Sacremon (Harmony War Series Book 1) (2 page)

           
Mark grabbed one, his eyes never leaving Richter.

           
“If you want to learn how to use those, come and see me. Anything you take from these four are yours.” He looked to the bodies as if he were unaffected by their death.

           
He stood and looked to Mark and Tyler.

           
“I hope to see you soon,” He said, looking them over again before leaving.

           
The other Westerly Three Complex crew fell in around him, their dusters whipping around in the rusty wind.

Chapter 1

           
West Complex Sector three Marketplace

           
Earth, Sol System

           
5/3136

           
Mark moved through the market, his duster hiding his features and the armaments underneath his cloak. His duster bore the W3C patch of the Westerly-three-complex gang.

           
People in the market moved out of his way as he scanned for threats. Four other gang member’s roved ahead of the main group with him.

           
They were walking down what was once a three-lane road, either side was flanked with four or five story buildings in disrepair with graffiti covering them more than the original paint.

           
Vendors set up in various pieces of junk that they had got into something resembling a stall. These all lined the streets. They were an amalgamation of air cars, air conditioning units, or even bricks made up of the red dust that covered Earth.

           
In the distance the gleaming mega-towers of complex five could be seen disappearing into the red clouds of Earth.

           
Everything was covered in red sand; Tyler said it was because so much metal had come through Earth that most of the sand had some kind of metal oxide or something.

           
Mark knew that the red dust was bad for anyone that inhaled it for a long time, and that it got in damned well everything. He could already feel it under his head wrap and goggles.

           
“In position,” Tyler's voice came through Mark's earpiece.

           
“What took you so long? Taking in the sights of Red Street?” Mark said, his voice muffled by his face mask.

           
“Well I had to see if the red cougar was in, Laurie is dancing tonight.” Tyler said without missing a beat.

           
Mark sighed at his brother's antics. His eyes catching the furtive glances of a group of thirteen to seventeen year-olds.

           
Too old for the orphanages, too young for Earth's Military Forces.

           
“I've got five possibles in the alleyway three hundred meters to my right,” he muttered, hoping they'd just stay in the damned alley way.

           
“Gotcha, I'm on them.” Tyler voice was all business for that statement. But he instantly reverted back to his casual conversation, “I don't see why the boss just lets people come to him; this walking around stuff puts him in danger.”

           
Tyler and Mark had been through enough shit that this was nothing to write home about, well if they had a home, or a family other than each other.

           
“The boss is the boss, we just listen and do,” Mark said, his eyes roving the stalls around him, he glanced back at the main group. There were twelve bodyguards around the boss who was talking to different stand owners before moving on. His bald head was covered in scars and what looked like gum spread across his skull. He looked as if he was twenty-five with deep blue eyes, though if one looked at those eyes long enough you would see the years that lay behind him.

           
The boss was a veteran of the EMF; he had put down uprisings and been to other planets.

           
Something caught Mark's eye. Five years of hard living in the slums had made Mark trust his gut feelings implicitly. Another group moved into place. In an alleyway to his right. Another group was spread across the vendor stalls to his front.

           
They were looking at the stalls goods but not moving out of the gang’s way, instead they were glancing up at them, their eyes flickering in nervousness.

           
Mark tapped a control on his arm, connecting him to Was, the security details leader.

           
“I've got a group to my right and left trying to hide in alleyways about two hundred meters out. There are also a bunch of people among the stalls that are eyeing us, not getting out of the way and wearing clothing that could hide weapons.” Mark reported, not even slowing his pace as he rolled his shoulders, feeling the weapons under his duster touch against his body.

           
Was opened the channel up to everyone in the security detail and the runners that were in the crowd.

           
“Das Flo, Exinie, Oli, two hundred meters from forward elements, alleyways to right and left, get behind them and check it out.”

           
“Loah, move through the vendors up front and see if any of the ones giving us eyes are packing.” Was said, no one in the security detail even paused. They had done this a number of times.

           
Mark would have felt proud of their proficiency if his own anxiety wasn't making him move his fingers in anticipation.

           
If they attack us, then the collateral is going to be high.
He tried to push that thought from his mind but it was hard. These people were just trying to earn a living in the hard slums, and as per normal they were going to get fucked over by others with a modicum of more power than them.

           
The way of Earth.
He thought sourly, getting within a hundred meters of the alleyway to his left and the group in the market.

           
“The ones in the market are packing.” Loah reported back, her hands doing quick work as she tripped, touched and glided past the rival gang members. She was the gangs’ best pickpocket and was quickly relieving them of side arms or whatever she could.

           
“Alleyway to the right, four possibles, looks like, they've got rifles.” Oli said, his voice pitch was still high because he hadn't hit puberty yet.

           
“Mark, see about trying to piss them off,” Was said.

           
“On it,” Mark sighed as he walked up towards one of the nearest possible rival gang members. He moved his arms, feeling the two blades that rested under them, close to his armpit.

           
He was taller than most slum dwellers, standing at just under two meters, he still had a lot of filling out to do, but food was a prized commodity in the slums. He got more by being in a gang, but of course slum food was never going to fill his appetite.

           
He pushed past the other possible gang member, the goggle and face-cloth wearing person went tumbling, barely staying on their feet.

           
“The fuck was that for CEO-wannabe?” they demanded, coming back at Mark, trying to get a rise out of him. He couldn't see their eyes through their dusty goggles but he could see them tensing up, ready to fight.

           
Just needs a little poke,
Mark thought, adrenaline coursing through his veins.

           
 “Get out of the way for a real man dirt dweller,” Mark's said with a voice full of scorn as he looked the man up and down in disgust.

           
“The fuck did you call me you fucking WECK fuck?” The gang rival said. W3C's nickname was WECK; no street person would use it to their faces.

           
The goggle wearer seemed to realize what they had said as their hands went to their belt.

           
Marks' right hand lashed out to his side, his triceps flexing oddly as the smart cloth recognized the movement and released the blade that lay against his arm. He grabbed it with practised efficiency. The other gang member had just gotten to their blade when Mark grabbed their hair with his left hand, and drove his blade through their jaw and up into their brain with the efficiency of a factory machine. Blood covered his hand as he let the man fall, pulling his blade from their lifeless head in one swift motion.

           
The suddenness of the move stunned more than one person as W3C dusters were pushed aside and weapons were pulled into the daylight. Vendors and market goers fled as the three gang members closest to Mark lay dead. Holes the size of a pop can in their chests.

           
Tyler hummed as his rifle chugged again, sending projectile after projectile through rival gang members.

           
The W3C chattered off rounds, the rival gang members that could make it to cover were returning fire; the marketplace had erupted into a warzone.

           
Mark ducked behind the stall the man he had killed was standing in front of; he raised his hand, letting the blade slip back up his sleeve, twitching his triceps for the smart cloth to hold it in place. He checked his pistol making sure the well-used gun was charged and loaded.

           
Once his blade was back in place he fingered the pistol with his right hand.

           
“Alright Brother, you've got two coming up on your left, shotguns,” Tyler reported.

           
Mark held the pistol close to his chest, coming around the side of the stall, pushing the gun out from him and firing into the two shotgun wielding thugs.

           
The first went down; the second was so close behind the first that they only got grazed by the rounds coming out of the first. Their first shot slammed into the side of the stall Mark was hiding behind. Mark ducked back as the shotgun went off, hitting the red dirt where he had just been crouched.

           
Mark saw the W3C crew spreading out, Wes was coordinating getting the boss to safety and letting the forward guys keep the enemy gang at bay.

           
So no support coming from that side.
Mark came back around the side of the stall, firing at the attackers, trying to keep the bastards heads down more than anything.

           
He caught the second shotgunner trying to get up, they’d tripped on the first shotgunner’s corpse and went sprawling.

           
Mark didn’t give them time to get up, putting two rounds in them; it looked like two fist blew out of their back as they slumped in the dirt. Blood pooled underneath them.

           
Mark ducked back into cover; death wasn’t enough to faze him now.

           
“Dimi give me some cover; I'm going to make a run for the alleyway to my left,” he said, holstering his pistol and pulling out his rifle.

           
“Got you covered man,” Dimi said back, her rifle firing more frequently as Mark ducked and ran, putting his big legs to work as a few rounds chattered around him adding to the red dust swirls behind him.

           
“Oli, how is the alleyway on the left?” Mark asked as he made it to an alley way just ten meters behind it.

           
“Umm, it's clear Mark, yeah.” Oli said, sounding as if his stomach was about to rebel against him.

           
Mark peered out from his cover, his rifle leading first. The way boss and Wes had drilled weapon handling and how to fight in urban areas time and time again, it was why W3C was one of the hardest gangs in all of Westerly Sector.

           
Mark sent a stream of rounds at a stall made from discarded electronics and what looked like broken a piano.

           
The bursts ripped through the piano, catching whoever was on the other side.

           
Mark fired some more bursts at the more adventurous enemy gang members before running for the alley way where he had spotted a group of the attackers.

           
“Mother fucker!” He yelled as he slipped on the gore in the alleyway.

           
He got up shaking the red dust encrusted blood from his duster.

           
“Fuck Mark,” Oli said, letting out a sigh as he lowered his shotgun.

           
Mark saw the boy’s hands were shaking as he put the butt of the shotgun into the dirt and leaned his head against the barrel.

           
Mark didn't have to ask what happened Exinie was looking up at the sky with glassy eyes, a hole the size of Mark's fist through her chest.

           
The enemy gang members must have been turned to shredded mince from Oli's shotgun; the alley way had channelled the deadly cone of its fire.