Rise of The Martian Heir

Chapter 2: The Red Mark

Raven didn’t sleep.

He lay on his thin mattress in room 212-9, staring at the cracked ceiling, listening to the hum of Harp Apartment. Pipes rattled. Neighbors argued through the walls. Somewhere far below, a Melo bike whined.

His stomach didn’t hurt. Not at all.

He kept lifting his shirt and checking. Nothing. Smooth skin. No cut, no scar, not even a bruise where Jax’s knife went in. The bandage from the mansion was in his trash can, still bloody.

The phone Sebastian gave him sat on his little table, screen dark. He hadn’t touched it since he got home.

He thought about the woman. Violet eyes. White and blue dress. Hand hot as a heater.

*“Become my son-in-law for my daughter.”*

What kind of crazy was that? Rich people crazy. Heights crazy.

He thought about the Ferrari. The mansion. The butler kneeling on stone like Raven was somebody.

Then he thought about rent. 800 credits due tomorrow. His Melo paycheck this week was maybe 420 after deductions. He was short. Again.

Raven rolled over and closed his eyes. He had the morning shift at 7 a.m., then the night bartending shift at 11 p.m. Sleep was for people who could afford it.

---

The alarm on his old phone buzzed at 6:30. He slapped it off.

He pulled on his green Melo uniform. It still smelled faintly like blood, even after washing. He combed his blond hair back, looked at his blue eyes in the cracked mirror.

“Don’t be an idiot today,” he told himself.

He grabbed the company e-bike from the rack on floor 50. Battery at 78%. Good enough.

Wakedah City was already awake. Vendors shouting, drones buzzing, ads playing on every wall. Garden Corporation’s tree logo everywhere. *“Green Mars, Green Future.”*

Raven’s first run was normal. Pick up parcel at depot, drop at Tower 4, get signature. Second run, same. Third, same.

By 3 p.m., his back hurt and his phone showed 11 deliveries done. 14 credits per drop. Not enough.

The depot manager, a fat man named Tono, flagged him down.

“Well. You got a COD,” Tono said, tossing him a heavy box. “Apartment 88-B, Wakedah Central. Six hundred credits. Customer pays on delivery. You lose it, you pay for it.”

Raven felt his stomach drop. Six hundred. That was almost his rent.

“Got it,” he said.

He strapped the box to his bike. It was heavy. Electronics, maybe.

88-B was on the other side of the city. He rode through traffic, sweat soaking his uniform. Venus Light was high and hot. No clouds. Mars never had clouds anymore, not since Garden fixed the weather.

The building was old. Paint peeling. Elevator broken. He walked up eight flights, box banging his knee every step.

He knocked on 88-B.

Door opened. A man in his thirties, unshaven, wearing a stained shirt. Smelled like cheap beer.

“Parcel for you. Six hundred credits,” Raven said, holding out the scanner.

The man looked at the box, then at Raven. “I don’t want to pay for that. Shrak off.”

Raven had heard this before. “Sir, it’s cash on delivery. I can’t leave it unless you pay.”

“I said shrak off,” the man said louder.

Raven sighed inside. He was tired. He just wanted to finish his shift. “Okay, sir. I’ll return it to the office.”

He turned to leave, box in his arms.

The man’s hand clamped on his shoulder. Hard.

“Hey, dustlicker. Give me that parcel.”

Raven turned back. “Sir, you didn’t pay—”

The punch came fast. Right to his cheek.

Raven’s head snapped sideways. He tasted blood. The box fell to the floor with a thud.

The man picked it up and stepped back into his apartment.

“Hey!” Raven shouted, his cheek throbbing. “You can’t do that!”

The door started to close.

Raven stuck his foot in it. Stupid. He knew it was stupid.

*KNOCK! KNOCK!*

“Sir! Sir! Please give me back the parcel! You didn’t pay!” he yelled, banging on the door.

He could hear the man moving inside.

“It’s six hundred credits! I can’t afford that!” Raven pleaded. His voice cracked. “Please, sir.”

Doors down the hall started opening. Neighbors peeking out.

“Hey! Shut up! It’s daytime, people are sleeping!” a woman yelled.

“But he took—” Raven started.

The door to 88-B flew open. The man was back, face red.

He slapped Raven. Hard. Open palm across the same cheek.

“Pissed off!” the man screamed. “This ain’t your territory!”

“What do you mean territory?” Raven said, holding his face. It stung like fire.

The man shoved him with both hands. Raven stumbled back and fell hard on his ass in the hallway. The concrete was cold through his uniform.

Everyone was watching. A few people had their phones out, recording.

Raven felt that familiar hot shame crawl up his neck. Same as school. Same as the orphanage. Same as last night in the alley.

*‘My life is so miserable. Should I have just said yes to that madam?’* he thought. *‘At least I’d have money.’*

“Sorry, sir!” he mumbled, looking at the floor. He got up slowly. His tailbone hurt.

He walked down the eight flights of stairs, each step feeling heavier. He didn’t look back.

At the bottom, he leaned against the wall and breathed. His cheek was swelling. He could feel it.

He pulled out his old phone to call the depot. That’s when he saw it.

Floating in the air, about two feet above the doorway of 88-B, was a small, glowing red exclamation mark.

Raven blinked. Rubbed his eyes. It was still there. Bright red. Pulsing slowly, like a heartbeat.

“What the…” he whispered.

He looked around. Nobody else was looking at it. The neighbors had gone back inside. The man was gone.

The red mark just hung there in the empty hallway.

Raven shook his head. Lack of sleep. Stress. Getting punched. That was it.

He got on his bike and rode back to the depot, his mind spinning.

---

Tono was waiting at the loading dock, arms crossed.

“Well? Where’s the parcel?”

Raven told him what happened. The man, the punch, the theft.

Tono didn’t care. “Customer filed a complaint. Says you were making noise, disturbing residents. You gave him the parcel without payment.”

“That’s not true! He stole it!” Raven said.

“Don’t care,” Tono said. “Company policy. You lose a COD, you pay. Six hundred credits will be deducted from tomorrow’s salary.”

Raven felt like he’d been punched again. Six hundred. That was everything. That was rent. That was food.

“But sir—”

“Get out of here. You’re on the late shift tonight. Don’t be late again or you’re fired.”

Raven walked away, his hands shaking. He wanted to scream. He wanted to hit something. Instead, he just walked.

He thought about the phone in his pocket. Sebastian’s phone. He could call. He could ask for help. He could say yes to being a son-in-law.

No. He wasn’t a beggar. Not yet.

---

He worked his bartending shift at a dive bar near Harp from 11 p.m. to 3 a.m. The boss yelled at him for being five minutes late. A drunk customer spilled beer on his shoes. He mopped the floor, washed glasses, smiled when he didn’t want to.

He got home at 3:17 a.m., exhausted. He fell onto his mattress without taking off his uniform.

He dreamed of red marks. Hundreds of them, floating over the city like fireflies.

---

*“Get up! Get up!”*

Raven woke to shouting and bright lights in his face.

Red laser dots danced on his chest. Three, four, five of them.

Men in black armor stood around his bed, rifles pointed at him. SWAT. The letters were clear on their helmets.

“What are you doing in my room?” Raven croaked, his voice thick with sleep.

One of them grabbed his arm, yanked him up, and slammed him face-first onto the floor. His cheek hit the cold tile — the same cheek that got punched yesterday.

Cold metal clicked around his wrists. Handcuffs.

“Get up, you criminal!” the officer yelled.

“What happened?” Raven asked, panic rising. He tried to stand but his legs were tangled in his blanket.

The officer kicked him in the stomach with a heavy boot. Raven doubled over, gasping. He tasted blood.

“Please stop! Can you treat me with kindness?” Raven begged. “If I need your approval to be kind, will you approve?”

The officer grabbed a fistful of Raven’s blond hair and yanked his head back.

“What’s your name, craterborn?”

“Raven,” Raven choked out, tears running down his face.

“Your full name, you dustlicker!” The officer slapped him. Once, twice, three times, hard across the face.

“Please stop, it hurts,” Raven cried.

The officer laughed. “Fuck you, you piece of shrak!” He pulled a knife from his belt and stabbed Raven in the shoulder.

Raven screamed. “ARGHH! That hurts!”

Blood flowed warm down his arm.

The officer pulled the knife out and stabbed his other arm. “Hahaha, that was fun!”

Raven shook with pain, tears and blood mixing on his face. “Why are you doing this? Aren’t you afraid I’ll get revenge?”

The officer leaned in close. “I’m the one asking questions! What’s your name?”

“Ra… Raven,” Raven stuttered, terrified.

Another SWAT member, the one with a sergeant’s stripe, chuckled. “Relax, Vex. Let’s pity him.”

The officer — Vex — let go. Raven collapsed to the floor.

They stuffed him into a huge black body bag, zipping it up to his neck so only his head stuck out.

“Why are you treating me like I’m dead?” Raven whispered. No one answered.

He felt hopeless. He couldn’t fight. The pain in his arms, the blood loss, it was too much. His vision went dark.

The last thing he saw before passing out was a small, glowing red exclamation mark floating above Officer Vex’s head.

It pulsed slowly. Bright red.

Just like the one in the hallway yesterday.