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The wails of sirens pierced the air as Doyle walked down the street. He looked up, watching idly as three police cars sped past him, going far past the speed limit that citizens were allowed to drive.

The young man shrugged and put his earphone back in his ear, brushing aside his sandy blonde hair in order to insert the earpiece. He continued home through the maze of mostly grey, sleek buildings, taking the long, winding route through the city.

Finally, he unplugged his earbuds as he walked up to the concrete steps of his building. Like most of the residential buildings in this part of town, the apartment building was several stories high and built of grey, bulletproof concrete. Doyle thought that the residential buildings were never very pretty to look at from the outside. Inside the complex was a different story, but the building planners definitely could have created the residentials look a little more family friendly. Nevertheless, the residentials served a purpose, like everything else, and there was nothing Doyle could do about it.

He paused before the door, pulling out his ID card before pressing the intercom button next to the entrance. The steel doors were locked and would stay that way until Doyle was let in.

A beep indicated that the facility operator (FO for short) had been called. After a short pause, the familiar voice muttered in a monotone, “Good afternoon. Resident or visitor?”

“Resident.”

“Family name?”

“Brasher.”

Another pause before the bored, tired voice stated, “Please scan your card...”

Having his ID already on-hand, Doyle waved his card across the square scanner, the red light glowing next to the intercom. There was another, higher beep that indicated confirmation, and a satisfying click as the doors unlocked.

He went into the elevator that was directly in front of him in the lobby, pressing the button for the seventh floor. Doyle got out a second later, still carrying his ID.

Scanning his card in front of the door to the apartment, the lock clicked again and Doyle went inside.

The apartment was empty—however, Doyle was not surprised in the least. His parents were still at work, and his younger sister was at basketball practice. Doyle smiled—sometimes it was just nice to have the apartment all to himself, even if it was just for a few minutes.

Doyle grabbed an artificially flavored apple off of the counter. As he turned on the wall monitor, he took a bite out of it, juice dribbling from his lips. He wondered if his cousin Brent would be online today. School got out at the same time for all grade levels, so Brent would probably be at home by now too.

The computer booted up in its usual three second fashion, asking for a voice passcode, which Doyle willingly gave it. To his disappointment, however, Brent was not on the Instant Message System. He frowned for a minute and then remembered—Brent had had to stay after school today for detention, and he wouldn't be out for at least another hour. Doyle took the last bite of his apple and threw it in the trash, his disappointment noticable.

He didn't see anyone else online, which was another letdown. The young man now had nothing to distract him from his homework. He sighed, trudging into his room to get his tablet.

As he was doing so, his cell phone vibrated loudly in his pocket. He pulled out the device, checking to see the number. To his bewilderment, the number that appeared was that of his grandfather's. Not hesitating, he answered it.

“Pops?” he asked.

“Hi, Doyle. I'm sorry about last week; I didn't mean to get so emotional on you.” He was referring to their last visit, which had been very eventful. Doyle hadn't visited his grandparents since.

“Hey, it's no problem. What's up?”

“Well, I was wondering if you could come over,” he replied gruffly. The tone implied that there was something more than just a simple visit, but Doyle couldn't be sure.

“Now?”

“Actually, yes. Why, is there something else you need to do?”

Doyle shook his head. He just found it unusual, but didn't say so. “No, not at all. I'll be right over.”

“Thanks, son. See you in a few minutes.”

The young man put the phone back in his pocket, perplexed by the sudden call and request. The urgency of his grandfather's voice almost suggested that something was wrong.

Picking up the family tablet on the coffee table, he used the stylus to leave a note to his parents, telling them he would be back soon. After all, they would arrive home before his sister, so there wasn't any risk of her being home alone.

Doyle put his tablet back into his bag and began the fifteen minute trek to Pop's house, which was in the 'Senior Citizens' designated area of the city. The homes of the Senior Citizens were built in a more... aesthetically pleasing manner than those of the families, but Doyle knew that they deserved it.

He arrived at Pop's house and knocked on the door. His grandfather greeted him with a smile and let him into the living room. As Doyle sat down, he noticed that something was missing.

“Where's Grams?”

Pops looked uneasy as he asked the question, but he plastered on a smile as he replied. “She went to visit some of her friends. That's why I needed you here right now; she wouldn't approve of what I'm about to do.”

The tension that was already in the room suddenly became paramount. “Does this have something to do with my last visit, and what you showed me then?”

His grandfather nodded solemnly. “Yes. I have a gift for you, if you're willing to accept it.”

“I'd like to see what you're giving me first,” Doyle replied uneasily.

He nodded again. “Of course. I only hope that I'm not putting you at too much risk.” Pops walked into the next room, still talking. His voice traveled across the apartment as he said, “This does have something to do with the physical money I was showing you last time. I'm not sure if you know this, but being in possession of 'non-technology' is not the worst law you can break.”

He brought out a small box. “This,” he said, “has some physical money in it. I want you to have it.”

Doyle was taken aback. “Me? Why are you giving these to me?”

“Because,” he retorted, “In the case I ever get caught with these or I die, you will have these. You will be taking a small risk in taking them. Like I said before, the penalty for keeping these items in your possession is not as severe as you think. But the best case scenario is that you would not be caught with them.”

Doyle took the box off of the table, examining it. On first glance, the box seemed to be plain—constructed out of steel, it looked like nothing more than a woman's jewelry box. As he gazed closer, however, the box had a keypad. It was a lockbox.

“Pops,” Doyle said in shock, “Lockboxes are illegal!”

“I'm not going to deny that. But that's the only way to keep these safe.”

“Why are these so important, anyway? They have some worn out ones in museums. Why keep these safe?”

“Because we should be allowed to keep them if we wish to. The fact that we are not is an infringement of rights.”

Doyle nodded, trying to understand. It didn't make a lot of sense.

The next hour was spent with Pops teaching Doyle how to operate the box. He made him memorize the keycode. He also showed Doyle that he had given him one of every American currency.

“I gave you a nickel, dime, quarter, half-dollar, dollar, five-dollar, ten-dollar, and twenty-dollar,” Pops said, as he closed the box. “There used to be higher and lower currencies, but the names of those have been lost.”

Doyle now understood a little bit more how important this truly was to his grandfather. He had loved history, but he realized that history was Pops's passion. Keeping these currencies, was, in a way, preserving history.

He gingerly placed the box in his backpack. Standing up, he gave his grandfather a hug, which Pops accepted. Though Pops was much shorter than him, they still embraced tightly.

“Thank you for your gift,” he said, bowing his head.

Pops shook his head. “Don't think of it as a gift. Think of it as a legacy you must protect. Because that's exactly what it is. This history is a legacy; you must protect it at all costs. Never forget that.”

Doyle nodded. “I won't lose them, Pops. I promise.”

“Please keep that promise for me,” Pops replied. “I know it sounds very confusing to you right now, and I might seem a little weird, but in time you should realize how detrimental it is to me, and how inherently dangerous this perfect-seeming world really is.”

He looked at his watch uneasily. “You should get going, son. Your grandmother will be home soon, and she won't approve of this.”

Doyle nodded, and after giving Pops his solemn salutations, slung on his backpack and headed home.

When he arrived home, he was very thankful for the fact that he wasn't stopped by any police. Not that he looked suspicious, but he had been stopped before for much less.

Walking into his room, Doyle placed the box in a deep, dark corner of his closet, where he knew his parents wouldn't find it. As he closed the door to his closet, the sinking feeling in his stomach told him that this was only the beginning. He ignored it. He knew that whatever happened, he would protect the legacy of his grandfather. And though his view of the world might change, as he knew it would, his values would not.

“Dinner's on the table, Doyle! Hurry up or it will get cold!”

He walked down the stairs to eat dinner with his parents and sister, pushing aside the events of the day in his mind.