The Madrono City Maximum Security Prison for OverHumans was a blight on the countryside. What once was a shining bright city is a walled-off piece of land with crumbling high-rises and blown-up bridges. First condemned over 40 years ago, it was initially the sister city to Saint Century and was only the second settlement established on the planet before things went to hell. However, ask anyone still alive from that time they’d tell you it was always a hell hole. The rumor mill claimed that certain under world elements were in deep with the Izanami government of the time and financed much of the construction of the settlement. To those that subscribe to the theory, it was little surprise it eventually became a haven for drugs and crime.
However, what sounded the death knell for the city was the explosion in the OverHuman population that it experienced. A drug, dubbed O-Zone on the streets, enabled normal humans to manifest paranormal abilities—provided the drug didn’t kill them outright. It was a gamble, only 1 out of 3 would display abilities, but people were always game to try. Sometimes people were paid to try it; others were forced. In the end, it led to an abnormal influx of these people roaming the streets, resulting in an endless gang war. The final straw came when a member of the previous parliament was assassinated while making a campaign stop.
In the run-up to that, MAD City—as it became colloquially known—was already on thin ice with most of the planet. O-Zone escaped from there and landed on the other settlements' doorsteps, and OverHumans started emerging in their populations. This politician tried to preach reform for the city and didn’t want it seen as a scape goat.
But after the assassination, it became exactly that.
A massive search to find the perpetrator or perpetrators directly led to the city’s downfall. First, the city fell under marshal law. Eventually, OHs within city limits get designated as enemies of the state. In the end, authorities never found the ones responsible, but the marshal law remained in place.
Deemed too far gone, access to the city was prohibited. Roads destroyed, bridges blown up; Madrono City was transformed into the first OverHuman prison and has served as such ever since. Within the walls, the population can roam freely and live as they wish; minimal amounts of power are funneled into the city to serve these ends. Prisoners caught attempting to leave were executed on sight. There are rumors that normal humans are trapped there, but no one reasonably believes it. However one man knows for sure there is one normal trapped in there, and he finally has a solid lead on his whereabouts.
Colonel Parker arrived just outside city limits a little over a week ago, tasked with finding Wes Gibson. Usually, he ran the armed services of the ICG. The buck typically stopped with him from the police force to space command. He hadn’t been in the field for years at this point—maybe a decade—typically, he’d scoff at a job like this. But it was phrased as a personal favor, and you didn't refuse it when something like that came from a board member. Although you better believe he asked if he could send someone, the board member insisted that he went himself. Because the fewer who knew about this, the better.
The Mad City prison, in the decades since opening, had developed a reputation. For all its security, some individuals excelled at getting things in and out of there. The people inside absolutely could not do well with whatever rations the ICG dropped inside, especially since the factions that controlled different districts in the city always found the cache first and hoarded it from whoever was under their thumb. External supplies were essential for the poor lot stuck at ground zero. Contraband for just one example; food and clothes were another.
There have been conflicting stories about the people inside. Whether or not the OHs imprisoned are allowed to use their powers as they see fit inside the walls. Parker himself always dismissed those. For one, he 100% knew all incoming prisoners get injected with nanite inhibitors that suppress all extra-normal abilities. And two, such a status quo would be impossible to manage.
A city filled with active OHs could easily storm the walls and escape. They’d quickly be the most powerful faction on the planet. Easily. Now, are there “grandfathered” OHs? Those who were already within the city before the walls went up and the city shut down? Without a doubt, but not enough to be a problem. At this point, most likely, they were all dead. Those still around, no doubt, lead the various factions and probably enjoyed having their little fiefdom. Also of little doubt was the fact that these leaders likely worked with members of the ICG to keep things as they were.
Those connections have brought Parker here. He found someone who knew someone who could put him in touch with a smuggler, someone to point him to that singular needle in the haystack. And they were late. Getting into the city was surprisingly easy. Over by the southern tip, there was a large drainpipe.
At first glance, the pipe looked barred and sealed shut. Because of that, security was lax on that part of the wall. Yes, some guards changed shifts every 6 hours, but there were no towers, spotlights, or even a garrison to facilitate faster shift changes. If they were more diligent, they’d have noticed that the sealing was fake, a hologram. Of course, it wasn’t surprising they were lax at this point. Being in service for such a long time would inevitably lead to cuts across the board. It was a tried and tested means of increasing profit in a quarter.
Smugglers within Mad City are typically known as runners and coyotes, depending on which faction they align with. This one preferred the term runner but which faction they were from was purely a mystery. Indeed, the number of factions operating in the city at any time was a riddle in and of itself. Reports from moles on the ground were often incomplete or contradictory. Most higher-ups believe that anywhere from 4-6 different groups were operating simultaneously. Parker didn’t bother asking what group the contact was with, as that didn’t matter. He just wanted access and the information.
The contact met them just outside the drain pipe as the shifts changed. It was a scrawny-looking kid, which surprised Parker as he at least expected someone old enough to shave. His hair was short, black, and ratty, unkempt like he hadn’t showered in days or weeks. There was no way to tell via the smell test because the pipe reeked to high heaven. It may be in disuse, but some smells didn’t just disappear and mostly got worse with time. With no pleasantries exchanged, the kid just held out a slate to facilitate the credit transfer. Parker pressed his palm onto it, confident that the synthetic fingertips he wore were enough to mask his identity. The slate chimed upon completion of the credit transfer, and the kid motioned for him to follow.
The trek through the long tunnel was mainly uneventful and shrouded in darkness. The only light emanated from the kid's thin flashlight that illuminated the path before them and little else. A bright light at the end appeared suddenly and grew larger with each passing minute. Once they broke clear of this and stepped into the city proper, Parker felt his jaw drop.
He’d seen pictures and watched a lot of grainy footage, but it didn’t prepare him for this. The streets looked like an atomic bomb had hit them ages ago and only just recently has nature decided to creep in and do some decorating. Rusted-out grav vehicles littered the streets, permanently grounded. Some were stacked on top of each other as if to tidy up the roads. Other stacks were the results of crashes due to the sudden shut down of the city. Some buildings were hollowed-out husks, their previous signage hanging as if they were a tease of what could have been had things never gotten so bad. Trash, debris, and other detritus glided across the surface streets like long-time residents.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
The kid led him down the street and passed more hollowed-out buildings. Parker caught a glimpse of two dogs circling each other down an alley way surrounded by a small group of people watching them, probably 5 or 6 of them if he had to guess. They were cheering the dogs on, encouraging them to maul one another. Parker loathed animal cruelty but knew better than to get involved in this. He was also utterly not surprised by it. Humanity always defaulted to savagery when it came to entertainment, especially when faced with little else as an alternative. He suspected human-on-human fights set up as well because why not.
At the end of the street was a two-story building, a mostly intact apartment. It had a set of stone steps that led up to a singular door that appeared rusted shut. However, the kid pushed it open quickly and held it open for him to follow. The vestibule was shrouded in darkness, but it was daylight enough outside not to make it impossible to see. Straight ahead was a hallway cut off by a collapsed wall with junk and garbage stacked in front of it. To the left of this and traveling upward and parallel was a flight of stairs that the kid had already started climbing; Parker followed.
They reached the landing, and on this floor was a hallway. Down that hallway were three sets of doors, presumably to 3 different apartments. Two of the doors word barricaded by wood planks, but after what he’d seen so far, Parker wondered if there was more than meets the eye to them as well. The kid led him past those two doors to the last one, which had a sizeable jagged hole at the bottom, as if somebody kicked it in, but was otherwise intact. The kid opened the door and motioned Parker inside; he obliged.
It was essentially a studio apartment, one large spacious living quarter with a simple counter as a kitchen boundary. The kitchen is completely gutted, with attachments that connected appliances to the wall hanging there uselessly and corroded. The prisoners had likely stripped everything for parts. In the center of the main room was a ratty forest green couch that had stuffing spilled out of various tears and rips in the fabric. Parker glanced around to make sure he didn’t miss anything.
Finally, he said, “The target isn’t here.”
“No. You wait here for man,” the kid responded. “He take you at night.”
“That wasn’t the deal,” Parker spat back. The kid flinched momentarily but ultimately remained non-plussed.
“Is what was told,” he offered with barely a shrug. Parker was cheesed off something fierce, but he was basically at a disadvantage at the moment. This city was their turf, and he had to play by their rules. Besides, what was he going to do? Throttle the kid?
Tempting.
The kid wandered to a corner near the main door and slumped against it, already losing interest in the conversation. He pulled his slate back out and started swiping at it while the temptation played around in Parker’s thoughts. Ultimately it was too weak, so he sat on the sofa and played the waiting game.
It didn’t take long for day 1 to become night 1, and the difference was quite striking to Parker. The complete pitch blackness heralding the night was disturbing, with very little power pumped into the city. There’s always been a small part of him that found the idea behind this city becoming a prison distasteful. His feeling on OHs, which was negative, paled in comparison to the amount of suffering such a thing would and did cause. Now it was back in the forefront of his mind. After all, the critical aspect of an OH was the word human.
Parker is roused from his thoughts by three loud knocks on the door. Silence trailed behind shortly, followed by another three knocks. The noise brought the kid up, and he walked to the door. He opened it a crack and peered around it before opening it further, satisfied.
A woman walked in. She was Asian and of a slight frame. Her black hair was cut short at a step above peach fuzz, and she wore black jeans, a white tee, and a beat-up leather jacket missing patches of material. Softly, she touched the kid on his head, and as if it were a signal, the boy left the room. Parker had already gotten up and stood in the middle of the room while the woman seemed to size him up.
“You’re alone?” He said to break the silence.
She was chewing on a toothpick and removed it from her mouth before she spoke, “I’ll take you to him.”
Parker wanted to shout, to scream, but this was their show, and he’d play; as long as he got what he came for. Instead, he sighed loudly and said: “Then come on.”
She led them out of the room, down the stairs again, and back onto the street. The woman held a hand up and indicated that he stopped while she listened. Seemingly satisfied, she walked on again. Parker followed close behind, eyes fitfully darting back and forth. So many shadows appeared and disappeared in the darkness that it was tough not to be paranoid. And to make matters worse, the streets suddenly became even more bombed-out in the dark. The woman, in comparison, was very carefree.
“Make this trip a lot, do you?” He asked. And when she didn’t answer: “Not much of a talker?”
“Does it matter?” She replied. “You didn’t even ask my name. I’m not interested in chatting for your nerves' sake.”
Parker stayed quiet, as that was fair enough. The two walked along in further silence until the row of hollowed-out buildings gave way to a boxy warehouse. A pair of torches illuminated the nearby entrance while a giant of a man stood guard just beyond. The guard tensed up as they approached but considerably softened once he recognized the woman.
“Is that the guy, Emi?” the giant asked. She nodded, and he stepped aside to let her by. As he walked by, the giant side-eyed Parker. It took a lot of self-control not to mean mug him back. Inside was like walking into an alternate dimension. It was immaculate. Rows of large ration crates lined the floors, stacked four high. Emi led parker down one of the makeshift aisles, and Parker couldn’t help but gaze up at the bins as they passed. This mass of containers had to be a decade worth of supply drops, and it was all here, presumably under the control of one single faction. Parker spotted two more armed guards in the rafters, no doubt keeping a close watch on them both.
Once they reached the end of the row, Emi stepped aside to let Parker pass her. Once free from the aisle, Parker could see a mostly blank wall and a man scribbling all over it. This man, surrounded by already open crates, mumbled under his breath as he drew. Parker ignored it to get a better understanding of what he was seeing. The containers looked like someone had picked at them haphazardly. They were mostly empty, with their contents scattered all over the floor, contrasting with how nice everything looked when they first walked in. The man didn’t notice the two had entered his sphere of influence and continued to paint on the walls. They looked like symbols, though Parker could not understand the providence. It was lines and lines of shapes and symbols that continued repeating. Some were approximations of things he’d seen before, squares, triangles, crosses, and the like; the rest was gibberish.
“Is this him…?” He started to ask.
Emi nodded behind him before she added: “At first, we thought it’d be beneficial to have someone of his pedigree in the fold, but…,” she shrugged.
“What’s wrong with him?”
“Who the hell knows?” She replied. “Look, you’re not trying to re-neg, are you? You asked for him, and I delivered. You never said anything about the condition.”
Parker ignored that, “How long has he been like this?”
“Since he got here or damned near close to it,” she said. “When I first met him, he was pretty normal, too normal to be useful actually, but then he started getting obsessed with…this.” She indicated the writings on the wall with her hands. “Pretty sure boss kept watch on him ‘cuz he figured someone like you would eventually come knocking.”
Parker absent-mindedly nodded and took a step closer toward the man who was still busily scratching away at the wall. “Wes Gibson…?” The words forced the man to freeze and glance back. His eyes were bloodshot, and the bags under them were pronounced like a pair of deep bruises. His beard was also thick, unkempt, and littered with small patches of grey; he was practically unrecognizable.
“Your corporation needs you, son.”