The Asylum was a subcity and was well under way before I was born. Land owners never had air rights, so the space above them wasn’t theirs to contest. When big business set their sights on commercializing a group of older neighborhoods, the residents refused to sell. I suppose the rest was only a matter of time.

The corporations built their commercial zones right over top of them. And since the streets belonged to the corrupt city, it was no surprise when they became the blueprint for all the footings and support pillars that would uphold their shiny new city. So, they created us our very own Tartarus and we became their skeletons in the closet. The rest, as they say, is history.

Light still reached the Asylum for another decade or so. But now its sky was altogether different. The residents had modified most of the houses, built scaffolding on and between them, then fixed a network of projectors to portray whatever sky the locals were interested in at the time. There were frequently blues and oranges playing about—a 1980’s Miami, FL vibe.

Tonight was different. I had given Elegance—my white mask—the night off and not just because my face wound was a beacon jutting out from the bottom. I chose Power—the red mask—because tonight was a celebration. Explosion or no, we had destroyed the hospital research we were after. Plus, it didn’t make my face wound stand out quite so much.

I laid back on a slanted roof with my hands tucked behind my head and stared up at today’s sky. Someone had set up a series of home movies that played out memories of simpler times—a kid riding on his father’s shoulder without a safety harness, children playing without having to be in an adult’s direct line of sight, two people openly chatting about their passions without having to worry about others overhearing. All classic.

“What do you think, Ameelio?” I asked.

Ameelio was an orphaned black kid of around fourteen. And he was the toughest kid I ever met. He sat atop a nearby chimney after turning it into a makeshift basket. He wore his usual sleeveless tank, cargo-pocketed pants, and a pair of steel toed boots. He was all about his cargo pockets. Apparently, back pockets just didn’t cut it when it came to carrying his slingshot—a set of issues he didn’t have with cargo pants.

“They seem happy,” he replied. “But looks aren’t always the best indication of circumstances.”

“Hell yeah, my dude.” Realist kid too, come to think of it. “You heard anything out of Darla lately?”

“Still following the bombing updates, last I saw her. But not recently, no.”

When I stood, I was greeted by a crick in the center of my back. I responded with a wince, a stretch, and a sigh.

“Do you think your father would have done things differently if he saw the way things were now?”

Not very tactful though. But I suppose we all have our flaws. “Impossible to know. That’s the trouble with hypotheticals. You can’t truly predict how someone else will respond in a non-existent scenario.”

“Then, what about you? Think you’ll ever stop trying to make up for his involvement?”

A grin forced itself onto my face. “I like to think I’m doing all this so that our tomorrow looks a little more like our yesterday. Progress is now backwards and Selene’s people will never awake if we keep progressing the way we are.”

“I agree with your hypothesis. But it’s the motivation that’s troubling. Looks aren’t always the best indicator, you know?”

“I’ll keep that in mind, bud.”

“Promo!” yelled Darla from the opposite side of the house. “I found her.”

“Her?” I asked, looking to Ameelio. Then, it dawned on me. “No-name girl!” I hurried over the roof’s peek, then slid down to some scaffolding rigged like a stairwell. Darla was looking out from a second story entrance---the wall cut away and reframed to accommodate a sliding door.

Darla retreated back into her domain, perched in a high-back chair, and slid back to her keyboard. Her large interiror space was filled with a series of interconnected monitors, servers, and cooling fans. The place was lit up with neon pinks and purples like they were rival gangs in a turf war.

“The girl from the hospital?” I asked, stepping into her room.

“Yeah,” she replied, pulling up a profile. “She’s thinner in your body cam footage but she looks identical to this girl here.”

“Star Ingram? Age 22. Born in... You’re shitting me?”

“Nope. Lone surviving resident of Greenbrier. It says she and her dad were out of town during the explosion, but he subsequently died to an illness.”

“You think it was that illness.”

“Likely, but Star had it too. She’s just the only one that’s ever survived.”

“Dammit. And she was right there. What was she even doing on the roof?” I shook my head. “Anything on what attacked the building?”

“No. Nothing. That energy just emerged from the sky. Whatever shot it was equipped with some kind of tech that doesn’t allow it to be recorded. We can’t rule out that it’s some kind of alien tech.”

You’ll buy into aliens but not dragons? “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

Darla shrugged and pulled her legs into the chair. “I’m not really sure what I believe anymore.”

“Promo,” Ameelio called from the scaffolding. “We’ve got trouble out here.”

I followed after him but he disappeared by the time I was outside. I glanced back, but I already knew Darla wasn’t behind me. “Great work, Darla. See what you can find out about where she’s been all this time.”

“Yeah. Already on it.”

I looked back towards the front of the house and sighed. Welp, guess it’ll just be the grown-ups talking.

Like most in the neighborhood, my front porch was an observation deck that extended away from my roof. It covered most of the front yard, but it’s not like we had any grass growing down here. Many of the neighbors had bridged the street by affixing to overcity’s support pillars. Not me though. I didn’t want anything to do with something that seemed like support from those guys.

Roofs had become the new street level, the neighborhood gathering on adjacent rooftops and leaning out from catwalks that spanned the support pillars. The sky had returned to its Miami sunset and a few upstarts stood out front, all five of them arrayed on my front porch.

“Gentlemen, by all means, make your self at home.”

“The red mask, Prometheus?” a guy asked, standing before the others and suddenly seeming less certain. “What’s the occasion?”

Raymond? Ramon? Richard? What was this guy’s name again? He wore a half zipped black jacket and a gold chain, which said a lot. No one wore gold anymore. Not down here anyways. Those that did peddled drugs so his might as well have been a chain of office. I hate drug dealers.

“What can I do for you, Randy?”

“It’s Ronald.”

That’s not an improvement. I folded my arms.

“We’ve been talking, Prometheus. And this bombing stuff. It’s bad for business.”

“Bombing stuff? You’ll need to take that up with Enrique. He’s our bomb guy.”

“Enrique? Never heard of him.”

“Yeah, that’s because he doesn’t exist. Never-the-less, he’s our bomb guy. So, if there’s nothing else...”

“We think you should step down.”

Think? Not likely. “We? So, you’re speaking for you and your friends there? Big guy too?”

Three of his followers were inconsequential, but he had a big guy and big guys were usually trouble. Franken-guy had another foot of height over everyone else and had arms and shoulders that seemed to say ‘these other guys are just going to get in my way.’

“I’m speaking for everybody,” Randy replied.

“Literally, I see. So, what’s your play here, Randy? You take over, then what?”

“It’s Ro—”

I waved him off. “It doesn’t matter.”

“We focus on the Asylum. Stop pickin’ fights with the Upsiders. That’s just gonna bring more heat down on us. I say let ‘em be. And they leave us be.”

“Have you looked up lately? They already own our sky. And that’s not even the sky they believe to be their limit. Just how much are you willing to give them when their version of enough isn’t quantifiable?”

“That’s your problem, Promo—”

I raised a finger. “That’s strike one. Only my friends can call me that and we’re not there yet.”

“Sorry. But you’re too worried about tomorrow when we need to start focusing on today.”

I shook my head. “And you’re throwing your hat in the ring for leadership? Randy, listen. While I’d love to entertain your notions of direction and goals, I’m afraid I’ll have to pass on the early retirement.”

“We’re prepared to persuade harder.” He raised a club up to rest against his shoulder, the big guy crossing his arms to seem more menacing. Fortunately, big guys weren’t as big of a deal as they liked to believe themselves to be. The second rule of fighting was unbiased; it applied to everyone.

I nodded to the big guy. “And you’re okay going along with this? You’re sure about that?”

Randy elbowed the big guy as he opened his mouth. “Don’t listen to him, Chad. You don’t have to answer.”

Of course he’s a Chad. “You really do speak for others, huh? Or speak over them, I should say. Well, I had hoped this would be a conversation of words, but it seems it’s not to be. So, let me give you some free advice. You’re crew has the ‘can do’ attitude and the muscle required to get things done. But it’s not the lack of brains that’s your problem.”

“There’s five of us Prometheus. This isn’t going to go your way, so drop the ‘high and mighty’ routine.”

I raised my finger gun, my thumb upright, the gun cocked. I pointed at Randy, swept over the others, then settle my sights back on the talker. “This is important, so you’re going to want to hear this. The thing your lacking most is the most damning.”

Randy raised his hands in mock surrender. “Let me guess. Is it insanity? We’re too sane to do your job? Just give it up. You’re done here.”

Not even close. “You’re right. I am done here. It seems none of you took this fight seriously, which is strike three.”

“Three? What happened to two?”

“You guessed wrong. The correct answer was ‘loyalty.’ I lowered my thumb. “Bang.”

Crack! Randy’s amusement was cut short as a rock sailed over my shoulder and struck him in the forehead. The head shot rocked him backwards, he tumbled off my porch, and basically threw his weapon to me. His companions fixated on his falling form, which was rude and an attention problem because I hadn’t dismissed class.

Whack! I swung the club into the side of Chad’s knee, it caved, and he learned the second rule of fighting. ‘If you can’t walk, you can’t fight.’

Chad howled in acknowledgment.

Wha-crack! The club broke across his forehead and laid him over as if I had clothes-lined him.

The other three had tried to catch Randy, one allowing himself to be pulled off with him. Damn shame I hadn’t installed that safety railing.

The remaining two looked up at me like animals caught in headlights. They attempted to make their way to the nearby stairs, but I waggled my finger. “Nuh uh. That was three strikes, which means no more stair privileges. Get Chad off my porch, you two take the elevator, then everybody get off my property.”

They rolled Chad over the ledge, then dropped to fall the single story to the ground.

The rest of the neighborhood simply looked on as the events unfolded.

“Sorry, for the commotion, folks. If anyone else feels the need to express concerns, my door’s always open. Just don’t let this bombing business give you the wrong idea. We know they use the media to spread lies, so don’t start thinking that they’re suddenly using it to spread truths. We’re fighting for all of Selene’s people. Not just the ones that live alongside us here in the Asylum. I think the Upsiders are actually worse off. At least we know that things are broken.”

“Hey, Prometheus,” someone called from across the street. “We got you.”

I looked their direction, but I couldn’t see who called out. So, I just waved to their side of the street. “Thanks for that.”

“Just let us know how we can help,” said a lady on a neighboring roof.

“I will. This fight will likely include us all before it’s over and done.”

Ameelio walked up and elbowed me in the side. “Loyalty, huh?

I wrapped my arm around his neck and squeezed. “Geez, guy! I felt the wind off that thing! And you know I meant ‘trust.’ But seriously, I wasn’t expecting you to clip him right in the face. Damn glad you’re on my side.”

He returned his usual shit-eating grin.

“You’re getting far too good with that thing.”

“Guys!” Darla called, leaning out from her second story room entrance. “We’ve got a problem.”

I shook my head. When do we not have problems? If it’s not one thing, it’s another. “Do I even want to know?”

“It’s Star. The police are on their way to arrest her.”

“What? The dead girl? How are they going to manage that?”

“Apparently, they believe she’s alive and they’re sending a whole lot of people after her.”

How in the world could she have— You know what... After the dragon thing, I think I’ll suspend my beliefs for a while. “Let’s see if we can get in touch and warn her. Something about this stinks and I get the feeling this isn’t a normal police operation.”