Dawn cracked like a whip over the slums, a streak of orange bleeding into the gray. It wasn't pretty, but it was a start. Axion watched from her perch, crouched on the edge of a dilapidated billboard that displayed a faded advertisement for some product she didn't recognize.
She'd scaled the metal framework of the old sign, using her gravity field to tune her center of mass as she balanced precariously atop the thin crossbeam—a gargoyle in a bodysuit, her eyes hidden behind the visor of her helmet.
The slums never slept, not really—just dozed in fits and starts. Even now, as the first weak rays of sunlight tried to pierce the smog, the alleys teemed with life. Stalls clattered open, the scent of frying synthies wafting up, mingling with the stench of uncollected trash. Hawkers shouted the day's bargains, their voices raw. Kids darted between the stalls, chasing each other with sticks or stones, laughing shrilly. And the Skimmers, the thieves, the hard-luck cases—they all spun their wheels, trapped in the grind.
Axion's helmet cycled through filters, the HUD displaying various visual ranges and data from heat signatures to sound profiles. Edith had given her a rundown on most of the functions, but there were still a few things she hadn't figured out.
She didn't really need the tech, not with the rooftop wisdom and keen senses she'd picked up over years in the slums, but she liked playing around with the fancy toys anyway.
Swinging her legs, Axion crouched low, coiling up her body before launching skyward, her gravity field reducing her weight to feather-light. She soared in the air. The world inverted as she flew over the streets below. As she crested the apex of her jump, she deactivated the field and fell, plummeting rapidly to the ground.
In the split second before impact, she activated her power again, canceling her downward acceleration and landing in a crouch atop a dumpster in the alley. Her boots slipped, and she tumbled gracelessly over the edge, landing flat on her back with a heavy thud.
"Ow," she grunted, blinking dizzily.
She stared up at the sky, watching as birds flew in a formation, chirping and shrieking. She raised her hand, weakly, and waggled her fingers, mimicking their flight path. "Flying sucks," she mumbled, closing her eyes and sighing heavily. "Better stick to the ground..."
Axion sat up slowly, rubbing her sore butt. She climbed to her feet and brushed herself off, embarrassed at her clumsy display. She didn't normally screw up landings like that. What had happened? The wind must have caught her, or something. Yeah, that was it. The wind. That had to be it. She shook her head, clearing the cobwebs. Focus, Fii—I mean Axion.
She leapt over the fence behind her and continued running through the winding streets and alleys. The crowds parted like waves around her as she cut through the slums, weaving around pedestrians and scrambling carts. She turned sharply, leaping over a small creek, and scrambled up a stack of boxes piled against a brick wall. From there, she launched herself to the rooftops again, using her power to keep herself airborne for as long as possible.
From high above, the slums were a blurry kaleidoscope of color and motion. The towering skyscrapers of the metropolis loomed in the distance, casting a perpetual shadow over the slums.
To the west, the mountains and cliffs stretched towards the horizon, their peaks disappearing into the haze. To the east and south, the desert sprawled for kilometers, a vast expanse of barren rock and sand. To the north, stood the Wall: A massive barrier separating the slums from the metropolis.
Taller than most buildings and constructed from solid concrete and steel, the Wall served as both a physical barrier and a symbolic line in the sand: One side, luxury, prosperity; the other, poverty, chaos.
Most slum dwellers avoided the Wall, not wanting to draw attention to themselves. If they were caught near the border, they'd be arrested and probably beaten for good measure. Of course, that didn't stop everyone. There were those brave (or foolish) enough to venture close, either for work, trade, or whatever else they needed that they couldn't get elsewhere. And sometimes, those people never came back.
Axion landed on another rooftop, tucking into a roll as she skidded to a halt. She rose to her feet and glanced around, her gaze sweeping the area. She spotted a handful of vagrants huddled around a trash bin, warming themselves by the flames. Several children chased one another, tossing rocks and sticks at stray animals.
A shout rose above the din, drawing Axion's attention to a street vendor corned by a pair of thugs. She zeroed in, the optics in her mask zooming in on the altercation. The hawker was an elderly woman, barely more than skin and bones, her wrinkled face and stooped back speaking of a hard life in the slums. In her shaky hands, she clutched a battered, wooden box filled with shriveled apples, bruised and blemished, yet still precious in these parts.
One of the thugs, a man with a buzz cut and crooked nose, snatched an apple from the stand and took an exaggerated bite from the fruit. He grinned maliciously, showing off his missing teeth. "Not the freshest catch, eh, Momo? I've eaten moldier stuff."
The man's partner, a woman with a scar stretching from the bridge of her nose to her temple, sneered. "Not sure why we even bother feeding such scraps to the dogs."
Buzz Cut tossed the core of the apple aside and reached for the wooden container.
Without thinking, Axion dove from her perch, the gravity field cocooning her body slowing her descent as she plummeted between the two thugs, kicking up a cloud of dust as she landed in front of the old hawker.
"Leave her alone," Axion ordered, staring at the thugs coldly. She placed a protective arm between the old lady and the other two.
Momo's eyes widened in recognition, and she raised an eyebrow. "Well, if it isn't the lil' hero herself. Fancy meetin' ya out here, kid." She chuckled, leaning against her companion. "Don't remember axin' for protection, though."
"Consider it a courtesy call, then." Axion held the woman's gaze, unflinching. "Pay for the apple and back off, or I'll make you."
The thugs laughed heartily, Buzz Cut wiping tears from his eyes as he chortled. "Lookit the spunk on this one, Momo." He slapped his thigh, guffawing. "Make me? Well, why don'tcha?" He challenged, puffing his chest out proudly.
"Fine," Axion answered calmly. She walked towards the duo, stopping a step between them. "But you asked for it."
In the blink of an eye, Axion manipulated the gravity around her body, directing them towards the thugs. She increased the gravitational force surrounding the two, amplifying its intensity fivefold.
Like a marionette with its strings cut, both thugs collapsed to the ground, their bodies pressed tightly against the cement. They struggled feebly, their limbs pinned to the ground, unable to move. They gasped and sputtered, their faces contorted with panic.
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She crouched beside them, gazing down at their distorted faces.
"Now, I'm gonna give you one chance to do the right thing," Axion warned, her tone hard. "You're going to pay for your ate, and then you're going to leave before I get any more annoyed."
She straightened, adjusting her stance. "And if you ever come near this nice lady again, you won't get off so easy. Understand?"
The thugs nodded frantically, their eyes bulging in their sockets. "Yes, ma'am! We'll do whatever you say, ma'am!" Buzz Cut whimpered, his voice barely audible. "Please, please, just let us go!"
Axion released the gravitational hold she'd established and the two thugs clambered unsteadily to their feet. They fumbled to produce Tinks from their pockets, dumping a small pile of coins in the dirt at her feet. Their hands trembled violently as they snatched up their hats and hurriedly scurried away.
The old hawker stared at Axion with awe, clutching her box of fruits tightly.
Axion bent down and retrieved the pile of coins, dusting them off and depositing them in the woman's hand. "Keep the change, ma'am. You earned it."
With that, she dashed away, leaping over the rooftops, leaving the old hawker speechless and bewildered.
Just in case the duo decided to cause any trouble for the woman, Axion swung back around and followed them from above, keeping them within earshot as they rushed through the maze of streets. They exchanged fearful glances with each other as they fled, whispering under their breaths.
Her helmet's audio filters enhanced their voices, enabling her to pick up what they were saying.
"Damn, did you see her eyes, Momo? She was glowing!"
"That chick had freaky-ass powers, man. Reminds me of those Supers..."
"Did you hear her, though? Talkin' tough and all, acting like she owned this place."
"We're lucky to be alive, dude! Let's just keep quiet for a bit, okay? We gotta lay low, man, otherwise she'll hunt us down."
"Fuck! Didn't think she was actually a real Super..."
Their words trailed off as the pair vanished out of her sightline, swallowed up by the crowd.
Axion halted on top of a crumbling roof and smiled, satisfied that they'd learned their lesson. She leaned back, stretching lazily.
Except for the failed landing earlier, today was already shaping up to be a good day: she'd helped out someone in need, scared off a couple of crooks, and most importantly, she'd made a difference. It might seem insignificant, but in the slums, every little act mattered.
With a spring in her step, Axion leaped to another building and resumed her patrol, scanning the streets below. She stayed high, jumping between buildings to avoid unnecessary interactions with the locals. She didn't mind chatting or hanging out with folks, but today, she wanted to be on the move.
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Overhead, the sun had risen to its zenith, its pale light filtered through the veil of smog and haze. The temperature was rising steadily, and the humidity clung to the air, making everything sticky and uncomfortable.
Even though the fabric of her bodysuit was designed to be breathable and insulating, it still stuck to her skin, damp with sweat. She paused on a rooftop, fanning herself.
Like that did anything. I wish I had something to drink, at least. All this patrolling is making me thirsty...
She continued on, jumping over the gap between a pair of crumbling apartments and landing gracefully on a rusty fire escape. She hopped down the stairs, balancing on the railing, before hopping to the ground. She ambled across the narrow alley, navigating the piles of trash and debris.
A ball bounced off a wall, rolling to a stop at Axion's feet. She picked it up, the rubber worn and dirty, the stitching loose and frayed. Children peered from behind a rusted dumpster, eyeing the ball. She gave them a little wave, and a child with a tattered cap ran over and snatched the ball from her hands. The others quickly scampered away.
She watched them go, smiling sadly. "Bye."
As Axion made her way through the neighborhood, a scuffle broke out across the street: a pair of drunks brawling, swaying unsteadily, fists flying, spittle flying, shouts echoing down the alleyway. One landed a solid punch, knocking the other off his feet. The winner staggered off, humming happily, while the loser groaned and curled into a ball, clutching his jaw.
Fights like those happened all the time in the slums, even when people weren't drunk. Some fights were justified; some were stupid; and some were just for fun. It probably wasn't something she should intervene in, especially since there was no clear-cut good guy or bad guy. Sometimes, in the slums, the best policy was to let sleeping dogs lie.
If they escalated, and it looked like someone was going to die, though, would she be able to turn a blind eye? Probably not, and that was a problem. Her job as Axion wasn't to settle disputes or quell unrest, not directly anyway. It was to help those in need and to provide hope. Yet, there was only so much she could do, and eventually, she had to walk away. That fact frustrated her.
Maybe one day she'd have the power and influence to make a real change, but for now, she could only do the best with what she had.
The day wore on, and Axion continued her patrol, helping out wherever she could. She lifted a crate of goods from a struggling stall, carrying it to the vendor's cart. She fetched a runaway goat, returning it to its owner, and she assisted in pulling a woman's cart out of the mud, earning herself a grateful smile and a piece of candy. She helped a young boy find his lost dog, carrying him on her shoulders while she searched for the animal.
There were smaller things too—things that might not seem important but that added up, small gestures that meant the world to the people she aided. A shared joke, a friendly word, a comforting gesture—the smallest kindnesses often meant the most.
Eventually, the sun began to set, its rays peeking over the horizon, the smog painted blood-red, bathing the slums in a hellish light. By now, the streets were empty, and the shops and stands were shuttered. Only the stray cats and dogs wandered aimlessly, foraging for food in the trash.
As nightfall approached, the vibe in the slums changed.
Gangs were active during the day, but at night, they tended to amp up their operations. There was more noise, more violence, and more danger.
A different kind of crowd roamed the streets at night in the slums, with their own unique tastes and habits. These people were drawn to the neon lights and the raucous energy of the slums—a haven for those who wanted to lose themselves in the chaos. They reveled in the opportunity to shed their inhibitions and let loose, to get wild and crazy and reckless.
In the Neon Alley, the neon signs shone brightly, illuminating the street with a surreal glow. Here, the nightlife thrived, the hustle and bustle of the daytime replaced with the decadence of the night.
Vendors sold exotic drinks and drugs, plying their wares to those seeking a good time. Customers spilled out of clubs and bars, dancing and gyrating on the sidewalk, their bodies writhing in a state of ecstasy. Street performers, acrobats, and entertainers plying their craft, sought to earn a few extra Tinks from the crowd.
Nearby, the Neon Night Market operated in full swing, with stalls selling everything from knockoff designer clothing to counterfeit tech and accessories.
People shouted, danced, and ran around, all under the cover of darkness and neon lights. The night was theirs, and they were determined to make the most of it.
She had only gone to the Neon Alley and Night Market a handful of times as an acrobat to earn some Tinks on days when she didn't get any odd jobs, and usually, she worked alongside a crew that included kids her age. She loved seeing all the sights, sounds, smells, and colors, but the nighttime energy always made her nervous.
That's because the nightlife brought out the worst in the slums, as well as the best. And being out alone made her vulnerable.
As she glanced around the crowded street, she saw a few gangs prowling, surveying the crowd with predatory intent. Pimps and traffickers also eyed the unwary, hoping to find their next victims. Druggies and junkies huddled together, exchanging ChitCreds and goods, looking to score their next fix.
And of course, the usual pickpockets and Skimmers moved freely among the throng, preying on the unsuspecting and the intoxicated. They worked in pairs or small groups, looking to take advantage of anyone who appeared out of place or unguarded.
Axion scanned the crowd, her visor flashing through multiple vision modes as she surveyed the scene.
While the daytime patrols were satisfying, night patrols always felt more tense and unpredictable.
She wasn't on the lookout to help folks or solve problems. She was on the hunt.