𝘾𝘼𝙏𝙉𝙄𝙋 | 𝘽𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝘾𝙖𝙩! 𝙈𝙞𝙜𝙪𝙚𝙡 𝙊'𝙃𝙖𝙧𝙖 𝙭 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙁𝙤𝙪𝙧

......

⚠️CONTENT WARNINGS⚠️

Death
Violence
Child abuse
Domestic abuse
Mental health issues
Kidnapping
Unethical experimentation
Body horror

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𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫: 𝐎𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐔𝐧𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧

(Nueva York, 2099)

Nueva York looked like an insomniac's psychedelic dream while high on the latest designer drugs that the corporations spat out each month. The life energy that the city leeched from its citizens, sharply bringing down the life expectancy of the average middle class worker to a mere fifty two, it fed to the holograms filling every available inch in the sky. A neverending digital parade of advertisements, public safety announcements and news broadcasts. Sleep was for the dead.

Miguel's lungs drank the machine-purified air from the Uptown rooftops with ecstasy, a relief from the sewer and cigarette smoke that plagued the streets far below the sparkling city lights. He could feel the breath of the city through the soles of his combat boots, the throb of electricity surging through the structures powering them. His feet were quick to find a ledge on the skyscraper to leap off of, his legs tucking themselves underneath his torso to soften the impact of the landing.

The burn in his muscles was pleasant, his thighs, legs, and arms working in sync to propel him off walls, platforms, rooftops, and the hoods of speeding hovercrafts alike in quick succession.

Each bound and leap was an acrobatic marvel, a testament to the two decades worth of intense and grueling training he had done under the Black Fox's watchful eye.

Miguel crouched on the steel railing of a restaurant roof before leaping forward. He sailed over the traffic inching forward on the crowded maglev tracks, his body twisting mid-air as he jumped off the roof of a speeding bus in the neighboring lane, ducking his head to dodge a delivery drone before it slammed into his nose within split seconds. His hands planted themselves first on the ledge of a restaurant before his elbows flexed and his shoulders pushed him forward, the back flip sending him into a free fall down the sectors.

His strong arms latched onto railings, pipes and metal trellises and swung him into the city's more opulent sectors, the claws on his gloves shredding concrete and metal alike as he slid down the walls of buildings.

The Church of St. Patrick towered before the alley he had landed in, a pristine bastion of peace in the chaos that raged in the streets around it, its new coat of white paint a stark contrast to the grime of the residential units surrounding it. Miguel was glad that the funds they had raised could restore some of its old Gothic glory. The way Father Jen had refused the offering of a billion credits drawn from the Den's money pool had frustrated Miguel, so much so that he had rolled up his sleeves and set to work in the holotruck servicing center that ran as a front to their business. It felt good when Father Jen had finally accepted the fifty thousand cred he had raised repairing the trucks he had damaged and it was always a pleasure to hear his alter ego being cussed out by the drivers.

The veneer on the newly installed pews sparkled in the multicoloured light coming in through the painted windows bearing the images of Saints. Miguel tucked his hands into his pockets as he walked past them, remembering the number of times he had to tape the broken fragments together after someone had flung a bottle through them. The homeless had been relocated to an empty apartment complex nearby currently serving as a shelter for the destitute. Miguel fondly remembered the building owner's fainting spell when he had been informed that the building had been taken off his hands. Little petty things like that gave him joy, he was a simple man after all.