MercuryAngel
New Member
Neo Metro, over ten thousand miles of sprawling concrete and brick. Chainlink fences, kids on every corner trying to hustle up credits, stray dogs fighting for fish heads behind a noodle bar with no windows and one door. Last week a neon sign started an electrical fire that burnt down a half block of tenement housing- children coughing up black smoke in their beds, waking up from one nightmare into another.
On the east side of the city, the ocean was walled off, as a last ditch effort to keep the radiated tide from washing new horrors onto the shoreline. Out west was The Wall, another last ditch effort, maybe too late, to cut off the radiated midwest. That was ancient history now. It had been over a century since the bombs. There were no more foreign monsters to fear; now the enemy was on every corner. A boy on a stoop with a rusted blade and hungry eyes- that was the new monster.
Above it all, nearly 400 stories in the sky was a man nearly as big as god himself: William Zeign, looking over the balcony, all the way down. The constellations used to be in the sky. Now all the lights were beneath him. He stood straight, with his hands folded behind his back. This city was all he ever knew, and he hated it. William’s father had been a hard scrabble man. His hands were callous and his shoulders broad. He was a slum lord down in Middle Crutch, and that was what he called himself. He wasn’t a landlord, or a property manager, he was a true slum lord. Most of the “property management” types in Middle Crutch used enforcers to collect rent. Alfred Zeign once took a crowbar to a man for being three weeks late. William watched his father work.Then he helped carry the man’s meager possessions down the hall to a trash compactor. He looked down. His pants were flaked with the man’s blood.
That was nearly forty years ago, now. Alfred died kicking down a junky’s door. Blasted in the belly with a shotgun, William still remembered identifying the body. That cold slab. Those frosted, pale eyes. After a few weeks he sold his father’s properties and began construction on his greatest achievement: Victor Gardens- 375 stories, each with nearly a hundred rooms. There were supermarkets, restaurants, theaters, and a private security force of over five thousand... Zeign’s little army. It was what Zeign considersd a good start, but nothing came for free in this city. To build his tower, William had gone to the The Phantoms.
The Phantoms may have started as a street gang like any other. No one knows exactly how they exploded into one of the largest, most dangerous criminal enterprises in Neo Metro, but one thing was for sure: it was a story written in blood.
Now William was planning something so bold, it would either bring the entire city into his pocket, or crush him in its wake. He held out his hand: between his thumb and index finger was a microchip- within that, the power of a god. An explosion rang out in the distance. He squinted at it. “This city is afraid of me...”
On the east side of the city, the ocean was walled off, as a last ditch effort to keep the radiated tide from washing new horrors onto the shoreline. Out west was The Wall, another last ditch effort, maybe too late, to cut off the radiated midwest. That was ancient history now. It had been over a century since the bombs. There were no more foreign monsters to fear; now the enemy was on every corner. A boy on a stoop with a rusted blade and hungry eyes- that was the new monster.
Above it all, nearly 400 stories in the sky was a man nearly as big as god himself: William Zeign, looking over the balcony, all the way down. The constellations used to be in the sky. Now all the lights were beneath him. He stood straight, with his hands folded behind his back. This city was all he ever knew, and he hated it. William’s father had been a hard scrabble man. His hands were callous and his shoulders broad. He was a slum lord down in Middle Crutch, and that was what he called himself. He wasn’t a landlord, or a property manager, he was a true slum lord. Most of the “property management” types in Middle Crutch used enforcers to collect rent. Alfred Zeign once took a crowbar to a man for being three weeks late. William watched his father work.Then he helped carry the man’s meager possessions down the hall to a trash compactor. He looked down. His pants were flaked with the man’s blood.
That was nearly forty years ago, now. Alfred died kicking down a junky’s door. Blasted in the belly with a shotgun, William still remembered identifying the body. That cold slab. Those frosted, pale eyes. After a few weeks he sold his father’s properties and began construction on his greatest achievement: Victor Gardens- 375 stories, each with nearly a hundred rooms. There were supermarkets, restaurants, theaters, and a private security force of over five thousand... Zeign’s little army. It was what Zeign considersd a good start, but nothing came for free in this city. To build his tower, William had gone to the The Phantoms.
The Phantoms may have started as a street gang like any other. No one knows exactly how they exploded into one of the largest, most dangerous criminal enterprises in Neo Metro, but one thing was for sure: it was a story written in blood.
Now William was planning something so bold, it would either bring the entire city into his pocket, or crush him in its wake. He held out his hand: between his thumb and index finger was a microchip- within that, the power of a god. An explosion rang out in the distance. He squinted at it. “This city is afraid of me...”
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