The holographic counter hovered in the center of the table, displaying a bright, pulsating zero.
"Bidding opens for the First Course," Greed announced, his voice smooth as silk. He tapped his datapad casually. "I place an opening bid of one million credits. The modification? The loser must eat a Fuel Rod immediately."
Gluttony roared with laughter, slapping the table. The reactor in his gut flared, casting violent shadows against the walls. "A million to start? You are generous, partner! He will burn before he swallows!"
Vance sat motionless. His asset log still blinked red: [Balance: 0].
He was in a cage match against a man with infinite ammo, and he didn't even have a stick. If the auction closed now, he would be force-fed thermal death within minutes.
"Going once..." Greed smirked, his finger hovering over the confirmation key.
"Wait."
Vance's voice was quiet, but it cut through the laughter.
"I wish to apply for a loan."
Greed paused. He looked at Vance with genuine amusement. "A loan? You are a terrorist, a fugitive, and currently, a dead man walking. Your credit score is non-existent. What collateral could you possibly offer?"
Vance didn't answer immediately. He leaned forward, resting his chin on his interlaced fingers. He took a slow breath, activating his synesthetic focus.
He stripped away the smell of the factory—the grease, the ammonia, the ozone. He focused entirely on the small man in the gold suit.
Greed smelled of Ink and Cold Copper, the sterile scent of ledger books and coins. But beneath that, pulsing like a dark vein, was a scent Vance knew well.
Rusty Iron.
It was the smell of old, dried blood. It was the scent of a predator that ate its own kind. It was a hunger just as deep as Gluttony's, but colder.
He doesn't care about the alliance, Vance realized. He doesn't care about stability. He cares about accumulation. Gluttony isn't his partner; Gluttony is just another asset on his balance sheet.
And assets could be liquidated.
"I don't have collateral," Vance said, staring into Greed's beady eyes. "I have a business proposition. A hostile takeover."
Vance pulled a small data chip from his pocket—blank, unencrypted. He slid it across the white tablecloth. It stopped in front of Greed.
"What is this?" Greed asked, raising an eyebrow.
"A futures contract," Vance said. "Drafted it myself."
"The terms are simple. If I lose this game, Gluttony kills me. You lose nothing but the time it took to watch me die."
Vance paused, letting the silence hang. He glanced at Gluttony, who was busy chugging a pitcher of cooling fluid, oblivious to the knife being sharpened behind his back.
"But if I win..." Vance turned his gaze back to Greed. "If Gluttony dies tonight... his empire needs a new owner."
Greed's finger froze over his datapad. The scent of Ink spiked, becoming sharp and eager.
"The Food Processing Plant. The energy grid. The monopoly on biomass. It's worth billions," Vance whispered. "I don't want it. I'm just a tourist. All I want is the Key in his head."
"So here is the deal. You finance my bids. You give me the capital to stay in the game."
"If I win, you get the factory. You get the monopoly. You become the sole king of District 9."
Gluttony stopped drinking. He slammed the pitcher down. "What are you whispering about? Greed, kill him! Don't listen to the rat!"
Greed didn't look at his partner. He was looking at Vance. He was calculating.
Vance smelled the shift. The Cold Copper scent warmed up. It turned into the sweet, intoxicating aroma of Opportunity.
Greed looked at the massive, sweating, overheating cyborg next to him. He saw a liability. He saw a partner who was unstable, who managed resources poorly, who damaged the bottom line with his emotional outbursts.
Then he looked at Vance. He saw a weapon. A disposable, high-yield instrument of acquisition.
"A leveraged buyout," Greed murmured, a smile touching his thin lips. "Risky. Highly unorthodox."
"Business is risk," Vance countered. "Do you want to split the profits forever? Or do you want it all?"
The air in the room seemed to freeze.
Then, Greed tapped his datapad.
PING.
A notification appeared on the holographic display in front of Vance.
[Transfer Received: Unlimited Credit Line.][Source: Greed.]
"Greed!" Gluttony roared, standing up. The floor plates buckled under his weight. "What are you doing?!"
Greed finally turned to his partner. His expression was bored, professional.
"It's just business, Gluttony. He made a compelling offer. Besides..." Greed gestured to the table. "You said you wanted a fair game. Now, he can afford to play."
Vance looked at the credit balance. It was an infinity symbol.
He smiled. It was the smile of a man who had just been handed a loaded gun by his enemy.
"Thank you for the loan," Vance said.
He tapped the auction button on the table.
"I bid ten million credits. And I raise."
The smell of Rusty Iron filled the room. The alliance was dead. The sharks were circling.