The Warehouse
812 Words
The dorm.
Julian cleaned his service pistol, head tilted toward Malik "Zabby" Hayes. “Brother—how’d you end up in the Sixth?”
“Same as most,” Zabby said quietly. “Cataclysm hit. Nations formed the Alliance, built eight districts for refuge. World population too big—resources too few. Entry was lottery for permanent residency… but ‘random’ was bullshit. Most tickets went to elites. The rest got priced to the moon—millions of old dollars by the end.”
The Thai-Chinese team member nodded. “We all went through it.”
“My dad clung to hope,” Zabby continued. “Heard Districts Seven and Eight still had slots, still drawing. Did everything to get us to the Americas. But when we arrived—full. No room.”
He smiled, white teeth flashing. “You know the Sixth’s origin?”
“Heard some,” Julian said.
“Seven and Eight were on your old country’s land—last with open slots. Millions flooded here, chasing that slim chance. When they capped, millions were stranded—nowhere to go. Couldn’t survive. Riots broke out, trying to force entry. Alliance had no choice—carved out resources, allowed the Sixth. But they couldn’t sustain it fully, so we got self-rule. That’s our history. Bottom-tier people clawed a lifeline. Messy, but home. Now? You couldn’t pay me to live in the other eight.”
Zabby always sounded optimistic, warm.
Julian paused. “Family left?”
“Gone. Mom and little brother died in the Sixth’s first military clash.” Zabby’s eyes dimmed. “Dad was one of the first officers—killed on duty.”
“Sorry.”
“Long past it.” Zabby smiled again. “You? Family? How’d you end up in the wasteland?”
“I might have it worse—” Julian started.
Ring-ring.
Duty phone.
“Yeah?” Julian answered.
“Elias Cross and the old man headed to Third Ring Road,” Tyler Ramirez reported. “Watched long enough—eighty percent sure they’re meeting the contact.”
“Numbers?”
“Can’t confirm the contact in person. Alley entrance—two to four on watch.”
“Cross side?”
“Old man went in alone. Three outside waiting.”
“Weapons?”
“Can’t see. Experience says big wasteland runners—heavy firepower.”
“Got it. Stay put. We’re coming.”
“Copy.”
Julian clapped. “Gear up—work.”
Zabby was first to his feet.
“We’ll drink later,” Julian patted his shoulder, smiling.
“Deal.” Zabby—no complaints, no laziness. Solid in observation or breaching, decent shot. One of Team Three’s few real assets.
“Downstairs—assemble.”
Julian stepped out, dialed Marcus Vale.
“Julian!”
“Captain—request backup.”
“Big fish?”
“Maybe. Need to bite first.” Julian licked his lips. “Possible heavy arms. Ten-plus.”
“How many you need?”
“At least one full team.”
“…Hard to spare two squads right now. Everyone’s spread on cases.”
“No bodies—no arrest,” Julian said.
Vale thought. “I’ll call Team Three captain—pull their people. Wait downstairs.”
“Victor’s team?”
“Problem?”
“No—perfect. We work well.”
“Done.”
…
Five minutes later.
Victor led twenty men out—pale-green tactical gear, boots, folding riot shields, five M464 rifles.
“Fast,” Julian grinned.
“s**t—only because it’s you,” Victor said. “Anyone else, I’d dodge. Dorm’s empty—rest on cases.”
“Thanks.”
“Cut the crap. We’re here—your call.”
“Vehicles—talk on the way!” Julian pulled Victor. To his team: “Check comms. Plan en route.”
“Yes, sir!”
Team Three boarded.
Minutes later, four patrol cars and one multi-purpose van roared toward Third Ring Road.
…
Dark, damp room in an alley.
Silas Hart ate braised beef, head tilted at Elias Cross. “Can you fix this or not? If not, I’ll pass the job elsewhere.”
“I can. Wait.”
“One week max,” Silas said. “Can’t drag longer. Warehouse raid—I lose everything.”
“Understood.” Elias stood.
Silas gulped liquor. “Send Mr. Cross out!”
Elias paused at the door, turned. “Silas—competition’s low in Ashmire. Few players. Everyone else charges double… Why block us from raising prices? That’s money left on the table.”
Silas picked his eye. “f**k—profit’s profit. How much is enough?”
Elias thought. “Fair.” He left.
…
Three minutes later.
Tyler Ramirez called Julian. “Boss—change. Old man left sudden!”
Julian paused. “People still inside?”
“Yes!”
- Writer
