Vincent
For so long, my power has existed to be absolute. Unchallenged. I've always aimed for complete control and won't settle for anything less. Unfortunately, my ambitions are being jeopardized by recent arrivals in my city, threatening to loosen...
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ALINA
I sat patiently on the rooftop of the apartment opposite The Orchid, the strip joint where Archer and his gang were hanging out for the night, my binoculars focused on the entrance. Hoots of taxis rang in the air, the boom of music loud from the complex below, and people came out of their homes as the night grew darker and the music grew wilder. The East End had always been home to Meropolis's nightlife, after all.
I lower the binoculars and sigh, no sign of Archer or his goons leaving the club anytime soon. My gaze zeroes in on the street below as lightly clothed women begin filing along it, batting their eyelashes at passers-by, some of them chatting them up and using the opportunity to slip their fingers tentatively into their pockets, pulling out their wallets as they continue flirting with them. A small smirk makes its way onto my face as I observe.
"Any sign of them yet?" I hear Olivia's voice through my earpiece, her fingers clanking against her keyboard loudly.
"Not yet. They'll probably be in there all night."
"Told you you should have gone in as a stripper. It would have been way easier to get a drop on them then."
I roll my eyes. "I don't fancy kicking ass in a thong and eight-inch heels, Olivia."
She laughs. "Are you sure? Cause that would look so much sexier. Hell, if Lang saw it, he'd probably pay you more for this."
"I doubt it," I say dryly.
The familiar pop of gunfire resonates in the air, bikes zooming across the road behind me, screaming clashing with the thrum of music. I don't bother to look at the scene. Violence and disorder are the common tongue around here. A car speeds on the road in front of me and motorcycles are in hot pursuit behind it, the biker at the front taking out their gun and shooting at the car, smashing its windows. I follow the scene with mild interest until they disappear into a feeder road on their right, the sound of the engines slowly fading.
That was the East End alright. I look at the door of the Orchid once again, no signs of anyone leaving the club. My gaze involuntarily drifts to the rest of the city. It looks less run down than I remember, probably cause Miller gave a shit about this place, unlike the mayors before him. Growing up somewhere like here gives an incentive to better it, I suppose. It's nowhere near as opulent as Uptown or as quiet and family-friendly as the West End, but it's certainly better than the concrete beast it was some years back, wild and almost impossible to hold down. The streets look cleaner, the buildings look less run down and people look like they actually liked being here.
The sound of shouting and hollering, hooting and cursing, gunfire like the pop of fireworks, smoke rising from chimneys of factories in the distance and permeating the air...all of it was enough to remind me of my time here as a little girl before my mother took me and my sister away from this place to the West End, her attempt at giving us a normal and peaceful childhood. I never minded the luxuries that were accorded to us in the West or the luxuries I have now living in Uptown, but there's just something about this place that makes my adrenaline pump, the intoxicating thrill of danger a drug in itself. Life in the West and Uptown is accorded with so many conveniences that it becomes sterile very quickly. But here, you were forced to survive. Forced to learn every twist and turn of the place, forced to be agile, a quick thinker and resourceful. Being here made me feel more at home than my penthouse ever did.
