Avarice Street presents itself as a vibrant and exclusive strip of themed bars and dance clubs. But in reality, pretty much all of the establishments are owned by the same family, who also run the extremely lucrative drugs and weapons trade in Danger. The Winters family is probably the richest and most powerful crime family in this city. They’re well-connected and infamously ruthless.
The Winters have been playing the game and winning it for decades. They always seem to know the right people to bribe and who they need to get rid of. Their influence spreads across Danger like a spiderweb, catching small gangs of flies and consuming them.
I can’t even imagine how bad they must have been before the era of superheroes. Before the likes of Midnight, Frost Girl, Guardian, and Blue Storm, among many others.
When I joined FISA, my aunt gave me the basic lowdown about the superhumans running around our world.
Over twenty years ago, a renowned OI scientist named Dr Mia Solar created a chemical that would give whoever it was injected into abilities such as superhuman strength and speed, enhanced senses, accelerated healing, and an individual superpower.
Of course, that was only if the person injected survived it.
Many who OI experimented on did not survive the initial injection. Others died days or weeks afterwards.
It wasn’t until Dr Solar accidentally experimented on a young teen that she realised maybe youth was the key to success. She figured out children were far more likely to survive the chemical. A chemical she calledLiquid Onyx.
Later, more Liquid Onyx survivors joined FISA and became superheroes.
Superheroes like them help to protect the world from the continuing rise of supervillain threats. Not all Liquid Onyx survivors joined FISA. Not all of them are superheroes either. But the ones who did are part of a special unit called the Secret Superhero Service, which was created by my aunt.
I take King along our usual route in the quieter parts of uptown Danger, through streets which are mostly industrial and therefore don’t get a lot of people traffic at this time of night.
However, as I’m coming to the end of a narrow alley between two large buildings, I notice something off.
By now, I’m so used to scanning for threats it’s become automatic, no matter where I am.
From my place in the shadows of a side alley, I spot what looks like two men, one using the roofs of the buildings on Chaos Street to stalk the other. Both are wearing dark clothes, presumably to blend in with the shadows.
I’ve stopped near the entrance of the alley, King halted beside me and remaining uncharacteristically quiet, his ability to read me once again prevailing. I keep to the shadows, nudging King a little behind me just in case.
The larger of the two men is jumping from building to building with a grace and ease that shouldn’t be possible for an ordinary human being. He’s silent as he moves, a silence which speaks of extensive training. I’m momentarily impressed. This man is a predator, a trained predator: that much is clear from observing him for only a handful of seconds.
Thanks to my ride-or-die experiences on missions, I’ve learnt to tell the professionals from the amateurs, and this man is definitely the former.
The smaller man is down on street level. He seems to be in a hurry to get to wherever he’s going. He keeps darting glances around frantically, which indicates he’s aware of being followed.
It’s so dark on Chaos Street I have to rely mostly on the moon to illuminate the two men.
I realise the bigger man is going to strike a second before he does. He surprises me by jumping off the building he’s on to land directly in front of his target. That man comes to an abrupt halt. I expect him to take a few stuttering steps backwards, but he doesn’t. He holds his ground, not appearing fazed by his possible future assailant.
There’s a beat of tense stillness where the two men remain motionless. They seem to be sizing each other up, both calculating their likelihood of success if they attack head on. I’m not sure what it is about the smaller man, maybe it’s how he holds himself primed and without fear, but I think he might actually stand a chance in this fight.
The bigger man must think the same because he’s hesitating, and I can’t imagine there would be any other reason for that.
Despite being larger in both height and sheer bulk, he moves with the same incredible speed he showed earlier. He makes a grab for his prey, who evades with an equally fast spin of his body, putting himself out of reach.
The smaller man throws himself at the bigger one with alarming ferocity, tackling him to the ground. Both of them grapple with each other, rolling around on the pothole-filled road. They remind me of large cats fighting in the wild. It’s a vicious fight, both of them landing hard blows and slamming one another into the ground with earth-quaking harshness. I could swear I hear the actual tarmac below them crack with the impact of their bodies. It makes me wince at how painful that must be.
There’s skill behind their movements as well. I can see the visible signs of whatever training they’ve both received. It makes me wonder where in the hell these two have come from and what their stories are for how they ended up here.
I can’t explain why, but the sudden urge to stop the two men from killing each other is confusingly strong.
I look down at King and tell him, “Sit.” He does so, panting up at me expectantly.
“Stay here, King,” I order, dropping his lead and trusting him to obey the command.
As I move closer to the end of the alleyway, I keep myself close to wall, unwilling to expose my presence right off the bat. I don’t think shouting “boo” at these two is going to get me very far. The best I could hope for is to surprise them, and that’s not boosting my confidence about the decision to get involved.
I watch as the men throw each other around violently until the smaller man seems to have had enough playing and grabs his assailant by the throat. I’m shocked and confused when the admittedly aggressive touch elicits a cry of pain from the larger man that far surpasses what I would expect, considering how silent he’s been through the rest of the mutual beating they’ve been giving each other.
