Interesting.
Mark let Tyler in, seeing that he had three meals.
Tyler set the food down on the bed sitting next to it and leaning against the cells wall. He grabbed the noodles and soup combination, nodding to the girl and digging into his food with the chopsticks he had.
He looked to Mark with a questioning glance.
Mark rolled his eyes and shook his head in the negative.
“Well she is pretty,” Tyler said with a mouthful of noodles.
Mark scoffed a smile coming to his face as his brother grinned.
“So is the boss back yet?” Mark asked, leaning against the wall himself.
“Nope, he continued on his adventure, he seems to have taken a walk into Hell's own country,” Tyler slurped in the noodles on his chopsticks. “I swear that man has balls of steel.”
Icy was looking even more unhappy with Tyler's announcement. W3C's boss didn't idly walk into another gang’s territory without a meaning behind it.
Looks like the Hell's own better watch out, the W3C is coming in. Mark thought with the cold thoughts of a gang teenager that had seen more than a few gang wars.
Icy took a seat against the cells bars, Mark watched her like a hawk, Tyler sending sideways glances at her.
“Something up?” Mark asked sensing something in the air.
“I was going to join the EMF in a few days, well I will be if you don't kill me.” Or worse she left the last part unsaid, but her eyes said all.
“When's your sign-up date?” Mark asked, hoping to get something else out of her.
“In three days.” She said.
“Same damned week as us, what's the chances,” Tyler snorted as he finished off his food.
“A hundred percent apparently,” Mark said.
“You're sign up date is this week too?” Icy asked, looking at the two of them with renewed interest.
Probably trying to figure out if we’re lying or not. Mark thought.
“Well his was a week ago, but being my big bro he's got a soft spot for me,” Tyler grinned at Mark who was not happy to be sharing his history with a girl that had tried to kill them this morning.
Their sign up date was when they turned eighteen, as long as they were healthy then the EMF would probably hire them and start their training.
If the boss lets her out of here, then we could be in the same training cycle. Mark thought as Tyler handed him his food.
After a while it became clear that Icy didn’t want to talk to Mark but Tyler was making some progress. Mark made some excuses, grabbing his weapons from lock-up and heading up to the compounds bar.
It wasn’t anything special, bar to the left, booths to the right, dancing area in the back, with a stage, speakers dotting the place and W3C patches all over the place. Talking, dancing, and drinking.
It didn’t take him long to find Oli at the bar getting a good buzz on.
Mark’s paternal instincts took over in making sure the boy had a good time, but not too much to drink that he found himself in the toilet.
It was subtle things and gestures, but being in a gang Mark had been drunk quite a bit, he knew how to handle other drinkers.
Oli calmed down a bit and found Mark some time later sitting at a table, drinking a beer and taking the edge off.
“Hey Oli,” Mark said, making it clear Oli was fine to take a seat and talk.
“Hey Mark,” Oli said, taking a seat, the bar was filling up as the day wound down.
Oli sat down and looked at his drink, Mark looked away, knowing only too well the pain of losing friends. As much as Mark tried to keep people at bay, they always seemed to crawl in, just like Oli had.
“I’ll let you in on a secret,” Mark said, looking at the people dancing without seeing them. Oli’s head came up, listening.
“Shit is going to happen, that’s the way life is. Down here in the slums, it just happens more. At least in Westerly Three you’ve got people to watch your back. In this business people die more often than not. It’s something you’re going to have to get used to. We’re not immortal and death comes for all of us. Training, will keep you alive, train whenever you can. In the end you can only trust in yourself. Others will come and go, but you and the voice in your head, that’s the only thing you can rely on. Mourn those that pass on, but remember their loss. They died and you lived, their sacrifice led to your life, don’t be sad for that,” Mark looked to Oli, their eyes meeting.
“Life is too short to regret, people die, we all do at some point, the best we can do is live this life to the limit. The world won’t give you anything, you have to take it, rising on the shoulders of those that didn’t make it,” Mark said, his voice soft but powerful as he saw the teenager nod slowly, his eyes travelling back down to his beer.
Mark picked up his glass, holding it towards Oli, the younger man tapped it, and Mark hit the table.
“To the fallen,” Mark said, raising his glass and taking a swig.
Oli stayed at the table watching the bar and getting his thoughts together. Mark got another beer and looked over the bar, nostalgia washing through him, soon this would just be a memory. The EMF would take over his life.
Dimi made her way over to the table.
“Hello boys,” she said, looking to Mark and smiling.
“This seat taken?” She asked playfully, sipping her beer and pointing to Mark’s knee.
“All good for you,” Mark joked, brushing his leg as if he was cleaning it.
“Good!” She said, sitting on it, getting a laugh from Mark and a smile from Oli.
Dimi had been doing this job for a long time, she knew how it was losing your first friends.
Mark and Dimi flirted, but their focus was on getting Oli out of his funk.
Dimi even got Mark up and dancing just to get Oli laughing at Mark’s ridiculous moves. The evening spun into a less serious mood and Oli found a cute brunette from the dance floor.
Dimi and Mark left Oli as his conversation with the brunette turned into breathless making out.
“You need a place to stay tonight? Got my room to myself,” Mark said to Dimi as they walked out.
“Are you asking me to stay the night?” She said, faking a shocked tone.
“Well if you’re really nice I’ll let you have the floor,” Mark grinned.
Dimi gave him a playful hit.
“Maybe I’ll drag you down there,” she said equally playful.
“I might like that,” Mark said, pulling her to him and kissing her, pulling away by biting her lower lip.
Her eyes fluttered open.
“Oh, I forgot how good you were at kissing,” she said, her voice husky.
“Man of many talents,” Mark smiled, tapping her butt with one hand.
He grabbed her hand and started walking, she didn’t try to stop him and followed. A few catcalls, wolf whistles and scattered applause followed them as well.
***
A week to go. Mark thought as Dimi lay on his bed with him, a thin sheet covering their naked bodies. He could feel her toned muscles against his own. Usually it was enough to keep him awake for different reasons.
Now nostalgia kept him awake.
Mark looked over Dimi, she had joined Westerly Three Complex Crew around the same time as him.
Mark and Tyler had waited a week before taking Quentin up on his offer.
They’d arrived and been told that if they wanted to be part of the Westerly Three Crew, they needed to go through what Quentin called selection.
This selection would give them training to fight with their hands, blades, and weapons.
Mark and Tyler agreed, getting stronger was always useful.
Then selection started, they did physical training, using muscles they didn’t know they had. Sleep was a luxury they weren’t afforded as they ran around the compound in their masks, doing push ups in the rust colored dust.
They learned how to rest while doing push ups, to breathe through their nose so they didn’t g
et dust in their mouths. Limits were just a figment of their imagination.
Anything their trainers told them to do, they did as fast as possible. Those that gave up were dismissed to other groups; the crew needed people to feed them, to look after their gear. Not everyone was meant to be the crew’s warriors.
Tyler and Mark never gave up, even when they were the youngest by three years except for Dimi. Dimi had been pulled from a sex shop in a raid when Richter was expanding his territory. She was a year older than them but she was determined. In those days she rarely talked to anyone.
Hand to hand was a series of moves done until they were mere reactions. Melee and edged weapons became an extension of themselves. Mark and Tyler took the blades Quentin had given them and made their under-arm sheaths.
Mark excelled with hand to hand, he could put down most people, even a few of the trainers.
Tyler was the best shot in the crew. Final training came around and they moved out of the compound to a real-life scenario.
They attacked a club run by EVR, a gang within Westerly Three Complex.
Mark looked away from Dimi, not seeing the wall, but that night.
He had moved in through the back, hoping to funnel them out onto the street, right into Tyler and four other ‘recruits’.
People looked at them coming in, they might be kids, but they had guns. As Mark and recruits came in through the back, people dropped to the floor, fleeing as the recruits moved past.
Aza a larger boy, about fifteen who loved to make up grand tales about his girlfriends and how he was really from mega-city kept point in front of Mark.
Someone must have alerted the people inside.
Aza opened the door, adrenaline taking over as he failed to follow their training.
Mark was about to say something as Aza’s head disappeared, a shotgun had taken him out from a few feet away.
Gore and what had been Aza splattered over Mark. He didn’t hesitate, shooting the shotgunner, throwing them back as he moved into the club. People were screaming and running, guns fired, loud cracks and whizzes past Mark’s head. He continued to fire, trying to get the EVR’s heads down as he pushed into the room.
There was a bar to his left. The center of the club had two islands on either side, a stage connected to the left island. Girls and guys were jumping from it out the front door. Seats and tables were everywhere, turning into cluttered obstacles as people tried to run and ended up falling over.
An odd low pink light filled the smoky room.
Flashes came from all across the room, centered on the door.
There was no amazing head shots or fancy shooting, he sprayed in the direction of the muzzle flashes, knowing that he was more likely to hit the people running away than the EVR’s.
Fuck if it didn’t make them put their heads down in a hurry, Mark thought grimly.
Mark heard the guns outside, Tyler and his lot were taking down the EVR’s running away.
Mark’s gun clicked empty, he dove for cover, his hands ripping the magazine out and slamming another in.
Three of his Westerly brothers and sisters were also in the room, putting fire into the EVR’s positions.
Two of them had died at the doorway.
Mark felt for his gear pulling out a sphere, he twisted the top, feeling a click just like the training prop.
“Grenade!” Mark yelled throwing the thing into the largest group of muzzle flashes.
The Westerly crew ducked, the grenade went off, louder than any of the simulations, the Westerly crew rose, their guns up and looking for threats.
“Moving up!” Mark said, moving around the bar to the nearest cluster of tables and chairs. People cried out on the floor, wounded, scared, dying and dead.
All Mark could smell was the smoke and the tang of spent rounds. Mark tasted fear, hell he felt it, the acidic bile in the back of his throat, the way it felt like his body was shaking but was rock steady.
“Head in the game,” Mark said to himself, hearing his brothers and sisters firing behind him. He shouldered his gun and rose over the cover, sending controlled bursts at the shooters. Few were actually aiming their shots, hitting the ceiling or the walls.
Amateurs, Mark snorted, Dimi moved against him.
He remembered the fire fight, how he’d seen people he’d become closer to in four months than anyone other than Tyler, cut down. One moment they were there and fighting, the next they were just another screaming casualty or soundless corpse.
All it took was one unlucky round, they weren’t invincible, but Mark knew they were better trained.
They won the day. The club had run red with blood and most of the pink lighting was gone, but they won.
That day Mark became a warrior, they went back to the compound, subdued as they carried their dead in a cart.
All of the recruits sat in the cafeteria, tired and worn out in a way that training couldn’t hope to achieve.
Richter came in, everyone called him ‘Boss’ his call sign, the mark that he had become a Westerly Three Complex warrior. He looked at them all, they were sweaty, covered in dust, and many had injuries, with sand encrusted blood on their clothes and boots.
They started to rise to attention.
“No need for that Westerlies,” Richter said, waving us back down.
He pulled out a stack of Westerly Three Complex patches.
“You came to us looking for a home, looking to become warriors. Today you have become those warriors. A number of your recruit brothers and sisters didn’t make it. Never forget them or the lessons their lives provided you,” Richter looked around, letting his words sink in.
“Today I welcome you to our warrior clan, a patch to show your status and a call sign that names you as a warrior,” Richter moved down the tables, giving us patches and telling us our call signs.
“Tyler, your call sign is SWAS,” Richter said.
“SWAS?” Tyler asked, confused.
“Serviced with A Smile, every time you hit a target on the range you smiled a little,” Richter said by explanation he turned to me.
“Mark, yours was a hard one, but I arrived at Diablo, I’m from what was called Central America before unification. It means devil in Spanish. You fight like the devil possessed and like to get in and personal with your targets. You killed more people in the club than any other and continued on even as your friends were cut down, well done,” Richter said.
“Thanks boss,” Mark said, looking at the simple black and white patch in his hand.
“Diablo,” Mark said into the night air, Dimi moved again, her naked leg moving over Mark’s midsection.
Well I’m not going to sleep anytime soon, Mark thought.
In the crews you lived without regrets and knowing you’re probably going to die sooner rather than later. Mark had a week until he left for the Citadel to join the EMF. He wouldn’t be able to enjoy Dimi’s company for probably a long while.
He started kissing her, his hands wandering under the thin sheets.
“You’re a horny bastard Mark Victor,” a sleepy voice sighed, her breath catching as her legs moved over Mark more.
“I don’t hear any complaints,” Mark teased.
“Cause I’m a horny gal,” she replied, moving so she was on top of Mark, letting her naked breasts slide over his muscled chest.
Mark grabbed her hair, pulling her lips to his own, they kissed hungrily as Dimi pushed Mark into her.
Mark didn’t get much sleep, but he was a damned happy man in the morning. He and Dimi had been bed companions a number of times and they both knew tricks to use on the other.
Chapter 2
Tower
Earth, Sol system
6/3136
Nivad was the defacto head of Earth’s government, if there even was such a thing anymore. There was still a president, a figurehead that was bought by bids from all of the companies. When you have the wealth to own planets, politics becomes an interesting hobby.
No one woul
d say the same thing about Nivad. He ran what he called the ministry of information. He knew everyone’s secrets and where all the bodies were buried. Through the ministry of information, he advised Earth’s Military Forces, which simply put meant he told them what to do.
When someone had a problem they went to Nivad. Say a company was doing inside trading, bring it to Nivad and he would find out. If you were right he’d sort it out, if they weren’t you’d be footing his bills.
He was the only man capable of telling companies what to do and being a negotiator between them. You had a problem you went to Nivad.
You made a problem, the last thing you wanted to see was Nivad’s people.
So say if your colonists wanted to turn your company-owned planet into a government run planet, then you went to Nivad.
When CEO’s representing the Sacremon partnership between Salafil foods, Credari builders and Montasiri growers came to Nivad with this he’d carefully looked to their reports on the matter.
The CEO’s had tried to reason with those that wanted to turn Sacremon into a government run planet instead of a company run one.
They worked to try and find a compromise that wouldn’t affect their bottom line too much. Yet the rebellion had grown, people didn’t want to live under companies on Sacremon.
They were actively working to hinder Sacremons’ progress.
Some people were already heading to the cryo-pod filled bunkers under the towers that made up every colony city. None of the rebels tried to stop them, if they did then when the troopers finally arrived they’d not only kill them, but anyone that they could find linked to them.
It had happened twice and was broadcast across Earth and Her Colonies. No one tried to stop people from entering the cryo-pod bunkers anymore.
Work ratios were declining and the CEO’s didn’t think that they could deal with the rebels anymore. They came to Nivad with a contract that would ‘hire’ the EMF.
Nivad looked at the projections, Dalia his second had gone through and made sure that the numbers were realistic.
Sacremon (Harmony War Series Book 1) Page 3