Chapter 1: Haruko Matsumoto (The Nobody.): Survival of the Fittest. Part 1

Part 1

That survival instinct, that will to live, that need to get back to life again, is more powerful than any consideration of taste, decency, politeness, manner, civility.

Anything.

It's such a powerful force.

-Danny Teenle.

Date: Thursday, May 28, 2009

Time: 6:42:56 P.M.

Location: The Bronx, NEO New York City.

BANG!

A single gunshot broke out that was muffled by the noise outside.

In the early evening, several gunshots broke out in a small underground store in NEO New York City.

On the other side of the room, the obvious target for that lone bullet.

A gray radio that sat on a dresser stand.

The radio, which now had a single hole in it from the gunshot.

"Damn." A voice broke out. "It is a lot harder to hit a small target when a small handgun recoils like that, huh?"

In the small room, the voice came from a man dressed in black sitting atop the store counter. In his hand was a Beretta M9A1 semi-automatic pistol.

A handgun.

To some, a handgun was nothing more than a weapon, but to the man on the counter who fired the ten shots into a small radio, it meant the world to him.

A sign of dominance.

A sign of power.

One man spoke from the other side of the room: "Dude, what the hell is your problem?" The man walking down the store aisle dressed in all black said this to the man sitting at the store counter, waving the gun around, looking for another object to call target practice.

One man spoke angrily, "Hey, did you know how hard it was to smuggle that gun and the bullets into this city without tipping off the police and other authorities?"

"We don't have enough bullets for you to be shooting recklessly, especially at a useless target."

"I know that," spat the man on the counter as he closed one of his eyes to focus. "Unless you're permitted by the damn city, you can't hold one of these bad teens, let alone own one. I was just getting used to it. We weren't able to sneak that many in to use, so we had no practice with them."

"So, what of it?" The man in the aisle said, we've got a few, and that's all that matters. Would you agree?"

The man on the counter lowered the weapon and adjusted himself to face everyone.

"But why is that? I mean, this city is fixing its population to become super-powered freaks. The city exists for that one purpose. The city tells you what to do, what time to be inside, what rules to follow, and how to follow them, and that's if you are useful to them; if not, you are swept under the rug as an existence not even worth mentioning. When did the majority become less friendly to these super-powered freaks?"

The man at the counter tightened the grip of the small black handgun in his hand and said, "I don't want to live in a city with regulations like that." To the man on the counter, the weapon was a sign of power that could not be denied; to him, it was a part of him to be used in any way he wanted—his own power.

"But what can you do about it, man? Those rules were set up by the higher-ups. Did you forget that most of the population is made up of kids and teenagers?" A voice spoke out.

"No, I did not forget that." The man at the counter adjusted himself slightly and placed his hand on the side of his face.

"And those are not kids; those are monsters." He continued as he adjusted the tone of his voice.

It was an eerie sight for those watching.

The man's demeanor changed drastically.

"For whatever reason, personal or otherwise, the majority of the population of its city abandoned humanity a long time ago to obtain powers.

"Magicians, spellcasters, fragments, and espers—this whole city exists for them. The city's pride and joy don't make me laugh."

The man at the counter began to focus on the weapon in his hand.

To the man on the counter, this weapon is his answer to the gap of power between him and the super powered population.

"Yeah, yeah, let's get this over with already."

The large man headed out the door for guard duty.

Since the underground store was in a mall beneath ground under renovations that were halted by the city, no one should be coming, but the men in the store could not take that chance.

Suddenly, there was a whimper in the store.

The leader turned around to see a family of three tied up on the floor.

"Oh, and what do we have here?"

A small whimper broke out.

The sound came from a child.

A small girl.

The girl was tied up with rope, and her mouth was taped. On her right was her mother, and on her left was her father. All three were in the same situation, bound and gagged.

To the small girl, she had no idea why the five men in the corner store were there, but the parents knew all too well.

Robbery.

The men in the store were going to rob it.

"Awwww, and we were having so much fun."

The man began to walk up to the tied-up family and kneel in front of the girl.

"You remembered what I said before this whole ordeal—you guys stay quiet and no one will get hurt, right?"

The mother had tried her best to get in between the man and her child, but to no avail, as she could not freely move the way she wanted to.

The father tried to move to the best of his ability, but there was a sound that made even the strongest stop in his tracks.

Clink.

The parents' eyes opened in horror at what they were seeing.

The man had pointed the handgun at their daughter's forehead.

It was a sight no parent should ever have to see.

The parents tried to move, but they could not. They were right next to her, leaning on her, and they could not do a thing.

The girl looked at the gun pointed at her forehead. In her young life, she had never seen a gun in the hands of regular citizens due to NEO New York City's strict ban on illegal weapons.

The gun was pointed at her forehead.

The father tried his best to free himself. His hands and legs were tied with plastic anti-riot nylon handcuffs.

He attempted to pull his hands apart, thus breaking the cuffs, but as he did, the zip ties would seep into his skin. The pain was unbearable as it was; it felt like the man's hands were being slowly cut off. He could not see it, but his wrist was bleeding.

But he had to bear the pain. Inch by inch. He felt angry as he watched the man point the gun at his daughter's forehead.

If he had one chance, the man would rip them apart and beat them to the ground—all of them. Even if he had to cut off his own hands to do so, he would risk his own wellbeing to protect his family.

The father continued to struggle.

The man smirked as he released the father, who had attempted to free himself. He gently removed the gun from the girl's forehead.

The leader of the group pistol-whipped the father.

I'm sorry; it's just that I was watching you struggle, and I could not help myself."

The father groaned on the floor.

"Hurts, doesn't it?"

The leader stood over the father.

"Do you feel it now? —to be helpless, to be at the bottom of the food chain, to know that you can't do anything? It's a tough feeling."

The father laid there in agony.

He pointed the gun at the mother and spoke as blood poured out of a wound on his head.

"Do you want to be next, ma'am?"

_____________________________________________________________________

The air was cold, not from the spring weather but from the emptiness of the surrounding area.

Because the underground mall was closed off and stores closed, everything seemed deserted.

Lifeless.

The large man stood outside the corner store.

"Damn, this is boring," the large man said, taking a cigarette out of his pocket and putting it in his mouth.

"C'mon, where is it?" The large man said, as he began searching his pockets. "I should've swiped a lighter before I came out of here."

With a cigarette in his mouth, the large man looked up at the morning sky.

Quiet.

Through the silence, footsteps could be heard walking down the steps nearby.

".... She has a light-skinned friend. Look like Michael Jackson. Got a dark-skinned friend. Look like Michael Jackson. I played Ready for the World; she was ready for some action…"

A voice broke out.

The large man looked down to see a teen walking towards him.

(What is this?)

The teen was getting closer.

The teenager had long, messy black hair with several bangs covering his eyes. He was dressed in a dark, black open jacket. The red shirt he was wearing had a Captain America shield logo on it. He was wearing black pants and red and white Converse. On his back was a large, black backpack. The left side of his hair stood out in a wild, outward fashion similar to a lion's mane.

"…. I'mma play this Vandross; you gon' take your pants off."

The large man looked at the teen.

(Someone, now?) The large man sighed. (Just let him move along.)

The large man took his cigarette out of his mouth and placed it in his pocket.

The teen was much closer now.

The large man closed his eyes.

"Excuse me, can I get inside?" A voice spoke out.

The large man opened his eyes.

The teen was in front of the man.

"Wha…"

The teen took his earplug headphones out of his ear and looked at the large man.

"I'm trying to get something to eat. I just got out of school after a long detention.

The large man stared at the teen.

"Listen, kid, just move along. The store is closed for renovations," said the large man as he straightened himself.

"Are you sure?" the teen replied as he leaned to his left to look past the large man.

The large man loomed over the teen.

"Yes, can't you see that this whole underground segment is going through renovations? The owners are out now; scram, there is nothing here for you," the large man said as he got annoyed.

"Hmmm, that's odd," the teen said, straightening himself up. "I could swear that at least this store was open."

The teen looked at the large man.

"After all, I could have sworn this place is where the gunshot and the screaming came from."

The large man looked at the teen in disbelief.

"Wha…"