The downtown part of Nu-Hobart was somewhat of a trashy and stingy place, though living conditions had improved since the year of 2013, before the ‘Zin Event’, populations were now condensed into the super-cities that were walled in with thick protection. These walls had a purpose that was sometimes in question, was it to keep the demons out, or to keep the people in and away from the volatile world that the human race now lived in. The entire island of Tasmania – The little island just south of mainland Australia – was now just a massive city, named Nu-Hobart after the original capital city of the state. All that decorated the southern parts of the island were slums, small buildings piled atop each other like a colossal sardine cans made of metal, wood, plaster, bricks and concrete; they all relied on eachother to resources to build. The only few ‘good’ parts about this place were the Bars/Pubs, the narcotics, the underground gangs, the prostitution and the fighting clubs that filled this dirty and forsaken society.
It was the height of summer now and heat was consuming the area, fires were regular due to the lack of air-conditioning and a well-based fire department. Most people would walk around shirtless and in shorts to beat the heat, even going as far as to mug or kill another for water or ice. Though there was an odd sight that graced this part of the super-city, a man with crimson hair, swept back into great spikes on the back of his hair, smoke rose from a cigarette in his mouth, he occasionally French-inhaled the smoke he expelled from his lips. Covering his upper body was a black tank-top, and over that was a black leather jacket that was left open over his body, metal studs lined the shoulders, parts on the chest and down parts of the sleeves. His legs were covered in a thick pair of obsidian cargo pants that had a large belt through it, along with a holster where a customised m1911 – A pre ‘Zin Event’ weapon – Rested within snugly. The bottom of the pants were bloused over a pair of military boots, which were done up all the way. This guy didn’t exactly look like a soldier, but his masculine, muscle bound body showed his position. His hands were resting casually in his pockets as he strolled towards the wealthier part of the city, his eyes lazily shut from his own drowsiness. Taking short turn towards his final branch, where one could see a busy highway just at the end of the long dirt pathway, he opened his eyes, emerald optics shone as he caught view of where he wanted to be, before closing them and letting out a short sigh; his voice was young, like his face, barely past his early twenties he was.
A quick grab at his jacket and a sudden pull caught him off guard, before he knew it, he was forced against a wall; to his left was a man holding a pistol that was aimed for his cranium, to his right was a man in possession of a metal baseball bat, beating it in his hand in a threatening way, and in front of him, pressing the redhead against the wall with a knife to his neck. The muscular man was perfectly calm; he opened his oculars and turned his sight to each of the deviants. An annoyed moan burned through his lips, followed by a lion-like yawn. “Alright… You got seven seconds to fuck off, or get fucked up.” The redhead spoke with an accent that sounded a mixture of American and Australian.
“Don’t give me that bullshit mate; hand over your money, that gun and the jacket.”
“Five… Six...” The stoic male murmured.
“Do it ya’ fuckin’ wank!” The one with the gun ordered aggressively.
“Seven.” He finished his countdown and smirked rather darkly, his hands turning out of his pockets. “Bu-bye~” He chimed, his hand clenched into a tight fist and rammed into the stomach of the one who was holding him against the wall like a pile-driver, literally sending him flying through the building opposite of them. This seemed all like a daily chore for the male, next came the one with the bat, striking it against the back of his head with a resonant ringing noise that followed. The redhead didn’t budge an inch, unaffected entirely by the blunt object, his head snapped towards the man’s direction, watching his shaking, tattooed and bald form. His large hand wrapped around the middle of the bat and his grip tensed, the metal groaned and cried in pain and distress as it was crushed like an empty can of soda. A quick jerk towards himself brought the bat into his hands, before nonchalantly flicking it into his attackers face, breaking his nose and jaw easily. Another man fallen to the ground and down for the count. Gunshots rang out from the last remaining man, pumping his valuable ammunition into the redhead’s back; pings sounded like ricochets filled the violent and electrified air. Holes were pierced into the leather jacket, tank top and even through the skin, but no reaction was given from the monster, only a muffled giggle from him keeping his mouth closed. “Go on, empty your clip.” He encouraged sarcastically. “It’ll do you all the good in the world.” The remaining male only did so, and whimpered in fear as clicks were sounded from the hammer striking only air. The muscle-bound one turned to the gunman and raised a hand; his index finger pointed at the male. A hidden lick of flame burned from his nail for a second. Soon after, the firearm burst into a red colour and liquefied, melting over the hand of its user, scorching and fusing with the skin, before a spray of crimson decorated the air. A bloodied hand and sleeve poked out from the victim’s back, the redhead’s arm forced through his abdomen down to his shoulder. He simply discarded the man to his own fate and licked his digits clean.
A sudden, screaming yell was heard along with rushed footfall, the one with the knife was charging at him. “You mother fucker!” His voice broke as he went to stab him at the face. The redhead watched for a few seconds without a single change in his casual posture, until a quick swivel of his hips and a turning of his foot brought his leg up in a full 360 roundhouse kick was launched at blinding speed into the side of the attacker’s head, right towards and into the busy freeway, being hit in mid-air by a truck rushing at full-speed. A screeching cry of brakes burned the air only a few short moments after the truck hit the attacker and passed the alleyway and finally an explosive crash ignited the air and birthed chaos out into the street. Though newborn, the destruction that was brought was so thick; it was as if one could reach out and snatch a piece of the chaos into the palm of their hand.
“Heh… Thought I would’ve missed that cue… Lucky me~” The redhead snicked and gave a nonchalant and very laidback shrug as he brought his leg down to the ground and slipping back into a lazy pose, sliding his dirtied hands into his pockets once more. He took a wide step over the one he had impaled with his fist, and the one he had bludgeoned with the bat. Approaching the highway, he spat his cigarette aside, it was down to the filter anyway, a toothy smirk on his face as he watched the highway for something that interested him, he knew the bus patterns, the 164 to District 227 was due soon, maybe it was going to be late, as it usually was on its way to its destination. Maybe it’d be a nice change for him to catch a bus, bring back the memories of his youth when he attended school; it was always a calm time on the bus, laughs with his friends and hours filled with music pumping from his headphones back in those days. A twitch sparked from his entire right hand, igniting the air in his pocket and suffocating in an instant, leaving a musical device in his palm. He traced a line from his right ear with his left hand, all the way down to the head-phone plug-in slot in the device, leaving a thin trail of fire, which conjured a wire that drooped over his shoulder and extended into the port. Both hands came out of his pocket and grabbed at the air around his neck, creating black and red headphones which connected to the wire.
With a gentle movement he pulled the speakers over his ears and the rounded piece that held them both over his spikey, swept back crimson hair. Another movement happened after releasing his grip. His right hand dipped into his back pocket, pulling out a wallet, which he opened to reveal a drivers licence with a name on it, “Alastair”, though he seemed to flip it open further and reveal a military ID and Badge, one not of Earth though. The name on it read “Drake Steelscale”; he was definitely as young as he looked however, twenty-six years old with a service length of eleven years in the “Drake Military”. His fingers traced their way to a bus pass which he pulled out and closed his wallet, placing it into his back pocket again.
The dull shape of the bus finally came on the approach, its once bright and shining painted colours of sky-blue and ribbons of garnet red now faded and scratched up, some even had graffiti that hadn’t been cleaned off for lord knows how long. A flick of his thumb on the side of his MP3 player turned on the music, blasting heavy metal into his ears at a medium volume. It had been a while since he had listened to his ‘good music’, he regarded the new age music as nothing more than shit made on computers. A whine howled from the machine’s brakes as it shivered into a halt, blasting a hiss out before the doors swung open. Drake closed his eyes and grabbed onto the railing, to help pull him up the height of the bus. A weight shifted the bus towards Drake the instant he stepped on. It was only an instant before the bus lurched back into its original position. Drake presented his bus pass to the driver, in a quick flash and moved up into the back of the bus, which was fortunately clear – Well, for anyone else in the bus – A twist of his body and a lifting of his arms and one leg saw him land on the middle seat with a leg crossed over the other and his arms spread over the tops of the seats beside him. He let his head back and closed his eyes. “Finally… Some quiet time…” He uttered in a relieved voice, as if a tense burden was exiled from his being for a moment.