A young, violent Jersusalem native is thrown into the world of woolongs and bounties when he is charged with murder and narcotics trafficking.
From Earth to the heavens and beyond...
Intro: Jerusalem, 2071
The dust rose into the air like always, in these afternoon days, like it were a second atmosphere. You breathed it, you lived with it. It affected you. It altered you. The planets moved to acknowledge the variation. Jews, christians, and muslims abound. And plenty of sin among them all to satisfy the Devil himself.
Many names for one God... and yet growing still is this faÃ§ade. We are all his children, gotta be blessed for this feeling! Only love will break down this... this concealment... Always, always should the sermons speak of this. Well, that's always what Marco heard from the streets sermons.
Those crazy people that stood on soap boxes and yelled for attention, their followers either resented or stoned to death by the masses of the others. A few survive, but so many fall to their deaths... If only those who went to church heard what the priests and rabbis and kohens really had said during mass, during salat, during congregation time.
At least in the street people could hear each other, contrary to popular belief. Nowadays, the streets were empty, not like before. Before, people were ignorant en-masse. People went to church, went home early to read the Torah, and went five times a day to pray at the mosques spread across the city.
Before, 1204 synagogues, 158 churches, and 73 mosques, all within the city. Now... there's 1 and 1/2 of a synagogues, 20 churches, and 4 mosques. There used to be millions of people in this city. Now they number only into the thousands. Yerushalaim, Jerusalem, the Holy City, where three world religions used to rule, where culture was diverse and beautiful, and decency ruled, was now a dystopian playground for moronic archaeologists who couldn't find a twig if they were in a garden, tourists, and corrupt criminals, out of the street, inside the tree of the government.
Those who were aware could only sit, silently, wishing they could do something about this. The Christian can only sit, on that brown bench in the church, and pray for better days. The Jew can only stare at the Western Wall, lamenting he did not die when he should have, a decade ago. The Muslim can only crouch in his mosque, eating dirt, wishing Allah could place his blessings here, where it is most needed...
"So you just gonna sit there all day, rugrat?" said the tall, dark man, "Do you plan on doing business, or you gonna sit there all day?" "Do you have the woolongs?" asked Marco, standing up and clutching his mail bag. "Yeah, they're in my car." said the man, "Follow me, kid" And Marco did so...
"It's a cool one" Marco said, as the man beheld a smooth Starlight, colored red, hidden in an alleyway, "It's the benefits of working hard, kid" said the man, popping his trunk and pulling out a bag where Marco guessed the credit cards were, "You keep bringing me that Red Eye of yours, you're gonna have one just like it".
"Are those the cards?" said Marco, pointing at the gym bag the man had, "Yeah... where's my Red Eye?" asked the man... "I have it... nearby" added Marco. "Nearby..." said the man, cackling in his deep voice, "I need it now, sonny boy" he growled curtly, still keeping a smug grin, typical of a cocky criminal.
"You think I'm stupid?" growled Marco... and then, from his bag, he pulled out an MK23 Mod 0, pointing it at the now-sweaty man, "Pff, put it away, junior" said the man, his hands up in the air, the bag in his left hand. "You're a moron, aren't you?" said Marco, "I know of you; you're a dirty man, mister. You've killed three dealers, and stolen their Red Eye. Heck, people even know the model of machine pistol you use".
"Aww, come on, you're a smart kid; people like to talk, sonny boy" said the man, "Just drop the bag, dipshit. Isn't it obvious I'm robbing you?" said Marco, his hand shaking from holding his heavy gun... "Come on, sonny, you don't have to shoot me... you don't want to" said the man... reaching for Marco's gun...
Subsequently, a gunshot came, followed by a pained yell. The man crouched down, clutching his hand, which had been blown to pieces by the heavy bullet of Marco's gun. "YOU LITTLE PUNK!" yelled the man, pulling out an machine pistol, distinct from semi-autos due to it's extended clip, and squeezed the trigger.
A stream of bullets erupted from the gun, making Marco dodge behind the expensive Starlight. He had felt a couple graze his elbow and torso, but other than that, he was fine. The man continued to pelt blindly at his car like a madman. Marco tried to squeeze in a shot, but then felt a bullet graze the top of his hand, destroying his knuckles.
He yelled in pain, a couple of tears streaming from his young eyes. A child was not meant to experience such violence... He went into a fetal position, holding his hand, still yelling.
Suddenly, he heard a distinct click, which he had heard before... the man's gun had jammed. Marco stood up, taking his gun and shooting at the man with his other hand. He saw a couple hit the man in the chest, and the rest in his stomach. The man convulsed, twitched, like a fish, before going limp a bit.
Marco then crouched behind the car, crying in pain due to his destroyed hand... what was he going to tell his father now? He stayed that way for awhile... a half-hour might've passed, but he didn't exactly care...
Then, when he had stopped, he noticed something: the man was trailing blood as he crawled out of the alley on his stomach... "Might as well take this car myself" sobbed Marco, as he got into the car... turned the keys... drove out of the alley... and made sure the tires had spun the man's neck enough times, before getting out, taking the stolen credit cards, and going and buying himself some nice things from the market.
Thus, Marco Andrija, 12, committed his first, most violent, and most infamous crime in his native city... Only one occasion where blood was spilled in the holy land.