His first real attempt to stake out market share in the Modification business was trafficking in testosterone. Some anonymous genius in a lab somewhere had developed a refined and affordable low-dose testosterone treatment with high absorption rates and nearly non-existent side-effect grief from the estrogen and DHT. Word had spread quickly that men of all ages could now benefit from the increased energy levels and improved mood that supplemental testosterone delivered, without the sagging tits and other physical embarrassments that had marred the hormone's reputation.
As Vinicius quickly realized, testosterone was the perfect "gateway Modification" to a wider customer base. Men understood it; it was not some science-fiction gene-splicing technology that still lurked in a shadow world of rumors and horrifying cautionary tales. In the people who adopted the testosterone treatments the anabolic effects represented themselves quickly, through increased muscle mass, delivering a satisfied customer base and good word-of-mouth.
The new testosterone injections had been his personal initiation into physical enhancement, and he remembered it fondly. The energy! Of course, Vinicius had needed that energy to suppress all the other testosterone suppliers in the city and consolidate the business under his umbrella. And later, all the states of eastern Brazil.
It seemed to him a long time ago that he had only been enhanced with that single Modification, a common one at that. But he had not stayed in that condition for long. From that humble beginning he had methodically yet eagerly expanded his personal portfolio of Modifications, using his position to scout out the newest and most promising treatments.
He had crushed or incorporated the smallest and weakest of the garage bio-chemists, and established an exclusive product line that he controlled with brutal severity. He kept the best and most powerful Modifications for himself and an elite client base, which kept the prices for the rare treatments high. Sometimes he introduced artificial shortages into the system, as he had done by strangling production of the B3 steroids, to inflate their market value and thus his profits. And always he relied on corrupt government officials to aid his efforts, or at the very least look the other way. He had never stopped being amazed at how much dirty business could be conducted if a government set all the rules of the game. Government people were easy to manipulate.
And so his personal physical abilities had grown along with his business empire. He had his own physicians who vetted the material of course — he wasn't that careless with his own health. Still, he had been disappointed that none of his doctors had given their blessings for the Open Sky treatment.
It irritated him that they might be right.
His wife Larissa walked in at that moment, confronting him with the other reason he was still unsure about this newest Modification. She had returned last night from a shopping trip in Sau Paulo, and had naturally been surprised by his altered appearance. She had said nothing directly, of course. She knew what his business entailed, and was no stranger to artful Modifications herself. But he could read her — she was repulsed by his scaly skin.
She walked smoothly across the thick rug and said nothing until she sat down at the leather chair in front of his desk. Larissa was still the most beautiful woman in all of Brazil as far as he was concerned, and Vinicius had been to enough beaches and seduced enough gostosas to judge.
Her eyes roamed over his body, the deliberate inspection of a wife. "How are you feeling?"
"As good as always. But the new… texture… is taking some time to get used to."
She nodded. "Is this a temporary side-effect, or do you expect it to be permanent?"
"Either is possible, I'm afraid."
"And what is this one supposed to do?"
He smiled. "If it works, I'll give you all the details. If not, well… You can have my lumpy body mounted and placed in a trophy case."
For the first time in two days she smiled. "Oh, I have just the perfect spot picked out for a deceased lumpy husband."
The thought flashed through his mind reflexively — You probably do. You probably do.
****
The next morning Vinicius called in Mr. Blue and a small team of bodyguards for a small, but necessary task.
"Mr. Cunha, you really should just let me handle this," Mr. Blue said.
"Normally, yes. But I have spent much time lately in North America establishing my new networks. I think perhaps my fellow countrymen no longer respect me as they should. I think a personal appearance would make the necessary impact."
Vinicius had always believed the reputation of the man at the top was truly what made an organization powerful. Easier to fear someone specific than some faceless management. They would fear him again.
Blue nodded, and the group of men piled into the two German luxury cars that had been pulled to the front of the main house. The trouble was on the other side of the city — his own city, which Vinicius could scarcely believe. Some young tiger was trying to establish a distribution trade for B2s and other Modifications. Vinicius' organization had commanded the South American trade for such products for two solid years. He supposed it was inevitable that some fool would try to carve off a slice of the lucrative business, but he had been convinced he had left enough horrifying examples scattered across the city of what happens to those who infringe on his territory. Apparently not, he reflected grimly.
They arrived at the operations hub of the interloper's Modification business, parked the cars a discreet distance away, and donned their shimmer masks. Their target was a temporary building amongst a scattered assemblage of makeshift construction offices. Vinicius had heard reports about the location through his network of spies, and then had sent underlings to make a couple of purchases, thus confirming the location as well as digging up intelligence on his opponent.
Vinicius appraised the set-up, and admired the thinking behind it. It was one of many portable buildings on the fringes of a colossal development of high-rise condominiums. The booming economy had generated dozens of such condo projects in recent years. At such a location there would be constant activity, people coming and going at all hours, wealthy investors and common laborers. To place a front office here among the variety of trailers would only require a strategic bribe to the right person. For a start-up organization it was a very smart storefront — high traffic yet low visibility, and he wasn't even selling anything that was technically illegal.
Too bad for him he was breaking Vinicius' laws.
Like the others, their target building was cordoned off with slapped-together chain-link fencing, and had a sign for what was of course a fake construction company. The newcomer's plan was obviously to work here temporarily, score some quick money, and disappear, convinced he had picked the master's pocket. The bohla was probably already thinking about the parties he would throw.
Vinicius and his men drifted to form a loose perimeter around the target building, while he sent his No. 2 enforcer to approach the door. The man was dressed in common work clothes and would pose as a buyer. He was a good actor, and an even better killer.
Vinicius watched his man from a spot behind one of the earth-movers scattered around the worksite. He had planned every move, of course, the night before, but this wasn't going to be a particularly sophisticated engagement. Still, it was a shame that his operative "Copper" had been killed during the Forward Aeronautics raid in Dallas. He would have been useful in analyzing the financing and cash flow of this intruder's operation.
He also regretted for a moment leaving "Yellow" in North America to consolidate his Texas operations. His viciousness would have come in handy today.
Vinicius' enforcer slowed as he neared the wobbly gate. He removed his hat from his head and held it in his hands, just another humble laborer looking for the strength to rise above his surroundings. A guard stood up from his chair near the front door of the office trailer and walked to the gate.
Vinicius watched his man lean in close to speak to the guard. The enforcer reached into his pocket and pulled out tw
o small gold coins and held them in his open hand for his inquisitor to see. The guard nodded and opened the locks to the gate.
The guard was thrashing on the ground, clutching his throat before the gate had even swung fully open.
Vinicius and his men erupted from their hiding places and raced toward the building. At the same time, the door of the office trailer slammed open and men spilled out. They were brandishing guns, but aiming unsteadily as they searched for targets.
Vinicius' enforcer dropped to one knee and fired at them with his flechette gun. The soft "chuff" of the flechette weapon could barely be heard over the nearby construction noises. The screams of the men, however, were inconveniently loud. It was a slow way to die, although Vinicius' men would speed the process along momentarily.
The enforcer closed the remaining distance to the office and tossed a flash-bang into the partially open door. He crouched along the outside wall of the building as the blast rattled the windows.
Vinicius and his men filed through the open gate and sauntered up to the door. Smoke was pouring out, and Vinicius could hear coughing and cursing from inside.
"Boss, you should let me go in first," Mr. Blue said.
Vinicius nodded, and motioned for his lieutenant to proceed.
Blue slipped through the door in a crouching run, flechette gun in hand.
Three seconds later, to Vinicius' shock, Blue came crashing through the wall of the building. He landed on his back, sliding across the gravel. He lay stunned with a shocked expression on his face for a handful of seconds. Then he quickly kicked to his feet and assumed a defensive posture.
His assailant presented himself a fraction of a second later, diving through the fresh hole in the wall. He tucked into a roll and popped up in one smooth motion, attacking Mr. Blue with a flurry of kicks and punches. Mr. Blue stayed a step ahead of the man — barely — deflecting or barely dodging most of the blows.
So the head bohla has hired a real bodyguard, Vinicius judged, watching the unexpected newcomer tear into his top man. He wasn't really concerned; Blue was as good a fighter as could be found on the planet, and second only to Vinicius in the number of Modifications in his arsenal. And sure enough, within seconds Blue was turning the fight around in his favor.
Still — what a fighter this new man was! His moves were so fast, so fluid! It was rare to see someone who could fight blow-for-blow against one of his top men. A shame we will have to kill him. He would make a good addition to my organization.
He wavered for a moment, considering whether he should shout out an offer for this man, convince him to join Vinicius' organization before he was surely killed. But as he watched the combat continue, Vinicius calculated that anyone with such fighting skills would have to have a fearsome reputation somewhere, among some group. His corpse piled with the others would send the sort of powerful message he wanted to send.
Vinicius' other men were looking to him uncertainly, not sure if they should shoot the bodyguard or rush him en masse. He waved off the men. He would let Blue finish this.
The bodyguard was clearly the faster of the two men, and Blue absorbed more punches as he awaited an opening. But Vinicius had seen his man fight on several occasions, and knew that he was reacting more slowly than he was capable of, trying to draw the man in close.
The bodyguard pressed his perceived advantage, throwing a roundhouse kick to Mr. Blue's head, which connected but not fully. Vinicius could see the man's eyes searching as he spun through his kick, trying to locate and count his remaining opponents.
He should not have taken that fraction of a second of attention off his foe. Blue grabbed the man's arm, pulled him in close, and delivered a traditional boxing uppercut that snapped the man's head back and buckled his knees. Before the man could recover, Blue wrapped his large hands around the man's head and twisted with all his strength. The squelching crack of the man's neck rose over every other sound.
Vinicius smiled. What a magnificent battle.
He turned to his men. "Now let us see who else is in there. I don't think we've seen the top man yet."
Vinicius climbed the three steps up into the trailer, stepping over the dead bodies of the men who had been dropped by his enforcer's flechette gun. He grinned theatrically and called out into the interior.
"Good day señor! I have come to discuss a new business arrangement!"
A high-pitched, nearly hysterical voice answered from deeper inside the office trailer. “So you've taken care of my men. Good for you, másculo!" A small figure, freakish in appearance, rose up from behind a desk and aimed a large-caliber revolver at Vinicius. "Are you bulletproof too?”
Vinicius blinked his optics into zoom mode and tightened focus on the gun in the man's hand. The action was nearly too late — as the gun filled his vision he could see the man's grip tighten, his arm bracing for the recoil. Vinicius reacted instinctively, aided by amplified adrenal glands, turning partially sideways, away from the man's aim.
The shot echoed off the close walls of the interior.
Vinicius felt a burning impact. He staggered and fell to all fours, clutching his chest.
He felt a brief moment of panic… It is not my time! And then with his right hand he groped across his roughly textured chest and abdomen. He sucked in his breath as he found a patch of his chest that had gone numb — yet there was no blood. His heart was hammering from the adrenaline dumped into his bloodstream. He looked down and saw a torn section of his shirt and a mark across his chest where the grazing shot had made contact. There should have been a horrible gaping wound, but there was only a rising welt and the blotchy early stages of a serious bruise.
No, it really isn't my time, he realized within the space of a few seconds. This new Modification works! It was just as the traitorous Open Sky researcher had predicted: The company's breakthrough treatment that fortified the layers of human skin against the hard radiation of space, combined with the greatly increased muscle mass that was possible with the newest-generation B3 steroids, could allow a man to withstand and survive even weapons fire. He was nearly invulnerable.
And I am the first!
Vinicius looked up. The smile on the shooter’s face faded.
He stood, and looked the strange man in the eyes. His grin was almost a snarl. “Why, yes, actually. I think I am bulletproof.”
With explosive speed he smacked the gun out of the man's hand. Then he grabbed him by his loose shirt and pulled him close.
The man was small, scrawny even. It was difficult to get a clear appraisal of his natural features, thanks to the extensive and intricate tattoos covering every visible inch of his skin. His long hair hung loosely, framing a face modified with leonine features.
Animal boys. The words rolled through Vinicius' mind disdainfully. It was all there — the reconstructed cheekbones, the split upper lip, the cat's-eye optical lenses, the fingertip claw implants. It was a corner of the Modified subculture for which he felt contempt. Try as you might, you cannot Modify yourself into an animal.
"So, animal boy. Are you strong and brave like a lion? Can you roar so loudly that we will all run away?"
The man started shivering with fear, but maintained eye contact with Vinicius. "You'll be in my position someday, big man," he said.
Vinicius laughed and began mauling the man, using every bit of the strength his dozens of Modifications gave him. His heart soared. "If you like animals so much, boy, what do you think of the head wolf?"
He did not pause until the man's corpse was unrecognizable. He finally stopped and took a breath and looked around.
His men had followed him inside. They were staring at him in awe.
He grinned at them, saying nothing. Yes, tell the story of what you have seen. It should be a warning that people will never forget.
He sat down on the desktop and watched as Mr. Blue quietly conducted an inventory of the interloper's wares. It was a pathetic lot; he had expected more.
They found boxes of B2 steroids, as
they anticipated. There were also cases of SexTensity supplements, testosterone patches, and cheap sunglasses with base-level optics displays. There was even one of the "half-skeleton" hydraulic weight-lifting harnesses, still new in the crate. He looked with bemusement at the TouchyFeely Japanese sex robot in its factory packaging in the corner. It was doubtful any of the local construction workers could afford such an indulgence. Perhaps he would offer it as a prize to one of his men.
Most of it was indeed product that Vinicius exclusively controlled. But much of it he did not even bother with. The most interesting find was the animal boy's E-Thing, which he had not had time to turn off. Vinicius ran through the man's contacts. There was a listing for a doctor in Buenos Aries who specialized in gene therapy Modifications. Vinicius decided he would have to pay the man a visit.
So the animal boy was not much of a business threat after all. Oh well, he will be useful as a warning to others.
Vinicius called in one of the men he had stationed on the perimeter. He had him lay all the bodies out and make a recording on his E-Thing. The video would be up on the net worldwide tonight, posted on carefully selected forums, without comment.
No comment was necessary.
11
Ah. So it's him.
Alexander Rohm's eyes flickered across the cascade of information flowing through his systems. He had carved out this large block of time from his schedule — no small accomplishment — and diverted considerable resources to the task. It was tiring, here at the end, but he still felt a thrill to be using his talents in this way. He had often commanded this level of focus in furthering Open Sky's fortunes, but to employ his full abilities for an undertaking such as this was a new challenge.
He would have even felt happiness if the objective had not been so grim.
Connor Rix Chronicles 1: Rules of Force Page 9