Fluorescent lights lit the way for Mathies, warning him of the various puddles and holes in the ground. The light of the water reflected the outside world in sickly green, through which even Rogue City looked worse than it really was.

His steps were fast, but relaxed. His breathing calm and head empty of stress and nerves. He was used to walking in the back alleys of his city.

He heard all there was to hear of the city's lowlifes. But the word lowlife meant something else for Mathies, than it did for most of the other caste. Lowlifes were troublemakers, boors, as well as rich magnates worsening the life for all other inhabitants of this pinnacle of a city.

His long hair swayed in the wind as Mathias dodged another giant puddle, this time with sizzling neon green fluid. His dark glasses fixed onto his face without moving an inch, his beanie, his overlong shirt that reached all the way to his knees. In a different day and time, people would say he is a hippie. Although he sympathized with their beliefs more often than not, he was aware of the error in their ways. Nobody would make a shred of difference in Rogue City by staying on the sidelines.

He finally made his way to his favorite shop, The Trueman's Vacay. The window displays were riddled with bongs and pipes, ashtrays, cigarettes and everything else you could possibly smoke. Just the place for Mathies.

He entered the shop, immediately getting a sharp welcome from the old school bell over the doors. The inside was as advertised in the displays. Dried plants of all kinds packed into small plastic bags, weird clay-like substances on trays, poppy oil in small bottles. It was heaven for a recreational drug user.

Smoke came out from behind the counter, followed by a huge afro, with such magnitude to make it seem inconvenient. The ball of hair was followed by the clerks white face and red-filled eyes.

"Hello, mi amigo." said Francis, seemingly fighting with his eye lids. They did not want to stay open.

"Hey Frank, am here for the usual." he placed the credits on the counter.

"Sorry amigo, aint got no more of that sweet smoke."

"Shame, what do you have then."

"What I got? Everything man! I got…" he started hefting numerous plastic bags around, remembering the name of each one. "Forget me not, but don’t believe the name, cuz I don’t even know where I got it. A story to remember, again false advertising. Take my kids and let me breathe, but that gets you into that dark zone. Then I got…"

"Something more like, The price for peace is high?"

"Strawberry excellence?"

"Yeah, that one. Just give me that and we are good."

"Sure thing amigo." Francis opened the bag and put half into a different one. That was much more than what Mathias actually paid for, but he knew that Francis would just take offense if he mentioned it. He was a good guy.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

"Be careful though…" he said as he gave Mathias the bag. "Some weird people walking around my shop the last five days. Devotee's in hiding I am guessing."

"Thanks for the heads up. Take care Frank."

The clerk lit a joint as his goodbyes and sank into the pillows behind the counter.

Mathias threw the stub into his bin and walked over to the couch. Put his legs on his wooden table and turned on the huge TV. A documentary about some scientists discoveries was playing and he decided to leave that on.

It was times like these that his mind raced with the numerous options he had to make a difference. His dad was fairly high in the Rogue City hierarchy, maybe his words carried enough weight to make a real change, but he would have to persuade him first. And since his father was the one that cut every connection Mathias might have had to him, it was more of a fiction to talk him into anything, than reality. The channel changed to a life report of some apartments that were on fire and Mathias turned it off. He did not enjoy suffering as the others did.

Instead he walked over to the great glass window, where he had an incredible view to the city. It always filled him with an assortment of conflicting emotions. On one hand, the city was chaos manifested, people killed each other everyday, robbed stores, caused harm. But on the other hand, a lot of them just lived their own lives, like Frank, he had his shop and caused no problems at all. That was rare.

Mathias's father was greedy, he knew, but he also remembered his childhood. The man clearly had compassion in himself, empathy, love, it was just hiding somewhere deep inside. He took care of him after all, even if it was just by sending a hefty sum to his account every month and buying him an apartment. He appreciated those things, but he never got any time to spend with his dad.

Another fire erupted in the distance, a side-effect of a shootout or another blood feud no doubt. It was rare to look into Rogue City and not see high flames scorching some place down.

But when Mathias looked closer he realized something. He quickly ran for his goggles and zoomed into the fire. And there it was…The Trueman's Vacay dying in flames. The perfect shop of Rogue City, the bastion of weed and lighter drugs. His heart dropped and his weight seemed to double. He almost buckled under the pressure of losing another of the city's bright spots.

He grabbed some clothes, quickly put them on and got on his motorcycle and put it to levitating mode, riding as fast as he could, he gained height, so he could avoid crashes and anything that might slow him down. He narrowly dodged a medivac and almost crashed straight into a trading center, but managed to avoid both.

Then he arrived to his destination. The slow dark smoke gathered from the fire, the scent of burnt plants in the air. Even from this far up, the heat was becoming unbearable, so Mathias parked down on the street and watched on as the fire consumed what he loved most.

As he watched on, he lamented his friends death. Francis would never hurt nobody, he was a standup guy. He was the kind of person they hadn't had enough around.

"Don’t worry your soul for me amigo." said a familiar voice behind him. He turned around and saw Francis holding a shotgun in one hand and a full joint on the other. He walked over to the flames of what used to be his shop and lit it.

"I thought you were dead."

"Almost was. Would have been if I didn't feel like a walk in that time."

Lucky. He was so lucky. But people like Francis shouldn’t need to be lucky to stay alive, they should be protected. He had to assemble a force, strong enough to uphold the law in places where justice couldn’t see. Fast enough to catch culprits before they put matches into gasoline. Inventive enough to save what they could.

He would start with his father, until he had enough support to start. And he was sure that he would.