Chapter 9: (2) The Shuttle
In the short time after they arrived but before the next round of running, the Brooklyn gangster turned to Alexandre. "Marlon," he said.
"What?" Alexandre asked.
"Name's Marlon," he said. "And I think that richshit from the forest, he said his name's William."
"I see." He paused for a long moment. "I'm Alexandre." He hadn't given his name to Omega. He didn't respond to demands. But he could respect Marlon's determination. Even still, Alexandre felt no need to offer up any further details.
But Marlon seemed satisfied with just the name. "I hope we can spar again soon," he said. "You won't get me with that cheap shot next time, white boy."
Alexandre nodded. "We'll spar," he said, "so long as you make Hunter."
Marlon laughed, wincing at the pain. "Damn, this hurts. Watch yourself, my man. Don't think you've got this Hunter thing in the bag, either. They don't plan on playing fair with these tests. I can tell. They catch you by surprise just once and you're gone."
"You're right," said Alexandre, "they're not playing fair. And I don't intend to either."
"You show 'em," said Marlon.
As they were talking, Alexandre looked around him at the others who had succeeded up to this point. Many were clearly in serious physical difficulty. Some had gone pale, while others were bright red. This was torture, plain and simple.
And they'd only run three kilometers.