A Hero's Lament | ONC 2023

Liberation

The southern suburbs approaching the Gemini Plaza exhibit fruits of Karen Chamberlain's reforms. Shopping complexes, expanding parking lots and neighbourhoods penetrate mild grime marring the mirrored glass surfaces here. Clawing their way through pollution and destitution, enthusiasm and ambition characterize the locals' drive toward northern vistas sparkling just beyond their grasp.

Traffic and pedestrians congested a shopping complex famed for diverse eateries. During lunch hour, patrons traveling between the city's polarizing regions blended together, seated inside restaurants or queuing outside food trucks. Within this bustle, Asmodeus' presence grabbed eyeballs eagerly awaiting his first major appearance since the Cash-Strapped Bank heist.

Refraining from lingering in this area for years, Asmodeus observed the dramatic changes in stoic disbelief: garbage no longer carpeted the sidewalks, fewer beggars slumped beside storm drains and renovated businesses flaunted vibrant signage.

Asmodeus recalled the day he collapsed on this very street, a main road leading toward the distant Gemini's glistening outline. Before long, a teenage flock aimed their cameras at the blackened heart engulfed in flame and exoskeletal remnants clinging to muscular legs. Bicker and Check-Dat buzzed with fleeting excitement. Counterarguments, detailing the brutality displayed at the heist, threatened to sour the mood.

Gritting his teeth, Asmodeus noted the vacant square where the Eros statue once held the globe upon its outstretched palm. His admirers, uninfluenced by online trolls, trailed after him. Long after Asmodeus exited the shopping complex, cameras flashed constantly. Sighs, squeals, sobs and hyperventilation met the smouldering smile finally acknowledging their presence.

"Please allow me some privacy," rumbled Asmodeus' baritone.

The crowd dispersed after a few moments of pleading for frequent returns. Lunch hour's bustle soon murmured in the background. In a certain neighbourhood, Asmodeus admired homes now boasting little yards. Grimy apartment buildings cast misshaped shadows no longer.

In the corner house's front yard, a chestnut-haired woman tended her garden. Silver highlights shimmered; fine wrinkles betrayed age. Deidre Travis paid Asmodeus no attention. He battled the overwhelming urge to approach and embrace her, apologize for failing to protect her and running away. To his shame, Asmodeus understood cowardice better than any critic ever would.

Asmodeus glanced at his phone. No messages arrived from Kelvin; an hour remained to conclude business here then visit the Guardians' Respite.

Along the outskirts of Mirrormeander's budding middle-class suburbs, bordering unadulterated pollution and overpopulation, industrial cacophony blotted every other sound. No pedestrians and scant traffic graced these dusty streets. Assorted offices presented a deceptively sluggish aura but Asmodeus knew many employed here travelled throughout the city to render services at the increasing construction sites.

The plumbing company offered silence amid automated katzenjammer. Through the front window, a lone figure slumped before a laptop, dazed. Asmodeus hurried inside, heartbeat accelerating, only to discover a young man chewing gum while typing robotically. The lobby's walls had recently been painted grey, various pipes and tools graced cabinets, a chill rose from concrete underfoot and two flaking doors concealed their rooms' contents.

"Morning, sir. Please fill in your details and problems on this form like people did before phone calls and the internet were a thing," droned the administrator, eyes still glued to his screen.

Asmodeus leaned over the service counter and cleared his throat. "Weird you even have those forms in this day and age, bra. Anyway, I'm here to see Victor Travis."