tune as he walked along the line of the latest batch of Indigenes who had returned to Earth. He hated their kind and how different they were. They were no longer human, no longer people. This batch would do the bidding of the Agostini family.
If Marcus impressed Gaetano enough, he might live to see next year. He just had to keep Enzo on side for a little longer. Enzo still refused to give him any of the good jobs, all because Marcus had messed up a job once. So what if he’d delivered a message to the wrong member of another faction? A lower ranking associate should have done it, not him. As punishment, Enzo assigned Marcus to look after Waverley neighbourhood, the least profitable asset in the Kings’ empire.
Ten Indigenes stood in line, all thin, all shades of pale. Some had translucent skin, while others reminded him of images he’d seen of cancer patients long ago without hair and eyebrows. He didn’t care what state of evolution the Indigenes were stuck in. They disgusted him.
The shackles around their feet and wrists were a necessity. He’d already seen how fast the Indigenes could move. But the ones chosen to work at HQ would wear shock collars when the shackles came off. The collars would incapacitate the Indigenes enough if they tried to flee or use strength against their captors. The ones without useful skills would stay in Waverley. Marcus first had to determine which ones from the returning Indigenes would impress Gaetano.
The Indigenes: humans with a high IQ. That’s why they’d been chosen for the World Government’s alteration programme. Some were forced into the programme, others were volunteers. Whatever the reason, it irritated Marcus to think these so-called intelligent beings considered themselves to be better than him. He could see it on their faces. Surviving in one of the most dangerous factions in the New York area took more than intelligence. Marcus had learned to stay ahead of the bullets, to appease the people who could cut him down in an instant. He touched his scar. Yeah, life was far from dull when you worked for the Kings.
Most of the Indigenes were submissive, but one caught his eye: a female with opaque skin and a thin layer of stubble on her head. His gaze travelled up and down the length of her body and lingered on her breasts. Her appearance gave him a rise but he ignored the feeling and remembered what they were: subhumans who didn’t deserve his pity.
‘Everyone needs to line up with their backs to me.’
Marcus nodded to his men who pointed their shiny new Buzz Guns at the group. The Kings had kept the best weapons for themselves: military-grade issue they’d found in a warehouse in Brooklyn. Marcus preferred old-fashioned ways of dealing with problems, but brute force wouldn’t work on a race physically stronger than him.
He felt the shift in mood. Marcus didn’t need a special ability to sense when someone feared him.
He nodded to his men who injected a dampening chip into the necks of the turned Indigenes. The chip would dull their ability and prevent them from reading his mind. The electrically charged metal restraints would keep them docile while he vetted their skills.
‘Turn to the front. Marcus is my name. Remember it, because you’ll answer to me from now on.’
He snapped his fingers and one of his men brought forward a waif Indigene, only skin and bones. The Agostini family had taken her in when she was fit and strong, but her initial refusal to eat and her continuing changes due to alteration had made her intolerant to synthesised blood, a state that Marcus used to his advantage.
The waif worked best when close to death. She scanned the group.
Marcus tapped the side of his pocket and her eyes shot to the source of the sound. She sniffed the air, picking up the scent of blood. Not his, but some random person from Waverley.
It didn’t take long for the feral Indigene to give up the ones he wanted, the ones with the skills he was after: engineers, IT experts, anyone who would help to protect HQ’s mansion. No experts existed among the Agostinis or Marcus’ crew. Marcus had spent six months cleaning toilets before working for the Kings. Before that he’d done odd jobs for the black market tenants. Nothing major, but it was enough to keep him off the government’s radar.
He rewarded the female with a few drops of blood on her tongue. Even in her weakened state, he felt her strength when she clawed at the pouch. She stumbled when his men yanked on her chains and pulled her back into line.
Marcus studied the Indigenes picked out by the feral female. They wore neutral expressions, but the longer he stared, the more their expressions slipped. He wondered what it felt like to be connected telepathically to each other, to hear each other’s thoughts. Marcus shuddered thinking about having Enzo or Carl in his head twenty-four seven.
He started with a female who tried to pass off her skill as an empath, then a cook—both useless traits at HQ. So he shot her.
It was easy, killing them. To him, they weren’t human. Not that he had issues with killing anyone who crossed him. The Indigenes had given up their rights to call themselves humans when they left Earth. How ironic it was they now sought help from the very people deemed too stupid to travel to Exilon 5.
Gaetano had considered leaving the planet, hijacking the spacecraft that returned. But he had a good thing going on Earth. Plus, security on the passenger ship would be tight.
‘Anyone else who lies to me is also dead. What’s your ability?’
The next Indigene, a male with opaque skin, didn’t hesitate. ‘Engineering.’ The answers flowed better after he had killed the first one. But the speed with which the male answered caught his attention. Marcus wondered if this individual could be moulded, convinced to switch allegiance to the Kings. Their faction had successfully infiltrated the underground movement once, thanks to one of the Indigenes. It would be harder to do so again, to put a permanent dent in their activities. But with the right help, it could be possible.
Marcus stopped at a second male Indigene. He gave his answer.
‘Cook.’
A brave choice, considering he’d just killed someone for the same response. The feral female strained against her chains as she rooted inside the male’s head. Marcus jammed his gun into the male’s mouth, then into his ribs.
‘I’m telling you the truth. I’m a cook. Shoot me, or put me to use elsewhere.’
The male was strong-willed, but cooks weren’t much use at the mansion when the Kings had working replicators. Still, he might fetch some money in Waverley. The majority of the residents were old and weak and not much of a challenge for Marcus to keep in line. It might be good to have a strong male in the neighbourhood, someone who could inject pace into the businesses there. He pictured Gaetano’s delight if Waverley turned a better profit based on his choices today. He clicked his fingers at his men and they separated the male from the rest of the group.
Marcus’s gaze stopped on the female he’d noticed from the start. He could tell she used to be attractive once, but no longer. Maybe when her hair grew back he might pay her a visit.
‘What’s your ability?’ His gaze trailed the length of her body, her curves hidden by the old World Government uniform.
‘I’m a teacher.’
Marcus snorted. ‘A fucking teacher? Unlikely.’ He threatened her with his gun.
‘I won’t pretend to be something I’m not, just because you stick a gun in my face.’
Her arrogant reply sent a shock of irritation through him. He struck her neatly on her cheekbone. Clear Indigene blood oozed from the fresh cut. That was all the proof he needed.
‘Well, you might look like some half human, half Indigene freak but I see you’ve still got some Indigene in you. That might fetch a good price.’
Enzo, the little shit, would laugh at him if he brought a teacher back to HQ. The one thing Marcus hated worse than cleaning toilets was Enzo’s condescending laugh when he fucked up. He would auction the female in Waverley, and the male.
The feral female identified seven Indigenes useful enough to bring back to Agostini HQ. The other two would fetch him a good price tomorrow—enough to get Gaetano off his back, he hoped. With all education facilities shut down and replicators capable of handling food supplies, he was confident Gaetano would agree with his decision.
Marcus thought about accompanying the main group back to the Deighton Mansion, but he got the urge to parade his two Indigenes through Waverley neighbourhood. He enjoyed the unannounced visits that put the locals on edge.
He affixed his gel mask over his mouth and nose and swapped the clean air of the docking station for the tainted air outside. Conditions were improving, but not fast enough. The air was still harmful to health and without doctors on Earth it was safer to wear the oxygen masks. One of the Indigenes in another part of the country had been useful in making new oxygen canisters; he’d been a scientist of some kind on Exilon 5. Marcus left that boring stuff to others. Being a successful front man was all that mattered to him.
He motioned for Carl to travel with him. The rest left with the seven destined for HQ.
Carl programmed in the destination and the driverless car bumped along the potholed road. As an added precaution, Carl trained the Buzz Gun on them.
The car lurched forward and hit a pothole, forcing Marcus to pull his seatbelt tighter around him.
‘Jesus, Carl!’ said Marcus when the front wheel hit another dip in the road. ‘Can’t you programme the car to go around the potholes?’ He gripped the armrest.
‘Sorry, Marcus.’
Marcus glanced at the female in the mirror to catch her staring at him. He didn’t know what to make of her. The male, equally as quiet, just stared out the window. He liked it when the Devolved were cooperative. It made his job easier. He just didn’t like it when they were too quiet.
The car approached the entrance to Waverley and Marcus spoke to one guard at the gate. ‘Get them into position. I want eyes on them all night.’
‘Right away,’ said the guard.
The car passed through the main gate and pulled up in front of a giant stone obelisk. The neighbourhood contained a mix of young and old, with a few people in their thirties, like Marcus. That balance allowed him to control the people. The residents were by no means stupid, but they weren’t willing to fight, either.
The Kings didn’t care how Waverley was run, only that it should be to their benefit. Their faction had money printed up with Gaetano’s face on it to make sure the currency couldn’t be used outside of the areas the Kings controlled. Other factions had started similar trends when they learned how effective old currency was over credit at keeping the residents under control. In return for the money, the Kings supplied places like Waverley with broken generators and replicated rations.
Several people watched from a distance as Marcus got out of the car. He pulled out the female first. Carl grabbed the chain attached to the male’s shackles. A well-placed Buzz Gun seemed to put manners on the male, but the female refused to settle. He noticed the cut on her face had almost healed. Something about her alien appearance sickened him.
‘There will be an auction here tomorrow!’ he shouted for the benefit of those who looked on. ‘Tell your family and friends to bring all the money they have.’
The female got mouthy and wrestled with the chain, so much that Marcus had to talk himself out of hitting her a second time. She could fetch more if he didn’t completely kill her spirited attitude.
Marcus and Carl bound the pair to the obelisk and activated the electrical current. He nodded up at two guards on the top floor of one building. They had been ordered to fire if the pair tried to escape. They got back into the car.
As the vehicle pulled away, Marcus looked back at them one last time.
Carl said, ‘Are you sure Enzo won’t want these two at HQ?’
Marcus saw red. ‘I don’t give a fuck what that shitbag wants. I don’t work for him. I work for his father.’
Carl nodded. ‘Can’t say I thought much of the seven we sent there. These two seem stronger than the rest.’
‘One’s a cook, the other’s a teacher. How do you think Gaetano’s gonna react if we rock up with that pair?’
Carl flashed his uneven teeth at Marcus and ran a finger across his neck in a cutting motion. ‘I’d say you’d look great with a second ring to match the one on your neck.’
Marcus jammed his Buzz Gun into the side of Carl’s head. ‘Keep talking, you dipshit.’
Carl laughed and Marcus slid the gun from his head. ‘Always was easy to rattle you, Maaarcus.’