Èryuè 1st 250X

Prasong and JJ drew up to the large iron doors, upon which a scrawling geometric symbol was painted in blue. Every gang had its own symbol and every gang liked to leave visual reminders of just how prolific their presence was on the darker streets of the Polis.

Prasong eyed his own tattoos as he raised his hand to knock against the iron sheeting. The mandatory 'twisted helix' was inked high up on his left wrist, indicating his genetic status. His right arm however, bore a double circle design representing the rings of a City Circus' Big Top. The mark clearly denoted him as part of a Polis gang.

Gangs ran the city, everyone knew that. From prostitution to drugs, underground fighting rings to money laundering. The gangs were the well-oiled machines that dragged the trundling metropolis through every dimly lit day and every neon lit night.

As for street kids, well they were the cogs of the whole operation, cutting their teeth as corner whores or dustrunners. All stray kids got picked up eventually by one gang or another. Some were lucky, some weren't.

Sure, officially the Poleis were ruled by Councils. The corrupted fading flowers of overburdened governmental branches. However the Xinshijie Global Government headquarters were located three thousand miles east of Podolsk Polis and everyone knew that the military were the real contenders for power in this part of the world.

Fortunately for the city's gangs, the Aviation and Starcraft Division, 'ASD' for short, seemed to harbour little interest in dominating the soot caked streets or interfering in their various businesses. They mostly left the gangs to run the Polis as they pleased.

"We have a delivery," Prasong announced to the squat woman who wrenched the double doors open a moment later.

"Who is it?" another voice called out from behind her, probably a door guard too lazy to do his own duties.

"Circus kids," the woman snapped impatiently before turning back to them with narrowed eyes, "you're late."

"Increased police checks for the upcoming elections," JJ replied with a cocky grin, jutting out his chin, "you try avoiding them while carrying twenty ounces of Stardust!"

"Alright, alright," the woman chuckled, her face relaxing, "No need to get all shook up pretty boy."

She looked back at Prasong, "Hello Little Doll, been a while since you two were sent on this run. Where are the other kids that normally come? The tall one and the other with the fingers missing?"

"Got caught," Prasong shrugged, it happened. There was enough underground influence in the police ranks to wheedle important figures or gang leaders out of trials or incarcerations, but street kids? No one cared enough.

"Droids got them," JJ muttered, his face hardening.

Prasong pursed his lips as he glanced at his running partner. Prasong had known that JJ had been sweet on the blonde, but the handsome boy would find another to distract him soon enough, he always did. JJ had an easy, accessible attractiveness that quickly roused the desires of others.

"Droids again?" the woman asked, narrowing her eyes and tutting. JJ nodded glumly, Droids were one of the main reasons so many drug-runners got caught. The remote operated drones were introduced five years before to patrol the Polis streets.

The size of dinner plates, they could shoot close range sprays of Stasis, a liquid chemical solution that momentarily paralysed the victim. It only worked on humans and it only worked on non-helixed.

Not that anyone of alien origin was allowed residency on Earth anyway. As for helixed - the population had been dwindling into extinction over the last fifty years - thanks to stringent breeding laws and of course, the Stain Rains. This also meant that there was a definite advantage for gangs to have a helixed on their books.

Helixed weren't considered so much of a threat as to warrant any governmental actions harsher than the ones that had previously been enforced.

Those had already been met with a response of public protestation and moral outrage. Instead, the 'genetically mutated' were considered not much more than a sickly and unstable burden on the rest of the otherwise healthy, if depleted, population of Earth.

Sure, a fortunate fraction of helixed had some interesting abilities along with the usual problems, but nothing impressive enough to provoke true fear. The worst a helixed could really expect nowadays was being sectioned to the Asylum or subjected to the stigma of being a 'ringed'.

The truth was though, that society could turn their noses up at a helixed all they wanted, but it was the sufferer's own mind that was the real enemy.

"Alright, you better come in then. Bobik wants to see you." the woman nodded at them.

Prasong frowned, Bobik was the boss of a large number of fighting rings on the East side. He was also the purchaser of the Stardust drug they had brought that day, but there was no reason why he should want to see them in person.

The man himself was sat at a large plastic table when they entered the room, a fat cigar in his mouth.

Bobik was stout and broad shouldered with short hair spiked in peroxide blonde tufts, although recently they'd taken on a greenish tinge, probably due to a chemical reaction with the city's pollution.

His face was an almost perfect circle but it was mottled like the surface of a bowl of porridge. The obnoxious bright red suit he was wearing could easily have been the dollop of jam slopped over the unsavoury oats. His nose resembled playdough that had been left out in the sun too long, the remnants of his illustrious fighting career.

The Ringmaster had taken Prasong to see Bobik fight once, one of his last rodeos so to speak before retirement.

Prasong had watched the match in a state halfway between transfixed and terrified. The Ringmaster's arm pinning him against the rigid metal pew on which he was hemmed in by screaming fans, hurling both abuse and encouragement at the fighters.

The screams of Bobik's victim had stung at Prasong's eyes and echoed in his ears, reminding him of burnt out memories.

Prasong had hurriedly wiped away the tears with a ragged sleeve, terrified what the Ringmaster might do to him if he saw.

There was no way Prasong would let himself be sent back to the red light Dragon District, not when he had finally had a stroke of luck and caught the eye of a gang boss - the leader of a notoriously powerful one at that.

The City Circuses were originally set up by the Council for public entertainment. They were heralded as beacons of light and candied treats in a world full of smog and despair.

However, with the money they brought in and the selection of dubious characters they inevitably attracted, it was only a matter of time before each Circus became nothing more than a face-painted front for a hive of criminal activity.

It had been an unusual stroke of luck when the Ringmaster had come into the Sapphire Sky brothel that day.

He had been looking for new employees whose contracts he could buy up for an agreeable price, potentially ones he could put to work both in the Circus and as valuable members of his gang. For once in Prasong's then fourteen years of life, he had been in the right place at the right time.

"Little Doll!" Bobik laughed as Prasong and JJ entered his office, JJ's nose turning up pointedly at the cigar smoke. Prasong knew that his companion was perfectly used to the scent and his nose wasn't even as sensitive as Prasong’s. JJ just didn't like Bobik and clearly wanted to make him perfectly aware of it.

Prasong however, bowed as low as he could at the ageing gang boss. JJ hadn't seen Bobik punch through a man's spine.

"Kid," Bobik grinned at JJ, "so tell me, what grade of Stardust have you got for me today?"

"Supernova," Prasong replied immediately, presenting Bobik with one half of the stash. JJ drew out the other half and placed it on the table.

"That's some strong stuff huh?" Bobik stroked his chin. "I'm pretty sure I only asked for Red Giant."

Prasong smiled softly, "The Ringmaster wishes that you would consider the upgrade as payment for the favour he called in last week."

"Does he now?" Bobik chuckled, beckoning towards the other side of the room, where a thin, hook- nosed man with raggedy brown hair crept out from the shadows. JJ flinched but Prasong remained still, he had already noticed the man's presence there from the moment they entered the room.

"Take the Dust to the stores," Bobik ordered the man, pointing at the bags. He then turned back to JJ, "So kid, how's life at the Circus treating you?"

JJ frowned, they both knew that Bobik wasn't the sort to engage in idle conversation. "Fine Sir," he replied, shooting a questioning glance at Prasong who attempted to look completely uninterested in the whole affair.

"You're quite new to it aren't you? Not like the seasoned Little Doll here," Bobik smirked as he gestured to Prasong. "He's been bringing me my Dust orders for over a year now haven't you sweetheart?"

Prasong bit his lip in what he hoped looked like a coquettish smile. Whatever the expression he was making, it seemed to please Bobik as the older man leaned back in his chair with a satisfied nod.

Prasong glanced back to JJ and instead caught sight of himself in the tarnished mirror propped up in the corner of the room. Prasong’s short pink hair was shocking and bright against the tight black of his outfit and the caramel complexion of his skin.

His almond eyes were heavily made up but most of his face was blackened from the inevitable layer of smog residue that you got from running through three Polis zones in a day.

The mirror was warped and so made Prasong appear taller than he really was. He was thankful that JJ was of a medium height and so didn't tower too much above him. Prasong already had enough inferiority being paired with JJ on the daily.

Prasong knew that he was pretty though, in the way that customers had used to covet. Small and delicate with feminine features that were enhanced by makeup and a lithe, slender figure.

JJ would tease him for being vain as he styled his hair or smudged sticky gloss across his lips, spending more time than the other boys would in front of the mirror. But this façade was Prasong’s life, the performer he presented to the world.

Today, he was wearing a thick black sweater with leather patches on the shoulders and the sleeves rolled up to avoid his fingers getting caught on the overly long fraying cuffs.

Prasong’s shorts were stained from where he had repeatedly brushed yellow chalk on them from the Circus and his tights were probably comprised of more ladders than fabric.

His boots were clunky and heavy but he had grown used to running with the weight of them and was grateful for the thick soles when the streets of the Polis were riddled with broken glass and discarded fish bones.

"So has the Ringmaster discussed with you at all what kind of role you'll be assuming in his organization?" Bobik asked, jerking Prasong's attention away from the mirror and back to the conversation.

JJ shifted his stance awkwardly as the gang boss scratched the back of his head and let clouds of dandruff mingle with the cigar smoke. "Where do you come from anyway? Your accent's not native Podolsk," Bobik frowned.

JJ grinned ruefully at the older man, "My father was from Podolsk Polis apparently, not that I ever knew him."

"And your mother?" Bobik cast an assessing gaze over JJ's golden skin and sandy brown hair coupled with features that Prasong recognized as more distinctive of the Eastern territories.

Prasong was Eastern too, not that needles on a compass were any indication of origin nowadays. Prasong liked it that way, the world had melded and blurred, a fusion of neon beneath rain.

"She's back in Darhan Polis," JJ replied, "I came here for the work."

"No work in Darhan?" Bobik questioned thoughtfully.

"No work you'd want," JJ shrugged.

Bobik chortled loudly until it became a pained hacking sound. He cleared his throat and reached for a glass of amber coloured liquid on the table in front of him. "Well I suppose Little Doll here is showing you the ropes aren't you sweetheart? Quite literally perhaps - although I'm guessing JJ's frame isn't quite as agile as yours is on the trapeze."

"He doesn't perform," Prasong replied, trying to hide his quizzical frown. The questions were redundant, Bobik knew that only a handful of the Circus kids were required to actually work the official side of the business.

"We should go now," Prasong added quickly, motioning to JJ, "the Droid patrols are upped after five."

"Sure, sure," Bobik waved at them nonchalantly, "I'll be seeing both of you next week anyway."

Prasong paused on his way back to the door, turning round to see Bobik staring casually at a newspaper he had just retrieved. "Next week Sir?" JJ asked with a confused expression.

"For the start of your fight training of course," Bobik looked up at them with raised eyebrows, too surprised to be genuine, "surely the Ringmaster told you already? That's the favour I'm doing him - offering to help train you up. Especially you Prasong," Bobik gestured to the smaller boy with a calculating look.

"Helixeds are getting quite rare these days as you know. Especially since that awful Stain Rain fiasco a few decades ago - whole lines wiped out, just like that." Bobik snapped his fingers as if to emphasise his point before reaching for his drink again.

"As for you JJ - The Ringmaster and I figured you might make a good fighter. You've proven yourself to be a scrappy little cub, why not see if we can't turn you into a wolf? "

"I'm only a single ringed..." Prasong murmured, he could already feel sweat prickling up the back of his neck, "and I haven't shown any signs of special abilities."

"You have heightened awareness and healing and no symptoms of mental disturbance. Well," Bobik grunted a laugh, "no more than the usual brothel boy turned circus freak."

Prasong sucked a sharp intake of breath as Bobik gave them both a wide grin, following it with a wave of dismissal. Prasong dug his fingernails into his palms as they made their way back down the dingy corridors and out of the large iron doors, JJ walking in time beside him.