The Industrialist

Late Afternoon.

He left the Felsom prison after Damian took over the first operation of their Fusion Arc Forge. Showing the Council with his e-prints of Exo Armor designs, they immediately approved the proposal. Jefferson's smile struck clearly against the dim-lighted room. However, the Council had not approved their procurement of Quantum Flux Capacitors. They needed another two days more to gather the personnel for the quest. Lance had no choice but to approve the mandate.

***

Darkness started to creep through on the outskirts of the Inland Sectors, however, the Omnexus Market screamed high-intensity lights, and multi-colored neons, made the place festive.

Lance visited his store, Joe stood behind the counter, entertaining a customer who bought exotic Mountain flowers. The business was doing good, but it was not enough for Lance. He needed the money to build weapons and armor for the Rebels. He envisioned them to become a strong army, ready to create a revolution against the Government and the Corporation.

Despite the great revenue he had for two days, already garnering a gross sales of 90,000 units, it still didn't cut to become a high echelon. He needed to be on top for control. It's much easier if tons of money would back up his arsenal.

He needed to improvise his store. But how?

A thin, petite man, wearing a black silky suit, and jewelry on both wrists, approached his store. The man's bodyguards were behind him. Lance need not worry about safety, he had two SHF bodyguards, too, inconspicuously watching over him.

Lance approached the man.

"Hi. How can I help you, sir?"

"Hmm. Your face is familiar," the man had an inspecting look. "I've seen you on News. Tell me if I'm wrong."

He had this voice, sharp and gargled, seemingly lazy to talk. His eyes seemed calm but deep, and dark, and had light brown skin. The man looked mid-forties while his able bodyguards seemed to be underground thugs. No proper training but buffed.

"Yeah, Mister… It's about the recent Abominant attacks, right?"

"Of course, you are. My memory seemed to slip past me nowadays. You are Mister Berkley, the Steelpoint Savior."

"That's me. To what do I owe you this pleasure, Mister?"

"Oh, apologies. You can call me Mister Grant,"

'Mister Grant?' Lance thought. He heard the name before from Jefferson. He should be the Mafia's territory enemy. Although he went by many names, Jefferson called him the Prince of the Underground. Or the Father of Syndicate.

"I have heard from around here that you are selling Zelkians, am I correct?" Grant continued.

"Yes. This is only a secret. The CISU might be spying on us here."

"Don't worry, Mister Berkley. We are all businessmen here. How many are in your inventory, right now?"

Lance also heard that the underground syndicate is making their own experiments about the Abominants. If they said was true, Grant and his quack band of scientists were making monsters that they could control.

"I have fifteen Zelkians at the back. I sell them for 400 units each."

"Hmm. Interesting. You are kidding me, right? It's a long stretch to price like that?"

"It's because of overhead, Mister Grant. You know this place cost me a fortune to rent because of the royalties that Omnexus is asking. 10% net of what we earn."

"That's a bust, you know. These high-class markets are the thieves of this City. They are milking both classes, middle-class, and high-classers. Especially you, the business owners. I don't know about you but you should consider working with me on my endeavors."n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

"Endeavors? I am all ears."

Stay tuned to empire

"You know Synapz, right?" Grant stepped forward closer to Lance and whispered. "You want to be a distributor?"

Lance froze at the offer. This small guy presented a lot of danger, and he could be assumed as an accomplice.

"What?" Grant asked. "Are you afraid to market illegal merch? You are transporting illegal merch, aren't you? The Zelkians. These exotic flowers. You can't find them inside the walls. No. They are sourced outside. And I know the works of the rebel scums, Mister Berkley. They are the bridge of illegal supply inside the City. Undermining my own business."

He could not have known the Lance was one of the rebel factions. He probably noticed Joe, all signs of a rebel pointing to him. Must have been. He should be cautious, he thought.

"I am not into illegal drugs, Mister Grant. I respectfully decline your tempting offer. I must ask, who is your market in that kind of merchandise?" Lance said.

"High Echelons, High-classers, fast-paced workers. Hundreds of thousands may be, Mister Berkley. The competition is aggressive. I just wanted to expand my network, Mister Berkley. You must be well connected, aren't you?" Grant glanced at his SHF bodyguards who stood ready for whatever might ensue on a suspicious guy like the Prince of the Underground.

"Are you buying, or not?" Lance reiterated.

He had practiced negotiating with dangerous people such as Jonaz of the High-class Mafia. These people recognized strength and fearlessness which commonly they appreciated.

"Think it through, Mister Berkley. You will gain millions of units. Think of it how you can use that kind of money."

"Ok. Ok. I will think about it, Mister Grant. Now, are you still interested in the Zelkians or just my network?"

"Hmm. You are direct. I'll give you that. I will take fifteen of them. Your Zelkians. Do you have another kind of Abominant there?"

"Skorzgar, Mister Grant. An Abominant Dog."

"You are an interesting kinda guy, Mister Berkley. I like you. Direct and confident. You are too young to do all these things. You must have a mentor of some sort?"

"My late father, Mister Grant."

"Hmm. Interesting. You know way back, I happened to be acquainted with a guy named Erik Berkley. An Electronic Scientist who was betrayed by the true tyrant of this City. I asked him about business offerings, as I like to be friends with people with influence and drive. I can smell drive from people, Mister Berkley. Do you happen to know him? Your uncle, maybe? Or maybe… your father."

The mention of his father's name had thumped his heart fast. His hands jittering about a bitter thought.

"Mister Grant, are you going to buy Skorgarz?"

"How much?" Grant straightened his voice.

"800 units each."

"That's a bold price, you got there. How many do you have?"

"I have three in my inventory. Maybe you haven't seen one. You'll like them as your pets."

"I believe you, Mister Berkley. Now, I am not the type of buyer that would ask for a discount. I want just to buy things from businessmen like you. You know, your drive. That's reeks out of you, Mister Berkley… OK. Give me what you have. How are we going to haul my orders? We can't just waltz out of here with Abominants in our hands."

"No worries, Mister Grant. They are in Eazycages. You can have the Eazycage units as a bonus."

"Done. I am paying you, now. Holosync." Grant said, typing his account on his wrist hologram.

'8400 units, easy.' Lance thought.

"What else, Mister Grant? I have a lot of Rare and Uncommon level components if you want?"

"Would you happen to have a Biosynth Charger, Masterworks-level component?"

The stories about the Abominant experimentations could be true, as Grant wanted a Biosynth Charger. It was a component that would accelerate cellular organic growth by using that equipment. These tools were used in pharma companies, EverGlow Incorporated, or the UnitedMed Group, for their dermatological enhancements.

"It's a very rare tool, and rarely being scrapped. However, I can fabricate one for you. You can pick it up in two days. How many do you need?" Lance asked. "I am asking for each 5000 units."

"Now, you are talking fair price, Mister Berkley. I would like to have twenty of those chargers. I think I'm gonna build a pharma, too." He smiled.

That demand tinged his interest in making his store unique among others. Fabrication shop. The only requirement to materialize this diversification was to train Joe to become a fabricator with his Fabrication Table at the back of the counter. People could even watch Joe work, polishing, refurbishing scraps, detailed work. The simple jobs. George would provide the scrap raw materials, depending on the orders by clients.

"That's a large number, Mister Grant. Can you give me a week?"

"A week? It's good for me. We are doing good business here, Mister Berkley. We can be a good partner, you and I. That if you want to become rich, like me."

Grant lived among the Commoners but had created somewhat a large syndicate that fueled his illegal endeavors. His members were factory workers, dirty job workers, and low-ranking positions. But they were protected by him. If they need the money, Grant would provide them. It would be a pain in the butt if he would create an enemy out of this monster. Hence, it was better to play neutral.

"Done," Lance said, shaking hands with Mister Grant.