1.0

In the city of Phi, one could quickly hitch a ride anywhere in the highly populated tourist magnet. Locals there had long since predicted the job availability after the Corvid Plague had broken out. At first, it was such a slow, creeping thing that had emerged somewhere in the oldest parts of the British isles. Or at least that's what the "official" channels had reported. 

The first reported case of the Corvid Plague had almost gone unnoticed, until the entire apartment complex was swiftly cordoned off after the masses had begun bleeding from every orifice and rapidly losing body temperature. 

It wasn't long after that when being put under observation by doctors statewide, a certain researcher noticed something odd about the subject's cellular processes. Underneath the copious amounts of skin, the newer layers of skin began giving way to scales, fur, and patches of feathers.

Those were the best days for the media monster to feast upon the victim's, their families and the circumstances surrounding them. Unlike the victims and those who had associated with patient zero, the Media grew fat as it thrived during the Beginning- drawing more money and attention than even the polititians who needed the Media's support to rise rather than the other way around. 

I positioned myself  halfway between the bustling underpass and a neon corner store sign. Although it was 28 degrees fahrenheit beneath the moonlit skies, my pale skin gleaned with an unearthly sheen. After the short slaughter, whatever clothes I decided to wear were pretty much decimated: a tattered black jumpsuit riddled with holes, completely missing most the right leg pant and the bottom half of the arm sleeve. 

The only things that never failed me were my boots and spandex shorts.  I let out a controlled breath and the exhalation steamed in the frigid air. This was precisely why I wore outdated factory workers unis on the easier jobs. 

Several sub specie bodies were strewn about haphazardly the concrete cave, their steaming entrails and life fluids trickling in rivulets under gravity's direction into the river that ran throughout the city. Those who had survived the Corvid Plague were soon able to transition back into life in society- although. . .  some of their appearances never ceased to evolve until the peak of their mating cycles in which metamorphosis halted and offspring were created not too long after. 

It was amazing at this point of civilization's development. The year 6001 had just passed, bringing the year of Mars to an end and were now entering the year of Jupiter. Tjorluk wrinkled his nose at the rising scents in the twilight hours. . it was like whipped sweet citron incense contrasted with an overwhelmingly sticky sweet pheromone. He couldn't quite put a name to it but he had scented it somewhere. 

Gifted with not only the unconscious bearing of a neutral predator but apparently also a hint of something indescribable to his biological mother, the Gen-4 walked amongst the crowd but was never able to fully conceal himself. Eyes would shift and the people around him would subtly take a whiff of his scent. 

No, it wasn't his scent that gave it away, nor was it his outward appearance. Something like a soul or whatever would draw Other's attention to him. Well, at this point, thinking too much about how he could change just wasted his time. So a pastime like this served him well.

A soft huff from beside the still male then the almost inaudible grating of a medical blade from its sheath signaled the arrival of a Collector. They wore a grey trenchcoat with a high collar lined with white fur, and a black half mask that allowed choppily cut amber hair to flow wildly. The Collectors were self-employed and could come from anywhere but the best ones were the ones that weren't largely heard of by streetgoers. That meant they were doing their job right. Collectors had three main jobs they would employ for: (1) Ingredient Sourcer, (2) Bounty Hunters, and (3) Specialized jobs.

The quiet hunter squatted next to the Collector. "Fereson. Are these materials still good enough for harvesting?" Pretending not to hear him, Fereson reached into her pocket and withdrew a phone-like device. Clasping it inside her left gloved hand, she reached into one of the corpse's chest cavity and brought forth a clump of muscle tissue. 

"So far, from what I can see," the visor hiding her eyes were analyzing the organic materials, "the tissues are still malleable and although you practically shredded the bodies-" She suddenly gasped and peeled a portion of the dying muscle tissues to reveal a pulsing golfball sized core. 

"Ok, this is awesome, seriously!" I looked at her incredulously. Cores aren't rare, not even by a long shot. "Are you serious? I find them all the time, but I don't usually find the best quality ones out there."  Not everyone in the world has a core because developing one takes time or dedication to condense one's mental and physical energies along with whatever enhanced powers they have.

"Wait, you haven't noticed that recently almost three out of fifteen bodies you bring in have been exhibiting special development in their cores? First off this core is different from an ordinary core because it's point of growth begins in the heart and instead of being distributed throughout the body like a tree's root system I have noticed that the core triggers the organism's body to evolve and or regenerate." Usually, normal cores would take root within the abdominal portion of the body and aren't fully matured before they can be utilized, so therefore, the advantages that the new variation provide are. . . concerning. 

I crossed my arms and looked up at where the moon should've been. The stars beyond glowed brighter with every year that passed. "Huh. Not really, once my mark stands on the same ground as me, it's dead to me. I don't really think that much into it." 

Fereson scoffed and looked at me with what might've been a smile. Maybe. The thin fabric concealed even the shadows. "Alright, doesn't matter to me. Just keep a look out for these specimens, they've created a new category on the market and I need to take a closer look at 'em." My thigh vibrated. "Just coined you." She straightened up, brushing invisible debris off of that expensive looking coat. 

Another good night.  I repositioned my crouching position to make my leave. "See ya- message me with whatever job you've got next." We mirrored a salute and I leapt off the ground with minimal force. Usually it was pretty difficult for me to get a handle on my natural strength. This time it took me to the sidewalk that diverted from the overpass high above the Collector and the Scrappers that stealthily melted from the shadows. Cool.

Not the job, but being a Collector. That must be cool, having all those resources not to mention their working relationship with the Oracle of Urbos. Money isn't magic but it'll get you just about anything you want if you have enough of it. 

Though, if one aims too high, they will get shot down. I turned and this time let loose on my restraints, bounding to the top of a seven storied office building. Traveling by rooftop was the surest way to avoid certain individuals but I didn't always do this.

It was the God Icaruz, the Winged bearer of freedom, she appeared on the AerScreen© plummeting down to the war torn land of America. She had been shot down by the Nation of freedom, the very nation she had led to victory in the past but now adulterated with the God Zelus. Thats when I began to just not care. At the time the Gods created the standard when I was six and then in a few hours of being six and a half  I just stopped feeling anything for them. 

It just occurred to me that it was all pointless- vying for the favor of a God that didn't care for what you wanted unless it could help them gain something and waiting for rescue for an unfeeling being. My eyes were opened. No, it wasn't just that one event that shook my faith in them but it was the straw that broke the camel's back. 

To get to the place I and a few others called home, I would have to pass through a Collector's territory that surrounded their headquarters. I leapt over that last building before reaching the Graft Sector that stood in between me and my home. Their business had been booming during the past few months, but I had no idea who they were cause I had no interest working with a known Collector. At best they were a nuisance. 

I looked back and forth making sure there weren't too many bystanders and let my bones protrude from beneath my durable skin and morph into an armoured claw. My jawbone grew over my mouth and the rest of my face melded into a mask-like structure with only a single V shaped slit exposing the outside world.

Vrvv Vrrvvv Vrrr! Bringing out the device, I swiped up after it read my facial structure. Ok, nothing but a text. If it were truly urgent, they would've just called me. I shoved my phone back into an opening on my left thigh and mentally willed it to seal itself- I never lost my phone or got pickpocketed.

"Alright." I tipped forward off the ledge in a freefall, jumped off the side of the building and landed on the cold, wet gravel alleyway in a roll. Less than five seconds before I would be detected by the building's occupants. This wasn't a free land. My eyes darted in search of the manhole cover I lifted last time. . .  Aha! 

Three feet away and hidden under a small pile of trash. Dashing over to it and hefting it up to the side, I lowered myself in with my other arm. Slowly! Let the manhole cover settle, there we go. I released my grip on the concrete grooves and landed with a splash. The sewer water in this section of the tunnels only reached up to my toes. Not that bad if one ignored the signature stench. 

Turn left, go straight, then right, walk for 67 steps in normal intervals then. . . two lefts and a right. Above me, a cacophony of noise echo into the tunnel system- they intertwine and become a haunting orchestra. Music. My hand runs along the curved walls and at the end of the last left, I found myself about to enter the right tunnel. Flashing lights strobe above and underground it looks like a mini-rave. 

"Haha. . ." I laughed then turned the corner into the dead end, climbed up the old iron ladder feeding straight into the street above, and slipped from under the manhole cover like a slimy cockroach. 

The place I called home was a decrepit but secure and well functioning hospital/ It had been world renowned for its miracle experimental surgeries, research and eventually the development of a "cure" for the Corvid Plague. Of course it didn't work the way they advertised it to, but it did slow the patient's evolution which they would later regret I imagine. The plague in my opinion was a gift, if our species history on this planet was anything to consider, we were better off developmentally anyhow. 

I was home free.