Futuristic No Cure for The Wicked

[thespectacularstorm]

Nine a.m. was the bleakest time of the day. The sun should be shining in the early morning waking citizens from their slumber but instead, it was blocked from the polluted clouds of smoke that mixed with the fluffy white ones. Down in the lower level, under the city in the clouds, things weren't so bright and happy from sunrise to sunset. The whole area was like a plague or a mess shoved under a rug to be forgotten and ignored by their superiors. Police patrolled the streets with their watchful eye and advanced technology ensuring the Queen's law was enforced. They had a given name but the people below called them something different because of those masks they wore. Most call them Strangers, murderers, sellouts since they don't belong in the lower level and aren't accepted in the upper city of Aviamoor. They've chosen an extra bit of luxury over friends and family, sold their soul to the Queen to not even hold a place in her court. Everyday people got sick and died in the street, starved to death while scrounging for food, froze during the colder months with no shelter while the Guard does nothing to help. Who does the guard protect if not the people they watch over? Down here, their greatest enemy was exposure.

That's why a young doctor by the name of Petrov chose to open her clinic even with the known difficulties. This place was a safe space for anyone who needed comfort and security. She'll feed the hungry if they come knocking, cure the unhealthy, and give shelter to the homeless when she can. Golden Times, as it was affectionately named, was as much hers as it was the community's and she wanted everyone to know that. The good doctor was seen as a little ray of hope in their bleak community because she always tried to see the brighter side of things. She never even asked for much in return for her services, mostly a bit of money or contribution to the clinic or simply that they'll stay out of trouble or help others. It was never for the money or the reputation even though she wanted to leave this place as much as anyone else. There was a rumor that floated around down here that some people had escaped this life to live in the upper city. Since she was a child Mischa believed that to be true.

Like any other morning, Mischa opened her clinic promptly at nine, unlocking the door and opening the shutters for the windows. Her assistant usually came in early as well but she was never a stickler for what time he should come in. He was free to come and go as he pleased. There wasn't anyone that spent the night so for the first time in a few days she was entirely alone this morning. She was already dressed for the day in a pair of gray jeans and a blue pullover sweater so she decided to make a light snack in her spare time. The blonde fired up her coffee pot and put a piece of toast in the toaster for a simple breakfast. Within a few moments, it was finished and poured out a full cup of fresh coffee for her. The tech and appliances weren't as good as the upper level but at least she had a good coffee maker. Mischa leaned against the counter as she stirred some sugar into the drink when a few children ran in through the front door.

"Miss Mimi Miss Mimi!"

"Can we have some food?"

"Pretty please! We wanna have breakfast with you." The children looked up at her with doe eyes and bright smiles, something she could never say no to.

"Alright I suppose," Mischa patted the one boy's head as she gave them all a big smile. "Go sit at the table I'll make something." She pointed to the little table in the corner of the living room with four chairs, enough for the three children and herself. The woman didn't plan on making a full breakfast but there was no way she was turning down a group of hungry children. She turned on the stove, cracked open a few eggs, and started making the scrambled breakfast before starting another few pieces of toast. She added in some seasonings and fresh peppers so they got enough nutrients for a healthy breakfast. Soon, there was a bowl of eggs and toast ready for them to devour with glasses of water. They all took their plates and loaded them up with food before they began eating. The little group started laughing and talking about what they've done recently with each other. Mischa even shared a few of her own stories that they asked about. It was a good time and something she cherished most was putting a smile on other's faces.

Ronan

 

[Ronan]

Jassem was a skittish man who kept his bag close. He would take a different route to work every day, anxious about those who may recognise him and even more anxious about the Strangers.

A fitting name, too, the Strangers wore all black, hid their faces, and spoke the same. They've been called Strangers since before Jassem was born. Jassem would leave his home every morning, a place with two rooms that housed seven people: his mother, his father, his grandmother, now widowed sixteen years, and his siblings. One room was a bedroom with three mattresses they all piled on at night, and the other room was a living room and kitchen in one. It was a tight space for a large family, but to Jassem, it was home. The apartment had been part of his family for generations, too. They were too poor to leave and not wealthy enough to find a bigger space.

Jassem would leave by the front door in the morning and nervously glance both ways down the streets. Today, he went left, down the sewer flooded Elmadag street. It smelled of piss and the water got into Jassem's shoes, but he was moving quickly. At the end of Elmadag just before the more populated Grand Rue De Pera there was a thick man getting into a brawl with another equally thick man. What they were brawling about, Jassem had no idea, but either Strangers would find this and shoot them or sit back and watch the revelry, seeing who kills each other.

That was another thing about the Strangers, they were aloof from the underworld of Aviamoor. They act independently of them. They chose when to intervene, when to watch, when to save, and when to kill. There was no pattern to their behaviour. The innocent family could be gunned down today and no one would know why. The roving gangs of the underworld would be left alone, and likewise, no one knows why. There was no method to the Strangers.

Jassem quickly skirted past the brawl, his faux leather shoes squeaking from the water as he turned onto Grand Rue De Pera, the Paris of the East, it translates, with his bag still held close and his shadow large against the dimmed, neon-coloured tech buildings. He travelled like this for half hour until he reached the familiar clinic with its shutters now open. Jassem could see light coming from underneath the doorway.

Without waiting, he opened the front door and rushed inside, breathless, but that was every morning. Jassem always ran to Golden Times, afraid of being discovered, but pushing through nonetheless. He believed he was doing God's work.

'No Strangers,' he said, sliding his cross-body bag off his shoulder and depositing it on one of the tables. Very quickly, he noticed several children all devouring food behind Ms. Petrov. This irritated him. 'Ms. Petrov, you can't, cannot, in good conscious keep giving away food like this! We barely have enough for anaesthesia!' He marched over to the table and grabbed one of the plates full half-eaten eggs and held it up into the air, away from the reach of the children. 'And next week we won't be able to afford electricity!'

 

[thespectacularstorm]

Mischa sat mostly quiet just listening to the children speak to her. It was almost like having her own little family with the local children who would run into her shop. All of her own family was already gone but through spending time with her patients it felt as if she created a new one, that's what she hoped at least. Contrary to how she seemed, the blonde was rather lonely. Her thoughts strayed to the last time she had a real family. Of course, there was her assistant whom she cared for most of all but he had his own life and family to attend to. The last time she felt the love and compassion of a family was when she was a little girl before her parents' death.

The sound of a door opening and closing just as swiftly broke her from the trance she sank into. The blonde stood up, peeking her head out the doorway to see who had entered. Her wonderful yet frightfully skittish assistant Jassem. They shared a lot in common, their goal and drive, but he was not as much of a kind soul as she was. He was more driven on survival than her and did what was necessary to make sure this place stayed afloat. She appreciated him more than her words could express but she wasn't about to go back on her beliefs. "Jassem.." The blonde watched as he snatched the plate away from the children. "Do you know why I do this? If no one will protect them then I will. If no one will feed and heal them then I will. I'm not going to watch more people die because they can't make it by. There's no one here to help us except for each other. The change has to start somewhere my friend, and you know that's what this place stands for." Her gentle hands came up over his, lowering the plate back down for the children to eat. "Besides, what good is wasting the food if it's already half eaten?" She removed their hands from the plate so the children could continue eating. "Finish your breakfast and run along. I'm sure the others are looking for you," Mischa addressed the children earning nods from the group before pulling Jassem aside.

"Don't say things like that in front of them. If word gets out... and people get scared... They'll lose hope in this place and it won't it work. If I don't have their faith in me then everything we've worked towards will be for nothing. I'll have to call in some favors but I think we'll be alright. I always have a plan old friend, try not to doubt my madness all the time." She reached her hand up to ruffle his hair with a soft smile across her face. He was the logic to her insanity, the method to her madness, and in all honesty, without him, Mischa wouldn't have gotten this far. Doing anything alone down here was near impossible.

 

[Ronan]

Jassem felt the pleading stares of the children, one even reaching for his wrist with doe eyes, and like Mischa, Jassem had a soft heart, and when he felt her hands over his, he relented. The plate lowered. Jassem was crude in his actions, but one to acquiesce all the same.

Mischa was the opposite of him. She had a rebellious spirit, a fire that he could never match. She was always determined. Bold. Brave. The avatar of bravery. Jassem's eyes lowered to one of the children, a dark-skinned girl with two braids in her hair. It suited her, he thought. She looked happy. She would be a brave one, too, like Mischa. But before he could properly apologise to them, the doctor had pulled him to the side.

The two of them were in the kitchen, and there Jassem nervously fiddled with a faux spatula made from the bottom of a fork and a piece of scrap metal tied together with several rubber bands. He listened. He even agreed. Golden Times was a beacon of hope. When they worked, they instilled hope in their people. They were unmatched duo that put everything into Golden Times, but behind the scenes, they argued back and forth about finances. He had faith in Mischa. He always did, but times were tight and things rougher. Now was the time to put his foot down.

‘Do you,‘ he began, ‘Do you remember the last time we called in “favours”?’ He dropped the spatula and moved the window and stuck his fingers between the broken, tea-stained blinds and widened them to look outside, and outside was pouring rain. The streets were dark and empty, save for a drunken man blissfully passed out on the side with a Cheshire cat grin and a bottle of Henry IV in his hand.

‘Last month there were three Strangers here. They stayed for a week.‘ Jassem moved away from the blinds and they snapped back into place. ‘I would look outside to check if they were still there. They always were. In the morning, at night when I left for home. Sometimes it felt as if they were following me, but when I looked back they we—’ Jassem's jaw locked to the side, an unfortunate side-effect of a reconstruction gone wrong. His metal jaw was too big for his face. His family would tell him that he looked like a fish. Jassem quickly forced his jaw down then up and it slid back into place. ‘They weren't there,' he finished. 'The Strangers were there because of your favour. I know it. I don’t know how they know, but I know it.’

He looked back to the living room with all the children happily devouring the food. The sight made him feel warm, but the warmth was tinted with anxiety. ‘Ms. Petrov, please, these favours of yours, where are you getting the money from? Two days ago a Stranger shot a child, no more than four years old because he “bumped” into them on accident, and Ms. Petrov,' he inhaled. 'The favours, the money, it's illegal. I know it is, wherever it is you're getting it from, but those children sitting in your room will be in danger if you do not stop.‘