The Future Assest

The weeping came from a shattered storefront. A man and a woman—Michael and Sarah—their faces etched with a grief more profound than hunger. They stared past us at the giant, dead bird.

“You killed him,” Sarah said, her voice hollow. “He brought us rats. He watched over us.”

Evan was already stepping forward, his hands up in that gesture of pointless peace he loved. “It was coming for the truck. We had to.”

“You didn’t have to,” Michael replied, pulling his wife closer.

“You can’t stay here,” Evan said, turning to me, his eyes begging for a consensus I wouldn’t give. “They come with us.”

The calculation was instant. Two more mouths. Our supplies were measured to the gram. “Our numbers are fixed,” I stated. “The math doesn’t support it.”

“We’re not leaving them to die.”
I looked at the couple—the human cost—then at the mountain of meat that would now, ironically, feed them. The equation reluctantly balanced. “They work,” I said, the concession tasting like rust. “From today.”

As we turned to haul the carcass, one of the bird’s black, glassy eyes swiveled in its socket. It fixed on me. An intelligent, final accusation. I didn’t flinch. I drove my boot down, crushing the orbit with a wet pop. Michael and Sarah gasped. Evan looked sick.

“Get in the truck,” he murmured to them, not looking at me.

In the rearview, for the entire silent ride back, their eyes flickered to mine, offering weak, terrified smiles. I kept my gaze on the dead road ahead.

The heavy door of our base sealed behind us with a sound like a vault closing. The familiar, damp concrete smell was a relief. Evan set to work on the pigeon with grim efficiency, hauling the best cuts to the river to wash.

That left the unpacking. I found Jax exactly where I expected: propped against a support pillar, whittling a piece of scrap wood into a useless shape.

“Jax,” I said. “The new arrivals need a meal. Start cooking the ration packs.”

He didn’t look up. “I’m on rest rotation.”

There was no rotation. There was only the ledger in my mind. His column was a string of zeroes. Consumption: High. Contribution: Nil. Risk to Group Cohesion: Critical.

The calculus was absolute.

I pulled my pistol and shot him between the eyes.

The sound was appallingly loud in the cavernous space. His body slid down the pillar. I turned to Michael and Sarah, who were frozen, hands clutched over their mouths.

“You cook now,” I told them, my voice perfectly even. “Then take this body to the sub-level refrigerator. We don’t waste protein.”

They stumbled to obey, faces ashen.

I was kneeling, cleaning Jax’s blood from the concrete, when Evan returned. He stopped, smelling the gunpowder and bleach.

“You didn’t,” he whispered. He saw the clean, wet patch on the floor. “Harshal… you didn’t kill him.”

“He was a system error,” I said, wringing the rag. “I corrected it.”

“He was a person!” The argument erupted, a hot, desperate thing. He spoke of morality, of second chances. I spoke of calories, of security, of the simple fact that in this world, you either pull your weight or you become dead weight. My logic was a cold, impenetrable wall. His anger broke against it, leaving only a drained, hollow silence.

We didn’t speak as we made bed spaces for Michael, Sarah, and Maya, who had watched the entire exchange from the shadows, her expression unreadable. We ate the meal the new couple prepared—a silent, tasteless affair. We went to sleep.
The next morning, Evan and I were up first. We went outside to the training area in front of the base to run through our drills. The air was still and quiet.

We were in the middle of practicing—the sound of our movements, the clack of gear—when the main gate creaked open.

Maya, Michael, and Sarah stepped out, looking sleepy. They had heard us training.

“Oh, it’s just you two,” Michael said, relaxing. “We heard the noise and wondered what was going on out here.”

Sarah smiled a little. “You’re up early.”

Maya just watched us, her arms crossed.

Evan lowered his practice stick. “Sorry if we woke you,” he said.

I gave a short nod, scanning the empty road behind them. “Getting a start on the day.”

They stood there for a moment in the morning light, watching us train. It was a normal morning. For now.