After the tax collectors departed, a semblance of normalcy seeped back into the marketplace. The air, once thick with anxiety, thinned into a mixture of weary relief and grim acceptance. Though many had lost two liters of blood today, there was no going home to rest. They had to work, had to earn. Otherwise, in a month’s time, they would be paying the tax in blood all over again. Leo returned to his usual spot and hoisted his sign. He trusted Marcus, and he knew Marcus wouldn’t have told him to make himself conspicuous for no reason. But no one of note approached him. As hunger began to gnaw at his stomach, he eventually had to pack up and head home for the day. Home for Leo was no longer a small metal cube, but an actual house—which was, admittedly, also made of rusty metal. One of the wealthier residents had died recently, and his property had become available. Well, “available” wasn’t quite the right word. The man had died, but his son was now the legal owner. The problem was that the son was only eleven years old. Naturally, the local gangs had moved to seize the house from the boy. But Leo had stepped in, placing himself between the child and the predators. He would protect the boy and his inheritance; in exchange, Leo was allowed to use their funds for food and his own taxes. The boy, having no other choice, had readily agreed. After a few brawls, the gangs decided the house wasn't worth the trouble. Had Leo been some ordinary tough, they would have sent a dozen men to beat him into submission. But Leo had an active Flux Attuner. No one had been killed or seriously injured yet, but if they escalated the conflict, that could change in an instant. They were confident they could take Leo down, but they weren’t willing to pay the price. The house was only a little above average, and with the boy having a legitimate claim, the gangs couldn't afford to be seen as overly tyrannical. Even smart, organized criminals understood that leading a flock of willing sheep was far easier than ruling over terrified ones. It was the same principle that had led the head of the Spearhead Collective to pay the tax difference out of his own pocket. Some of his underlings had clearly siphoned off funds, and an internal investigation would be held. But if the leader had simply handed over the eight men with the missing cash, the Spearhead Collective’s reputation for reliability would have crumbled. Next month, they might have lost thirty percent of their clientele. The Spearhead Collective charged a ten percent fee for protection and processing, meaning an adult paid them ten credits to safeguard their one hundred. With roughly 480 customers, that amounted to 4,800 credits. Even after covering the 800-credit shortfall, they still cleared a 4,000-credit profit. Had he refused to pay, he would have saved 800 credits today but risked losing 1,500 credits in profits every month for the foreseeable future. Even for criminals, and even in the Scraps, customer satisfaction was paramount. Besides, waging an open war against a man protecting a vulnerable child was simply bad for business. Of course, every action had its consequences. While Leo now had a decent home and no longer worried about money, he had also permanently burned his bridges with every gang in the area. For two weeks, Leo kept returning to the marketplace, holding his sign aloft and waiting. Then, on a day that seemed no different from any other, someone finally approached him. He was a young man, tall, with a chaotic mess of light-brown hair. The hair was disheveled, but it was clean. His brown shirt and trousers were artfully torn but similarly spotless. Having lived his entire life in the Scraps, Leo could tell in an instant that this man was trying—and failing—to look poor. The man had probably never even met a poor person before today, or his disguise wouldn't have been so laughably superficial. The stranger walked up to Leo with a friendly smile, but his eyes betrayed a deep-seated nervousness. “Hey, you’re a Flux Conduit?” he asked, gesturing to Leo’s sign. “I passed the entrance exam for Vector Industries,” Leo answered, eyeing him with suspicion. “Never worked as one, though. My Flux Attuner is already attuned.” At that, a flicker of light appeared in the stranger’s eyes. “Your Flux Attuner is already attuned?” The man seemed to struggle with how to continue the conversation. His face was so expressive that Leo could practically read his thoughts: he was desperately trying to get more information without sounding like a scam artist. “You know Marcus?” Leo asked, cutting to the chase. The man’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he put on an uncomfortable smile. “There are many people named Marcus,” he said awkwardly. Bullshit, Leo thought. There’s only one Marcus around here. “Black and grey hair,” Leo said, his expression hardening with suspicion. “Summoned a couple of things that can hover. Maybe you can fill in the last detail, just to make sure we’re talking about the same person.” The man blinked a few times. “He is fond of tools,” he finally added. A wide grin broke across Leo’s face. “Finally,” he said, getting to his feet. The sudden movement made the man take a step back. “Marcus told me someone would come with a job. I guess you’re the guy?” The stranger’s face lit up with excitement; apparently, he had also been expecting this meeting. But just as quickly, his expression soured, replaced by a new wave of suspicion. “I know him, but I don’t think I have the capital to hire you,” he said carefully. “I also live in the Scraps.” At that, the flow of people around them paused. Several passersby threw incredulous looks in the man’s direction. He noticed their stares, a flicker of confusion on his face, as if he knew he’d said something wrong. “Dude,” Leo said, drawing the man’s attention back to him. “You just said ‘capital’. And your disguise is terrible. Nobody believes you. If they did, they would have already shaken you down for everything you have, judging by how scared and out of place you look.” The man’s smile grew even more strained. “I’m not sure—” “Come with me,” Leo interrupted, grabbing the man’s arm and pulling him along. The stranger stared in shock at the point of contact, and for a fleeting instant, his eyes turned a solid, milky white. But the phenomenon vanished as quickly as it appeared, his eyes returning to normal as he regained his composure. He had clearly never had a stranger simply grab him and drag him away. “Hey, I can walk on my own,” he said, wrenching his arm from Leo’s grip. “Then come on,” Leo said, jerking his head toward the alleys. The man pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, meticulously wiped the spot on his sleeve where Leo had touched him, and then followed. A few minutes later, they arrived at Leo’s temporary home. The stranger hesitated at the doorway, his uncertainty returning, but after taking a deep breath, he stepped inside.

Chapter 5: Inheritance Paid in Blood