Status Quo rule no. 24 - The syndicates are free to decide the fate of Hirou wielders in their possession in the city as long as they’re not killing them.

Skye stood by her kitchen counter and drank her coffee while her cat caressed her leg, telling her that its plate was out of food. With a sigh, she opened the drawer above her sink and the door almost fell on her head. Swiftly, she averted the impending collision with her hand, exhaling another sigh. The state of this place was only getting worse.  

Her studio apartment in lower Bayport was cramped and everything about it screamed old, dirty, and tired. Everything but her bed, TV, and computer. Just a few days ago, she had grappled with the emergence of mold in her bathroom, requiring an entire afternoon of dedicated cleaning to rid herself of the problem. The recurrent breakage of kitchen cupboard doors had initially been a source of irritation, but eventually, it ceased to faze her. 

She couldn’t move to another place either, Bradley had the last word on where she lived. The moldy apartment, with its broken wooden floor and damaged cupboard doors would have to do. It was still better than all of the other places she had lived in so far. This place at least had no bugs or mice.   

She fed the cat, which she named Lily, and petted it while it was eating. Her mother always told her she loved that name and had she had a sister, that would’ve been her name. 

The gray and white animal appeared in her apartment one day and decided to adopt the place. The cat would freely come and go, sleep in her place one night and disappear for two. On one occasion, Lily returned with her tail broken. It had happened on the same night Skye got her arm broken at the arena, and on the same night she gave the animal her name. Lily stayed until they both were better. 

Hirou wielders healed faster and could sustain much more damage to their bodies. Skye’s hand healed completely in three days, but discharge came much quicker, and she lost a few battles. Bradley, unsurprisingly, expressed his dissatisfaction with these outcomes, and as a consequence, she had to endure another broken arm, a dislocated jaw, and several broken ribs, resulting in her suffering losses in two additional battles. One had to marvel at the man’s unique sense of logic.

With a final glance at Lily, she stood up and stretched the morning tiredness, letting a few knacks escape her body. The cat gave her a non-caring look and went to sit on the bed. 

The day after a match was always a free day, Amit insisted on it to be that way. She lied on the bed next to Lily and turned the TV on. 

“...today, another UA fighter was attacked and killed in the lower Bayport district. This was the sixth UA fighter to be killed within the past couple of months. Police are still investigating the murders and ask all UA fighters to be on high alert and report anything suspicious. The UA League Administration had reported that the victim was William Prat of the Cross syndicate. William had no family and Cross would take care of all funeral arrangements. In other news, Magnum Opus had another viral post today, which caused new protesters to fill the square near the city hall…”

Skye switched a channel and groaned. 

The slow to non-existing investigation of the killings was bizarre. Killing a Hirou wielder was a big deal. There were still many of them, enough to keep the League going, but their numbers declined these days. Perhaps it was only in Bayport, while other islands didn’t suffer so much from this occurrence. It was hard to tell what was going on in other islands. The number of Hirou wielders was kept discreet. 

At times, Skye couldn’t help but ponder how her life might have taken a different course had she been born on a different island. Vineshore always sounded nice to her. It was one of the Big Five, along with Bayport, but it couldn’t be much different. A king and a parliament ruled Vinshore, and the island didn’t seem to have any major problems with outlaws or poverty. She knew they also watched the UA League, but had nothing of that sort there. UA wielders in Vineshore enjoyed the freedom to carve out their destinies, with no distinction between upper and lower Vineshore. However, she remained cautious about placing too much trust in the information disseminated through social media.

In Bayport, for the past hundred and twenty years, the majority of Hirou wielders who hadn’t been fortunate enough to be born in the upper echelons of the city had been sold to various syndicates as children to fight there to win their freedom, or to escape life on the street. Remarkably, even after achieving victory in the League, some chose to remain within the syndicates, having no alternative destinations and lacking the necessary skills to navigate the world outside. These individuals either joined mercenary groups or became bullies for the syndicates. Others never planned on winning. In any case, the UA meticulously documented each Hirou wielder it discovered, irrespective of whether they hailed from upper or lower Bayport.  

Mike was one of those who treated the UA League as their jobs. He was a celebrity and referred to by others as such. But not all UA fighters were the same. The UA League was the main sport event in the city, loved by many and hated by others. Its importance couldn’t be overlooked. 

The fighters who had recently met their demise belonged to the lower rungs of the hierarchy, comprised of individuals with criminal histories, or those still involved in illicit activities. Nothing close to the celebrity level Mike was at. They included fighters who had grown up as orphans, their existence largely disregarded by society, and whose chances of winning the League were minuscule. For these fighters, participation served as an outlet for pent-up frustration and a means to sustain the league’s momentum. 

“If someone would kill me, find yourself a better home, Lily,” Skye petted the animal. It purred loudly in return while Skye smiled at her. 

A knock on the door disturbed the cat’s rest. Lily jumped off the bed and bolted to the window, then out the fire stairs. 

Skye sighed yet again, and paced to the door with lumpy, tired steps, phone in hand. She didn’t bother to put her pants on, or a bra below her tank-top. It was too early in the morning for either of those. 

Mrs. Fischer, her landlady, looked at her with a sweet, yet toxic smile as she opened the door. 

Mrs. Fishcer was about seventy and ran the small cafe on the first floor of the apartment building. Her long, gray hair was in a high bun, and her flowery dress had seen better days. She never bothered to fluff herself, which always seemed weird to Skye. After all, her son was one of the richest people in Bayport. But as much as Mrs. Fischer didn’t care about her appearance, she immensely cared about her money. The apple hasn’t fallen far from the tree. 

On the first of each month, she would come to collect the rent like clockwork, a bit old-school, but the lady was old, so Skye tried not to judge. Being late to pay the rent was not an option. Everyone knew who Mrs. Fischer’s son was and no one wanted to lose a body part over a rent. It was a waste of time and health.  

“Good morning, Skye,” Mrs. Fischer said and lowered her eyes to Skye’s lack of pants. “I hope you have money for rent since you definitely couldn’t find it to buy yourself some pants.”

Skye leaned her hip against the door frame, crossed her arms, and smiled. “Your rent is so high, I couldn’t even afford to buy a bra. I had to give up drugs so I could pay you on time.”

Mrs. Fischer’s smile disappeared and she tapped her foot on the floor, her face shifting into an ugly version of itself. She spread her hand forward and Skye rolled her eyes. Lifting her phone up, she transferred the money to Mrs. Fischer’s account. The phone in Mrs. Fischer’s pocket beeped but she didn’t look pleased. When has she ever? 

“Sorry, Mrs. Fischer, but your son monitors my account,” Skye said with an apologetic smile. It was the truth after all. 

“Next time make it cash. I know you have it, just like I know you have pants.”

“Pants are overrated, Mrs. Fischer.”

Mrs. Fischer growled and abruptly left. Skye slammed the door behind her, still smiling. 

She stepped out to the fire stairs, looked outside, and lit up a cigarette. The smoke stung at the back of her throat as she exhaled with a loud sigh. The familiar sensation gave her stability, and she inhaled the smoke deeper. Perfection. 

Two drunks laid unconscious on the pavement below, one of them was still hugging a vodka bottle as if it was his teddy bear. A lady stepped out of a car as a hand spanked her and she giggled like a hyena. The stench of alcohol, sweat, and rotten meat carried by the light morning breeze in Skye’s direction, and she sniffed the cigarette to block it. No matter for how long she lived in lower Bayport, getting used to those odors was an impossible mission to pull. The smell of the mold was better than that. 

A loud guitar tune sang to her from inside her apartment, making her frown. She put out her cigarette and went back inside. Should’ve changed that ringtone for a while now. 

“This is Miss Allen speaking. How may I help you today?”

“What the fuck did you smoke?” Aiden asked from the other side of the line.

“Mold.” 

Aiden was a detective at the lower Bayport police department.The police department was mostly sponsored by bribes and acted on behalf of the five syndicates who controlled the city. It tried to keep the weak ones as safe as possible, as long as there was no conflict of interest with the people who were really in charge. The police force wasn’t overtly corrupt or entirely inept, but they were well aware of their boundaries. 

The UA wanted to keep some sort of order in the city, an order which had to be followed religiously. Also, the cops wanted to keep their heads attached to their bodies. It was a weird game of push and pull between the syndicates who enjoyed a relatable freedom from the UA and police who wanted to keep order in the city. 

“Listen, I need you to find this guy. He owes money to your landlady’s son and you know he pays well to get what he wants.”

Skye helped Aiden from time to time with finding whoever he wanted her to find. He paid well and in cash, and God knew she needed the extra money. The UA made sure the fighters had their income, but without extra campaigns and a celebrity status, the amount remained at the minimum limit. Barely enough for rent and other necessities.  

“Can he cancel my rent?”

“Sure he can, along with your will to live.” He chuckled.

“How you’re not doing standup comedy, I wonder.”

“You’re still smoking?” Aiden asked as the click of the lighter caught his attention.

“I’m inhaling cancer sticks. So what’s the dude’s name?” 

“Frank Santos. He used to work at one of Bradley’s bars and took a loan. Then disappeared, or something along those lines. You know Bradley, he doesn’t share more than he thinks you need to know.” Aiden grunted.

“That’s enough information for you to track him down.” She inhaled and exhaled. “Why do you need my help for that? Not that I mind the extra cash…”

“I don’t have time for that with all you, UA fighters, getting yourself murdered in the lower city and each syndicate blames the other and lashing out on the police. It’s a massive cluster fuck and we receive no back up from the UA. I have to deal with the upper department and my father breathing at my neck, and no fucking time to deal with this hide and seek game. On top of that, this Magnum Opus is making a mess as well, I don’t have time for this. But I also can’t refuse...” 

“Dude, I just asked what type of dressing you want with your salad, Jee.” She chuckled.

“Hilarious.”

“Fine, I’ll call you once I’m done,” she said through her chuckling and hung up. Aiden was amusing when frustrated. Once back inside, she called Tommy. 

She knew Tommy for a long while, yet his appearance or even real name remained a mystery. He would often change it and was sure the government was after him. Which government remained an open question. This island’s? Another one of the big five? All of them? 

In the end, Skye decided he was crazy and conspiracy theories were a problem she had no will to dive into. Their only interactions were when she needed his help. If he believed in aliens or secret laboratories mattered little to her. 

She waited for Tommy to pick up while her gray and white cat sat on her bed again. Lily didn’t care to even look at her, but it was still adorable for some reason, forcing another smile from Skye.  

“You’re so lucky I’m awake, girl.” Tommy answered with a sleepy voice.

“I need your help.”

“Of course you do. Who did your lover lose now?” He chuckled.

“You should be careful, Tommy. I could electrocute you just for sports.” 

“So, who are we looking for today?” He asked while chewing as he spoke. 

Skye only drank coffee today. If Amit would discover she had skipped breakfast, well, she didn’t want to think about it at the moment. He was mad enough about her smoking habit. But at least that was one particular harm she had control over.  

“Name is Frank Santos. Used to work at one of Bradley’s bars. That’s all I have.”

“That would be enough. Let me work some magic, girl. I’ll call you back,” he said and quickly hung up.   

She put her phone on the counter next to her and waited. 

So, Aiden was investigating the murders along with the Upper Police dep. Upper Police never bothered with the people of lower Bayport and most of the UA fighters came from there. They had to protect the upper classes. The rich and the handsome. 

Upper Police made sure that the rich were kept as far away as possible from the poor, while Lower Police cared that the big guys were as happy as possible. Upper Police getting involved with the deaths in lower Bayport’s UA fighters was definitely unusual. 

“Speak to me, magic boy.” She answered the phone when Tommy called back.

“Do you have any idea how lame you sounded? Anyway, I want twenty-five percent of whatever Aiden is paying you.”

“You get twenty.” She left no place for further bargaining.

“Fine.” Tommy sighed. “He’ll be in upper Bayport, at the ‘Archive’ hotel bar, today at 8.30 pm. I sent you a picture of him. Good lu-”

She hung up on him mid-sentence. 

Luck had nothing to do with skills, persistence, and hard work.