The Industrialist

It was months ago that the Wolf laid waste a portion of Steelpoint’s array of cabins, except for the scrap yards where devastation was its fitting definition. Luckily, the market’s location was spared and left unscathed after a chaotic pursuit.

If to some unfortunate event the market would be destroyed, the trade operations would cease and would significantly affect the ever-worsening economy of Steelpoint District. As well as a few adjacent sectors that depended upon the trade flow of scant merchandise.

The Southern Market served as a bridge between Citizens and the regulated way to acquire immediate currency and food supplies. Border licenses were issued to the Market merchants to trade merchandise from other Market Centers located all over the City, hence, presented importance to the Commoner’s survival.

A great suffering would ensue in the absence of the Southern market. In the absence of license to cross the regulated borders, such as mainly the surrounding mid-classers districts, there was no legal way to procure supplies, food, and other commodities. Therefore, the absence of Southern Market, or in any Commoner’s market, posed a great predicament to the major communities they respectively serve.

A year ago, tens of thousands died because of thirst. Especially the old citizens. Moreover, the unfortunate citizens were all commoners.

If the Abominant successfully wiped the market out, there would have been weeks of challenging food supply. Therefore, the probability of the death toll would rise again.

The City Government wouldn’t want mid-classers, which holds the second majority of the populace, to complain about unlicensed commoners crossing borders.

If such, an assumption would entail an incremental risk of criminality in the ever-peaceful streets of mid-classer sectors.

’A menacing possibility,’ Lance shrugged at the thought.

The entry of Abominant could be staged and whoever was behind such a sinister plot wanted the Commoners to suffer. The idea of it would greatly correlate to the possibility that a mole lived among the Rebels.

A traitor.

But questions remained, who cooked this grand scheme? Who pulled the strings? What is the motive? Who has to gain more if the Commoner population is reduced significantly?

Hatred and anger flooded his thoughts.

He sauntered upon the same path from his cabin towards the Market. The claw marks of the beast were still discernible among the unfortunate cabin walls of Steelpoint residences.

Up on the far end corner just after a few blocks, the beast mauled a woman. He witnessed the gore incident. With its protruding teeth, the wolf just grabbed the woman along the curb like a chunk of meat and dragged her half-alive body a few blocks further deep into Steelpoint. Her blood profusely draining from the bite marks.

The dead woman was released after her limbs were detached from her body and into the creature’s belly. A young man had the same fate. Although he scarred the beast at its jowl with a scrapped metal shard, however, it did not dishearten the rabid Abominant.

Lance remembered that he followed the beast a mile further until he was stopped by the border police who triangulated the wolf’s location. Explosions were heard behind the stockpile of cabins just a few blocks from where Lance stood.

It shook the Earth beneath his feet.

Unluckily to the nearby cabins, the blast had collateral casualties of a family of three, as the News reported after the incident and authorities identified the body count of the unfortunate.

The creature screamed loudly, reaching the heavens, sharp, and utterly discomforting nearby eardrums. The beast ravaged intensely, making affected structures to rubble, and the panic of the surrounding commoners raged almost overpowering the chaotic nuisance.

People ran from random directions, screaming, and calling the names of their families. The beast continued to wreak havoc while the police in hovercrafts persisted in their pursuit and executing the full capability of their weapons.

Guns sprayed all over the block to where the beast seemed to be elusive to fend off the bullets. It ran fast, moved fast, and escaped faster. However, the police had their weapons to trap the Abominant in an inescapable barrage.

Trapped, the wolf desperately clawed its way up towards the hovering police tin men and mutilated a couple of them, instantly meeting their sudden demise. The bulging muscles on its hind legs apparently supported its leap, almost reaching over the stack of cabins.

One swoop of its claw savaged the hovercraft against adjacent walls, including the robotic police riders, scattering its remains into the ground.

Despite its agility, laser guns did the trick. It punctured through its shelled body that even high-caliber weapons couldn’t penetrate, stunning the beast at the same time as the laser grazed its flesh.

The beast was hurting, weapons decimated its flanks. Lance was sure about it, however, it took almost forever to pin down the beast to its last breath.

A quarter mile back to where Lance followed, the wolf fell to its belly. A viscous ooze flowed out from its wounds and a black miasma emerged, painting the dark atmosphere.

Lance pitied the creature, surprised to how he felt. Maybe due its eyes almost had a trace of domestication as its last breath escaped from his body.

Despite its clear defeat, the hovering police, humans and robots alike, continued to detonate electric stun grenades around the emaciated carcass.

After a streaks of lightning, the creature’s body jerked as electricity invaded its pores by a burning charge. Although it was already lifeless.

’Double tap,’ Lance thought remembering Handsome taught him how to kill a level 3 Abominant.

These were abnormal beings and playing dead could be their ultimate strategy of defense if their opponent appeared to be victorious.

The appalling episode still haunts him.

Shaking the bitter memories, he continued his course. He was lucky that the beast veered in a direction far from where he lived; otherwise, he would receive the same fate as the unfortunate family.

***

"Obsidian Scorpion Armor!" Lance placed an exoskeleton armor of the level 3 Abominant that they slaughtered in Trench Hill, a thud on the Trading Hut’s counter.

Roger turned to him with a surprised and annoyed expression on his face.

"What is this, kid?" Roger grunted almost ignoring Lance’s offer.

"Pawning this, Roger," Lance stated. "I know you can come up with a price like this rare material."

Roger squinted back again at the kid and finally trained his vision on the Obsidian exoskeleton. Releasing a great sigh, Roger took a magnifying glass and inspected the material closely.

The Trading Hut merchant caressed it carefully with his fingertips and the magnifying glass hovered closely to its surface.

"Where did you get this?" Roger asked but continued to inspect the material.

"I know you know that this material is of value, is it not?" Lance said.

"Is this real?" Roger asked, still skeptical about what was in front of him.

"Of course, Roger," Lance retorted. "You know me right, I am known for quality materials. I am not selling any bootleg. Otherwise, I will tell you if it is."

"No way you can get your hands on these?" Roger stopped his inspection and flared his stares to the boy.

"Hey, it’s not easy to harvest this," Lance maintained his friendly rapport as compromising to the apparent moody merchant.

"How?"

"By killing an Obsidian scorpion." Lance smiled.

"Get outta here," Roger was still skeptical, never leaving his intense stare to the young kid.

"It’s true. Remember that I asked about Axiom Trench?" Lance said and Roger gave a nudge at that. The merchant’s eyes turned to the valuable material in front of him. "I went there with some friends of mine, scrapper friends and we managed to harvest this on a dead Obsidian scorpion."

"A Scorpion you say?"

"Yeah, a scorpion. I know it’s worth a fortune. I heard that these materials are being bought by furniture companies that the higher echelons buy from. The obsidian armor is used for their fancy tables and chairs. Others maybe, they put it on their walls."

"Oh yeah. Clever little runt, aren’t you?" Roger leaned forward to the cowering boy. His sweaty body expelled a heavy odor that discomforts sensitive nostrils.

"Runt? That’s harsh Roger. Why are you so hostile?"

"I don’t know, kid? You tell me?"

An awkward silence aired between them. The odor that came from the merchant stilled heaved the Trading hut. He knew that Roger was trying to fish information about a high-grade material like the Obsidian armor. Somehow, he had his reasons unknown to the kid.

"100 units a kilo. That’s way lower than its marketable price." Lance finally said.

Roger leaned further back, away from Lance’s face now.

"Fair price. That’s what I like about you, kid." Roger smiled.

’Probably I was charging him way lower than he expected,’ Lance thought.

Roger took the slab of exoskeleton from the counter and weighed it on a hanging digital weighing scale without hesitation.

"Five kilos, kid. Fair and square." Roger said, however, the digital says otherwise. The display appeared 5.2 kg.

"Now wait, Roger. What about the 200 grams?" Lance complained.

"What about it, kid? Do you want it to be 4.5 kg instead?" Roger intimidated.

"Ok. Ok. Roger. You seemed to be in a bad mood today. 5 kilos it is. For 500 units." Lance said.

Roger nodded and took out 5 cards from his registry. The Market does not trade currencies using online transfers. They used cards of a certain value that contained a particular amount of currency. The card has its digital display that would depict the available currency stored in its chip.

"Those feckers!" Roger grunted as he double-checked the cards into a scanner. The scanner suggested that each of them had 100 units amounting to 500 units in total. "The water is out again for hours!"

Lance understood Roger’s temper. It’s always a water shortage. It explained the merchant’s smell. Lance knew the reason for such a shortage but refused to disclose the rationale behind.

"I know, right? They only served the inlanders for sufficient water supply, neglecting us, commoners." He somehow tamed the fuming smelly merchant.

Roger shook his head but he agreed to what Lance had said.

"Anyway, we are doing fair exchange here, right?" Lance exhaled and emphasized. "For the 200 grams unpaid for my merch, can you give me information about Jonaz Enterprises?"

Luckily, Roger knew them.