Even though the sky was grey as always, it was agreed that the man would be wearing sunglasses, so that Jackson could identify him. He had almost given up waiting when the man appeared from around a copse of withered trees, following one of the main paths that honeycombed the Park. Without acknowledging Jackson in the slightest, he sat down next to him. Jackson waited a minute or two before asking, “Damon? Is that your name?” “Yes, yes it is,” the man answered, nervously. “And you’re sure that you want to do this? You’ve weighed your options?” “I can’t afford the Tax, I don’t have any other options. I’m joining. Now can you tell me what’s going on? I still don’t know what it is I’m doing, really. No one has told me.” “It’s still too early for that,” Jackson said. “But if you’re sure that you’re committing, the answer to that question isn’t too far off.
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