Chapter 9: the Collective

“Did he accept my offer?” C-1 asked. While the rest of the Collective kept a look out.

C-2 and C-4 stood behind her, bulging arms folded, long dreads flowing over their shoulders, eyes sweeping the dining hall. They observed the other prisoners and the two guards stationed at the main entrance.

C-3 sat cross-legged on the floor, hard eyes peering through the thick messy dreads covering her face, her gaze trained on the food counter and the two cooks behind it.

“The boss is still reluctant,” Suffo – short for Suffocate – said, seated opposite C-1. He was shirtless as always. An assassin and messenger for the Murder Inc crew, proven by the Murder Inc tattoo arcing across his chest in bold Tribeca font. The rest of his torso was splashed with tally mark tattoos, each tally for one of his strangled victims or so the rumours went.

‘That won’t do. We need all the major gangs on board for the plan to succeed,’ the Collective thought.

“1, my final offer,” C-1 said.

“Excuse me milady.” Suffo jerked back. Gawked, showing his sharpened teeth.

C-1 leaned forward over the steel table, her long dreadlocks falling onto the table. “1 million credits,” she whispered.

Suffo licked his pointed teeth. “I’ll relay the message.”

The Collective had yet to an encounter a problem money couldn’t solve. Especially in the tomb where loyalty went to the highest bidder.

Except for the Collective, their bond was something much more pure.

C-3 clicked on her stopwatch as Yannick – the chief guard – appeared from the kitchen door, beyond the food counter. In his bleached khaki uniform with green stripes at the shoulder and green half-helmet. His sagged chest was flexed out and he wore a permanent sneer which complemented his crooked nose.

One of the two cooks handed him four plastic bags filled with takeaways.

Over half the guards took their lunch at the same time as the prisoners.

‘And the bastards are too cheap to bring their own food.’

But the Collective reckoned it was fitting they ate the same food. After all, the guards were no better than the inmates.

‘Especially Nicky.’

Yannick didn’t linger after collecting the takeaways. He swirled for the door, gave no thanks as if the food was owed to him and returned the way he came.

C-3 clicked the stopwatch again.

“96 seconds,” the Collective murmured in unison, alarming Suffo quite a bit.

‘They’re getting sloppy.’

From the line of inmates still at the food counter, C-5 yanked out and dragged along one of the new prisoners toward their table.

“Piss off,” C-1 said.

Suffo nodded, ironed out his orange pants and swaggered away, back to his gang’s corner of the hall.

The new prisoner – An agent, nicknamed Smoker according to their memory bank – perked up at the sight of C-1 and stopped struggling under C-5’s escort.

Smoker trudged along, winced with every step, swinging bandaged arms and his right hand looked far from whole.

He’d been tortured and from the fact that his one hand had three fingers missing meant the fool had held out a while before he squealed.

‘Idiot, if you’re going to talk anyway might as well talk from the get-go.’

They’d also surgically removed his subdermal body armour which was an excruciating procedure but the removal of upgrades was mandatory. With the exception of the mage chip in his brain, he’d die if they removed that.

And most of the tomb’s facilities were cut off from the virtual network, the prison had broadcast blockers to nullify wave controls and other counter measures against the rest of mage controls, so it was useless anyway.

‘However the Collective has use for it.’

“Sharon,” Smoker said.

“Don’t call her that!” the Collective said all together. “You will address her as C-1.”

Smoker eyeballed them.

C-1 breathed hard to compose herself.

“Sit.” C-1 gestured to the other side of the steel table.

Smoker gingerly settled into the hard steel chair and gave her a look. A look the Collective knew well, a look they’d come to loathe. He was subtle but they could always tell when someone was studying their mental state.

But they didn’t call him out for his actions. He was a potential recruit after all. He’d understand if he joined them.

“How’ve you been?” Smoker probed.

“Caged,” C-1 said.

Smoker glanced down at the cold table.

“I’ll have to get used to that too I guess.”

“No!” The Collective snapped in sync.

Smoker visibly tensed and swept his gaze over all of them, the confusion in his eyes apparent.

They all exhaled.

“We can’t stay here forever,” C-1 whispered.

“What choice do we have? Unless the master comes for us one day we can only sit tight.”

“The one formerly known as Sharon has been in here for 7 years,” The Collective snorted in unison. “You might not recognize the others but all of us used to be agents some trapped in here for almost two decades.”

Smoker’s expression darkened. He stared at them like the others would stare at them, like there was something wrong with them being in sync.

“We knew the risks when we became agents.”

“True,” C-1 said. “But we’ve been abandoned and it’s time we look out for ourselves.”

Smoker remained silent for a good while.

“You should join us,” C-1 said. “We former agents should stick together.”

Smoker made a face. “I’ve never been one for groups.”

‘He’s wary of us.’

“Hmph,” C-1 scoffed and flicked her loose dreads over her shoulder. “Look around you.”

No one sat alone. Each of the tables had a clique. New prisoners were absorbed into these gangs immediately upon arrival whether they consented or not. And every crew was eager to grow their faction so competition for new meat was fierce.

“You’re lucky we got to you first. Not all the gangs are as cordial as the Collective.”

An agent was tough but he was one person, one injured person. And the tomb was quick to break uncompromising loners.

Smoker wasn’t moved. He remained reluctant. Still suspicious of them.

‘The master has trained him well.’

“What’s your objective beyond escaping?” Smoker asked.

‘Vengeance!’

C-1 shrugged. “We just want our freedom back.”

“I see. Let me sleep on it.”

“My offer expires at the end of lunch.”

Smoker regarded her with dark eyes. “You’ve changed.”

“Us? Oh no,” the Collective said in sync. “But you must be referring to the one you knew before. That little girl was broken long ago. You see the tomb breaks everyone eventually. Even mentally tough agents like yourself. Your only choice in the matter is whether that break will end you or rebirth you. And we’re offering a shortcut to rebirth without all the pain and trauma.”

‘Maybe a little pain.’

Smoker dragged out the silence before he nodded his silent agreement. Not that he had much of a choice to begin with. His alternatives were much worse than the Collective.

“But you can’t just join us.” They gave him a knowing look. “You have to join us.”

Smoker’s brows wrinkled and he eyed them suspiciously. “What do you mean?”

“You have to share your resources with us.”

“I just got here. I have nothing to share.”

“Oh you do,” C-1 said pointing at her head.