Ionic

Chapter 1

An imposing full moon lit through the dark and troublesome wet streets of Medlar City—a land of opportunity for some, a prison of hope for others. Straddling the eastern border of the Medlar district, the city found itself tucked between the treacherous Restfield Mountains and, rich man's paradise, Manchester. The largest and most corrupt city in all 12 districts of the Neo Republic, Medlar City had gained its notoriety from its sole caveat, Zenom, a meta-human dipped in onyx and wrapped in golden stitched spandex. He stood as the only incorruptible defense against the ever-growing crime in the city.

On the city's south side, jazz hummed its way through fat sloppy raindrops, filling the porous underwhelming tar streets. It was a typical Thursday night on this side of the city, addicts scavenging from long-abandoned brownstones, repurposing a few into drug dens. Prostitutes walking up and down dark streets, protected only by the moonlight as they searched for just one more John. The poorest parts of the city typically went pitch black by 23:00, municipal energy sources being allotted to more worthy uses, à la the mayor's manor. Yet, a single brownstone stood apart from the others deep within the darkness. A bright red glow shone from the lounge on the ground floor, bringing to life patterns of architecture that told of the years before the war, back when Medlar stood by a different name, and the world wasn't minimized to a one land empire. Chaotically experimental, though somewhat harmonious, jazz music pounded against the three-level building, providing comfort to the weary and high on the outside. Two unnamed yet familiar men shared an umbrella as they walked out of the ground floor step-down bar, whispering to each other about news obtained from within.

"Spare some change?"

A disheveled man asks, hobbling over to the men, a red cup filled with pennies leading his way.

"Ugh, get away from us."

One of the men said as he swatted the cup out of the poor man's hand, pennies flying every which way to be lost to the dark, filthy puddles in the street. The poor man followed the cup, getting down on his hands and knees, searching for the lost coins. The two men laughed at his misery, one hocking back mucus to spit on the man before high-fiving his partner.

"I bet you'd like a jab of this?"

The other man under the umbrella said as he pulled a small syringe from his inner coat pocket, half filled with a luminous blue liquid. He wagged it about in front of the man below him, quickly catching his attention and pleads. Then, like a puppy hungry for a treat, the poor man struggled to his feet, nearly tipping over as he reached for the elixir.

"Dance for it."

The poor man blinked back confusion at first, wanting to ask why but unwilling to deal with the consequences that were sure to follow. Filthy wet cloth clapping in the wind as the poor man began to hobble about, jumping from one foot to the other in an attempt at rhythm, trying his hardest to catch a beat from the jazz music inside.

"I'm not convinced. Dance better."

The poor man tried harder, quickly running out of ideas and resorting to doing the chicken dance. Then, hearing the commotion from across the road, an unkempt junkie runs over to enter the competition; naked as he was born, the man began to stretch out his body in preparation for his dance number.

"Ohho looks like you have competition Pennyman!"

The poor man looked at the junkie, who oddly dropped his body to the jagged ground, breakdancing his way into scrapes and bruises.

"Fight for it!"

Without a second thought, the junkie popped up to his feet, launching a punch at the poor man. The men under the umbrella burst into laughter as both addicts fell to the ground in a wrestle. The city was cruel, but none more than the ego of men with money and power.