Chapter 2 – Wanted
In an ordinary apartment, Marcus sat at the table, enjoying his dinner—a bit of Chinese food—while watching television and jotting down some names on a small piece of paper.
It had been almost two weeks since he'd had his encounter with Vex and been sent to this new world. In the meantime, he hadn't done much besides renting an apartment and studying the gun store. Not because he didn't want to, but because he was trying to remember exactly who was important and who was irrelevant to the plot.
"There's the chubby cop, Elvira, Manny, Sosa, Lopez, Omar, Tony's sister and mother, besides his other friends." Marcus was really racking his brain over that damned list and had already asked the system for help, but what he got was an indifferent response, saying that "that wasn't its job." There wasn't much to do but try to remember.
Finishing his meal, Marcus decided that beating his head against the wall like this was useless. Instead, he turned his attention to his simpler goal: robbing Joe's gun store.
Marcus looked at the map on the wall, covered in his scribbles and notes. Escape routes, distance to the nearest police station, policing in the area. After two weeks of observing and mapping the area, he was finally almost ready to break into the store; only one last obstacle remained.
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At 6:30 PM, Marcus was driving a taxi through the streets of Miami, humming a Doors song playing on the radio. In the back seat, the taxi owner had his head resting against the window, his eyes closed as if he were asleep.
Obviously, Marcus had killed the man and stolen the car. After all, for this kind of action, he couldn't just drive his own vehicle around. So, after leaving the Chevette parked a little far away, he hailed a taxi and killed the driver.
After a few minutes of driving, Marcus passed Joe's gun store and saw that he was finishing turning off the lights and preparing to lock the doors.
"7:00 PM! What a punctual guy!" Marcus smiled as he continued driving without bothering to stop.
After another 15 minutes of driving, he finally reached a suburb and stopped in front of a house.
The house's facade was yellow, with Christmas decorations still scattered around. Some had been removed and placed in a box in the yard.
Through the window, a woman in her 40s was setting the table while humming a song.
Marcus watched her, and for a moment, he couldn't help but imagine his mother there. Both were joyful women, who smiled for no reason and warmed the room just by being in it.
But as quickly as the image of his mother came, it vanished. Marcus wasted no time and, after checking his things, got out of the taxi and went to the door.
The streets of the small community were calm, with little movement.
Marcus walked across the lawn and calmly knocked on the house door.
"Coming!", the woman's voice called out, and soon the door opened. "Yes?"
Marcus looked at the woman in front of him and gave a sincere smile before punching her in the throat.
"Gasp!!!" The woman's eyes widened as she fell, clutching her throat.
Marcus pushed her inside the house and closed the door behind him.
"Argh! Argh! Argh!" Feeling suffocated, the woman forced herself to run to the living room phone, but Marcus took it from her and threw her to the floor.
Marcus watched her in silence. He saw her struggle for air, but soon that struggle ceased, and she lay motionless, her eyes fixed on his.
He didn't feel much about the woman's death. Instead, he dragged her body to the kitchen and positioned it so that as soon as her husband entered the house, he would see her lying there.
Marcus then turned off the house lights and began to wait.
After 10 minutes of silence, he finally heard a car park in the garage and then the sound of keys opening the door.
"Why is it all dark, Amelia? Where are you?", old Joe complained as he entered, but when he turned on the lights, he saw his wife lying on the kitchen floor.
"AMELIA!", he yelled and ran to check on her. However, before he could reach her, a figure stood in front of him, and he felt a strong blow hit his chest.
When he came to, he saw a young man, in his 30s, looking into his eyes while plunging a knife into his chest.
Joe felt his body weaken; he wanted to use his weapon, but he couldn't move his arms. The young man in front of him didn't stop either. After the first blow, he quickly removed the knife and plunged it transversally between his ribs, piercing his heart.
Joe, who had survived D-Day, couldn't believe this would be his end. He tried to say something, but no words came out of his mouth, and soon he fell dead to the floor.
Marcus calmly watched everything before dropping everything and going upstairs to take a shower and clean himself.
Afterward, he put on the change of clothes he had in his backpack and then left the scene with Joe's keys and security codes, not caring about the scene he left behind.
Twenty minutes later, Marcus parked the taxi at the back of the store and then went to the back door with keys in hand. After opening the door, he quickly went to a control panel near the cash register and entered the security code that prevented the alarm from sounding.
The cutting-edge security of the 80s wasn't very impressive to Marcus; he could easily break into the store without causing Joe and his wife's deaths. However, he came to this world to cause chaos, so some deaths were acceptable.
After ensuring the alarm was properly deactivated, Marcus looked around, grabbed two large bags, and began collecting different types of weapons and equipment.
Hunting knives, rifles, submachine guns, assault rifles, pistols and revolvers, shotguns (long and short), vests, camping gear, first aid kits, and, of course, plenty of ammunition and gunpowder. In the end, he filled three large bags and, feeling satisfied, took everything to the taxi and left the scene.
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The next day, back at the apartment, Marcus sat at the table, enjoying his breakfast while observing the progression screen.
World Corruption – 0.8%/100%
"Hmm, is that anything"
"An insignificant progress."
"Tsk." Marcus was a little annoyed but remained quiet. He looked at the weapons scattered on the bed and smiled, believing that things would be simpler now. However, before he could think about the next steps, a news report on television caught his attention.
"This morning, the bodies of Joseph and Amelia Rossi were found, both murdered in their home last night." The news continued: "Police are still investigating but have already reported a suspect: Marcus Alexander Foster, a 2nd Sergeant in the army who was reported dead in Vietnam in 1973."
"What the hell is this?", Marcus stared at the television with a stunned look. "How the hell did they know about him? And, more importantly, what's this story about him being a Vietnam veteran?"
"System… explain!", Marcus was truly irritated as he watched a photo on television that showed a person identical to him at 18 years old, holding a prison identification card.