Characters:
VIC: A tough-talking fixer.
THE KID: Nervous, holding a small, glowing lunchbox.
Setting: A rainy shipping container yard at night.
VIC: You got the goods?
THE KID: You got the "Forget-Me-Nows"?
VIC: (Slaps a small vial onto a crate) One drop and you won't even remember you have a mother, let alone what you saw in that basement.
THE KID: (Opens the lunchbox; a golden light hits his face) It’s still warm.
VIC: (Peering in) Is that... is that the Mayor’s conscience?
THE KID: It’s heavier than I thought it’d be. Sloshes around like mercury.
VIC: Close it. If the wind catches it, we’ll both start feeling guilty for things we did in third grade. I don’t have time for a moral crisis tonight.
THE KID: What happens to it now?
VIC: We sell it to the opposition. They’re gonna keep it in a safe so he can never use it again.
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