had failed to do in years?

I gulped. “W-w-why?” 

By the deathly stillness, I realised I had crossed the line. Bricks churned in my stomach to the point where I struggled to not just cower underneath my desk in a sobbing heap. I noticed his expression darken. His anger was not the explosive, break everything in my café, rage but a cold, simmering anger that brought forth the shiny wetness to his eyes. It was just another reminder of how dangerous he was.

“Because the Government lies to us,” he said. “It tells us that we are safe. We are not. It tells us that we are strong. We are not. It tells us that it is capable of making every decision for us. It is not. I fight to undermine their fortress of greed and wealth. I fight to return our world to the people.” He calmed down then, the tears unable to mask the fierce pride he held in his expression.
 
“But I am just a magician’s trick to lure the world into looking where we want them to. No, the real revolution starts with you.” He pushed the coins towards me, the tinny ring of metal on wood echoing through the small room. “Every transaction outside their control is another nick to their economic empire. Soon, we will end them using a currency they tried to kill. 

“So I ask again, can I have my sandwich?”

How could I say no?