Cybecity is city founded over three hundred years ago right after the Great Cataclysm. During those times, mutated beasts roamed a huge percentage of the earth and added with all the radiation from the previous war, many lands were inhabitable by the humans.
During this time the first founder of the city, had found a huge land mass located in the middle of the ocean during his expedition in search for a better place to live. The land are filled with abundant resources, filled with rare minerals and lucious trees.
Generations passed and today the city became a Mecca of technology and scientific advancement.
"Cybercity, your utopian dream."
"The mecca of technological advancements."
"The Malaka of the west."
"The better USA."
There is only one word can be used to describe this city.
Futuristic.
Even the cars are hovering through the road, adorned with bright neon decoration. Holographic screen manifest in the air from time to time, showing adds of various products. Heroes littered the streets, protecting the innocent and the civilians.
The taxi drive through the streets of Cybercity, passing by various floating boards and holographic screens.
"Sir, are you sure-"
"I'll pay double." Elijah answers sternly.
The taxi driver can only gulped. His face paling with every seconds they neared Undercity.
Half an hour later, the taxi driver arrived.
Karen stepped out of taxi. The moment he did so, the taxi driver hit the pedal and drives off to the distance at a blinding speed.
"It seems the Undercity lives up to it's name." Elijah calmly said as he looks up to rows of buildings before him.
The Undercity is a part of Cybercity. The name Undercity is just a title given by the people on the internet. At least people who cares to ignores all the propaganda about this city.
Rows upon rows of rundown buildings, each looks like they will crumble at any moment. The walls had cracks. Some buildings even have vines crawling through it's pillars and some windows doesn't even have any glasses on.
The man glance to his back.
While Undercity looks like city that is about to be demolished, the rest of Cybercity is of the complete opposite.
Rows upon rows of signboards, futuristic building designs adorned with neon lights and posters of heroes.
It is hard to believe this but these two parts of the city are divided by just a simple road and funnily enough, both are parts of Cybercity.
Just across the road is an utopia, and on the other side is a dystopia.
Elijah unfastened his neck tie, walking into Undercity. The necktie slither down easily. He drops it to the ground.
In the silent street littered with used plastics, candy wraps and plastic bags, the only sound that can be heard is the sound of wind howling and his footsteps.
The man threw his messenger bag into the air as he walks through the silent street
In the next moment, his suit slides right off his shoulders and slung over his arm. He reached out, catching the messenger bag before it can hit the ground.
His other hand reached up, unbuttoning his shirt.
Elijah's eyes glanced to the side.
He walks right into an alleyway, his figure vanishing into the darkness.
Stepping out of the alleyway, is a youth in his mid teen. His long white hair reached down to his neck, a pair of red pupils, framed by his beautifully carved long eyelashes. On his face, a black facemask adorned the lower part of his face, highlighting his fair skin and red eyes even more.
He wore a black shirt underneath a white windbreaker paired with a black pants.
Karen slung the messenger bag over his shoulder. Unzipping the bag, he stuffed the white shirt and the black suitn into the black messenger bag.
As he walks, Karen's footsteps halted.
His gaze landed on the figure leaning against the street light.
A man wearing a black trench coat. Underneath, he wears a black button up shirt that clungs tightly to his body, revealing his lean figure. A slim black slack paired with a dark belt with green buckle and dark leather gloves adorned his hands.
The man looks up, meeting the youth's gaze.
A pair of mismatching eyes met his gaze. Purple on right and green on left. A sly smile adorned his face as he plays with the deck in his hands.
"A new face?" The man greeted, tipping his hat, "How rare."
"Need a guide to any place around town?"
Karen's eyebrows furrowed. His grips around his bag tightens.
Noticing his reaction, the man raised both of his hands.
"No need to worry. I was just afraid you were lost," the man smiles apologetically, "It's just rare to see a new face around considering well you know. This is the bad part of the city."
"Who are you?" Karen narrowed his eyes.
He can't help but thought that the man somehow looks familiar.
The cards in the man's hands move from one hand to another.
One card in particular move elegantly through his knuckles while he moves the other cards.
The card was inserted into the other cards and the man pressed the deck against his palm together.
Hearing his question, the man chuckled.
He opens his palm, revealing a single joker card. The edges of the card glows in a dark green colour, highlighting the image of the smiling joker. With a flick of his wrist, the card is instantly replaced with a business card.
A dark purple card with green edges.
"Nicardol Flamios, a rather well known info broker in this part of the city." The man smiled, offering the business card to him.
"Not interested." Karen walked passed the man. However he still grabbed the card from the man's hand, "But your service in the future will be interesting enough hopefully."
Karen wave the card behind him mockingly.
Suddenly, the card lit up in violet colour.
A purple smoke enveloped Karen's entire figure.
"I hope we can meet again in the future, Mr. Brandon." Nicardol smiled as he watches Karen's figure vanish into the smoke or purple.
Karen blinks his eyes as the smoke dissipate.
He now stood inside of bar. A simple bar with a simple yet warm decoration.
His entire body reacted. Eyes flickering red, hands reaching down to the gun hidden beneath his windbreaker, legs springing into a fighting stance.
Karen scans the room, taking everything in his sight
A middle aged bartender can be seen cleaning the glasses, not even bothering to notice his presence.
A laughter resounded.
Karen turns to see a red haired youngster laughing his ass off while sitting on one of the booths in the bar.
It seems the youngster had seen his reaction and amused by it.
The landline phone rang.
The middle aged bartender picked up the call.
He shifted his gaze to the youth.
"Nicardol called, he said that was a gift for accepting his business card." The bartender said putting the phone.
Karen finally calmed down.
He looks at the business card, "That is quite an interesting Aspect."
Aspect, a mutation that mankind had started developing after the event of the Great Mutation thanks to the radiation that covered majority of earth from the event of the Great Cataclysm.
Ever since then, government funded hero academies have been founded all over the world. The sole purpose of hero academies are only one thing.
Training the next generation of heroes.
With more hero academies popping out here and there, heroes have became a part of society.
Heroism has become an ideal that is integrated into the mind of almost every kids.
As hero academies flourished, so did the idea of heroism. It became more than a duty — it became a brand, a lifestyle, a dream for millions of children born into the mutated world. Schools began to encourage early Aspect testing. Merchandise flooded the market. Heroes starred in movies, reality shows, and global campaigns.
The world adapted. Heroism was no longer just about protecting the weak — it was a career path, an identity, and a cultural pillar.
A pillar of society.
"Your reaction was quite hilarious." The middle aged bartender can't help but commented, "then again you've just been teleported to god knows where."
"Well I suppose this is Saranjana Bar am I right?" Karen walks up to the bar, placing his messenger bag to a nearby stool.
The bartender stopped what he was doing. He stare at Karen, narrowing his eyes.
The youngster who had been watching the scene from the sideline turns serious.
Karen acts like he did not notice the reaction of the two. He sat down.
"Wak Tolak, my old man told me a lot about you."
"And your old man is-,"
"Moon Brandon. I'm his son, Karen Brandon." Karen slids in his id as a proof.
Silence.
And then a chuckle
A chuckle that soon turns to a full blown laughter.
Wak Tolak laughed, smashing his palm on the bar.
The youngster stood, his mouth agaped wide enough to fit an entire basketball.
"Moon Brandon? You're Moon's kid? That damn monk got a kid?"
Wak Tolak let out a laugh so loud it echoed off the concrete walls of the smoke-stained dive bar. He slapped the table, nearly knocking over the chipped ashtray and spilling a half-glass of murky liquor.
He was already clutching his stomach, tears threatening to spill.
To him, this had to be the greatest joke he'd heard in years.
"That man…" he wheezed between gasps, "he—he's never even looked at a woman. You know that, right? The closest thing he's had to a partner is a bottle of cheap plum wine and even that knocks him flat after one cup!"
He leaned back in his chair, wide-eyed in disbelief, shaking his head with a grin stretched ear to ear.
"And yet somehow," he said, pointing a half-burned cigarette at Karen like it was the punchline of a cosmic joke, "somehow... that man always got lucky. Like the world owed him something. You throw him in a ditch, he comes out cleaner. You starve him, he comes back fatter. You drop him in a warzone, and he makes friends with the enemy commander."
Wak exhaled a slow, raspy breath and studied Karen now with something new in his eyes — not just humor, but memory. Maybe even respect.
"So tell me, how's your old man been doing?"
"He's dead."
To be continue
World Builder Note
"So about Samara...."
"We don't talk about that...."
"Why? We are learning about the history of the Great Cataclysm and Samara is the most effected country. Imagine being invaded by other country because said country accused you of possessing a nuclear weapon and till these days, you are fighting off against groups of terrorists who is claiming the lands as yours without any proofs, just because one guy have an artifact from thousands of years ago."
"Because if you do that you will be accused of being a terorist sympathisers for supporting the people who are fighting for their land and the media will censor this story. We are learning history, the media will do that to protect the rich."