I've been sitting on this chapter and story for so long. I don't know when I'll update or how often, but it will happen eventually.
Hope you enjoy it!
The City of Magix – referred to by natives simply as Magix despite it being part of a realm of that name – was one of the oldest in the world. It had a long, storied history that included war, plagues, revolution, assassinations, world-changing discoveries and inventions. Poor leadership and corruption, unfortunately, led what was once a world-class city to fall into decay. Anton Renner, President of Magix from 1940 through 1956 – though his legitimacy post '44 was still heavily debated – had been a selfish, thieving asshole. He'd funneled city funds into an out-of-realm bank account for the entirety of his presidency – which was more of a dictatorship according to some (most) people – resulting in dying social programs, failing infrastructure, abundant poverty, and a high infant mortality and suicide rate. Renner had gotten caught – gotten too greedy most likely – and been stopped by the inter-realm counsel – a force tasked with ensuring that the powers in charge were not abusing said power.
After Renner's arrest, Magix went through many questionable presidents that did very little, if anything, to help the floundering realm. The government's inaction led to crime running rampant through the streets and the formation of multiple gangs. Some of these gangs began to implement social programs – food banks, childcare and athletics programs, study centers – and became leaders of society, all while remaining the ones that caused most of the city's safety issues.
The new president, Elduin Liahana, was much more competent than the string that had followed Renner. When he was elected in 2014, he promised to be bad for crime, good for you. In the seven years since then, he'd done well to follow through. Magix was prospering in ways that had been unimaginable since the late 1940s. The City of Magix, in particular, saw a major boom. The university, once prestigious, was regaining its footing and attracting the top-tier teachers it once had. The university hospital had rejoined the researching world and made its first major breakthrough in seventy years. And, for the most part, Liahana had managed to calm the city's crime problem.
Try as he might, he'd failed in eradicating five gangs of the close to twenty that had existed when he'd taken office. At the height of the city's gang problems, there had been a total of sixty-four gangs in operation. Most of them had managed to wipe each other out in the city's bloodiest non-war period, which had helped Liahana a lot. The five remaining gangs split the city into six turfs: west, center, center south/southeast, center north/northeast, south, and north. The center was neutral ground as it contained the hospital, courthouse and prison. The west end of the city belonged to the Sisters of Obsydian, somewhere you only ventured to if you wanted a good time or you had a death wish. South and north belonged to the Reapers and the Untamed, respectively, two minor players that had managed to survive thanks to their alliance with the two surviving major gangs. The Reapers had made the wise decision of allying themselves with the Fallen Angels, who ran the drug trade – with select premium drugs – and owned the center south portion of the city. The Untamed had allied with the Dragon Riders, arms dealers, who owned the center north section of the city.
There had been a feud between the Dragon Riders and the Fallen Angels for as long as anyone could remember. How the feud had started was a mystery to the city and the members. Even Saladin – who, at 83 years, had been around when both gangs had been formed 55 years ago – had no idea how the feud had begun, only that one day the Dragons didn't care about the Angels and the next they hated them. Multiple rumours had spread through the city over the year: it began with a drug deal gone wrong; a bar fight; a stolen lover; a random insult taken too seriously; because the Angels had somehow wronged them. None of the rumours had ever been confirmed or denied. Club presidents had come and gone over the years, but the truth of the feud's origins had died with original presidents. Fighting is all the new presidents knew, so the feud persisted.
Musa's father, Hiu-Ming – nicknamed Hoboe (or HB) for the year they'd basically been homeless after Musa's mother had died – had been named MC president of the Fallen Angels when she was fifteen – eight years ago. Musa always thought her mother would be horrified to know that he'd become more active in a gang that she had disapproved of so strongly. Hiu-Ming had taken a step back from the Angels when they'd learned of the pregnancy. Musa was told that the reason the MC had never helped them when they were struggling after her mother had died – sixteen long years ago now – was because her father had assumed they wouldn't want to after he'd stepped back; Musa had thought it was because he'd been too proud to ask. She couldn't fault him for that one since she'd inherited that same sense of pride. It was only after Avalon had come across them sleeping in the back of an old, beat up van that the club had started to help. HB should have known: An Angel always helps their own. After that, her father had become more active than ever – he owed them for their help – and that led him to being unanimously voted in as Vice President when the former VP took the place of the former President after he'd hung up his kutte (1), and then President after the new one had been gunned down.
The Angels were, in Musa's opinion, too old fashioned. The rules that had been in place for fifty-five years and had barely changed, if at all. Her main issue with the rules is how controlling they were towards women. They were seen as second class, as possessions. Never part of the club, always adjacent to it. The women of the club got to make no decisions, got to participate in nothing exciting, but were still expected to prove their loyalty. It was, in her opinion, complete bullshit. To the club's credit, they did always look out for the women, but for Musa that wasn't enough. She wasn't going to be somebody's property. That was why, when she turned 18, she demanded to be allowed the chance to prospect and become a full-fledged member. They laughed at her, so she sunk low. She wasn't proud of it, but the club was all she'd known and she was reluctant to leave it. Let me prospect or I'll turn to the Dragons. Her threat had been taken seriously – very seriously. As the President's daughter, she had access to private information, to secrets that could destroy the Angels. And there was no way they were going to kill her; she was still one of them – at least, that's what she'd been banking on.
She'd become a prospect. It was hell, but a year after that, she became a full member. Not that she felt like one. Full membership should come with respect for her, for her opinions, but she often felt like she barely got any consideration at all. Votes were passed without her, major deals were done without her, and she was hardly ever considered to lead – or even participate – in major activities. Still, it was better than losing her family.
Today was no exception. It wasn't even a very important vote: whether to officially recognise the new prospect to become a full member of the club. Everyone knew it was going to be a yes; the prospect – Timmy – was a smart, willing and capable guy. He was likeable, plain and simple. Being excluded from this vote had just been the breaking point in her already difficult week. When Timmy excitedly ran up to her with his new official kutte, she lost it. Musa just barely managed to not storm into the office and bitch them all out. It would do no good; she'd already had this argument multiple times. Instead, she took a deep breath and stormed off, leaving Timmy standing in the parking lot looking incredibly confused.
Musa drove until she reached a dive bar in central Magix. Neutral territory – safe territory that was away from the MC. She sat on the cracked leather stool, sipping her beer and trying not to let the sticky bar counter bother her too much. The bar was more packed than she'd expected on a Tuesday night, though in retrospect she shouldn't be too surprised; it was only three blocks from the university campus. Behind her, a table full of overdressed and too loud girls giggled at every word any of them uttered. Their piercing laughs only served to irritate her further. Musa tried to ignore them. Really, she did. They were just so loud. And there was nothing to distract her: her thoughts were a jumbled, frustrated and angry mess; the other loud group in the bar was a bunch of idiotic frat bros; and the music wasn't loud enough to drown any of them out.
"Hey there" a deep voice said to her right. Musa hoped he wasn't talking to her – she was not in the mood for some creep. "You waiting on someone?"
He was talking to her. Musa didn't even need to face him to know she wouldn't like him. As a general rule, she avoided guys that hit on her at sleazy bars. And this was most definitely a sleazy bar.
"Nope." She hoped the bluntness of her tone would give him the hint to fuck off, but it appeared that he was unfortunately brain dead.
"Lucky me."
Gross.
"I'm not interested." Musa finally gave him a glance, just enough to shoot him a dirty look. Stella, one of her best friends, had once told her she had a glare that could scare the toughest of men. Musa wasn't sure that was accurate, but she hoped it was considering how often she gave dirty looks.
"Oh, come on. You don't even know me." The boy leaned against the bar and ran his hand through his navy hair, just a few shades lighter than her own. His wide amber eyes and crooked smile gave him a charming boyish look. Not her type. Musa preferred her men to be rougher. Besides this guy looked like he could be related to her.
"Yes, exactly."
"I'm Jared. I'm a business major at MU. I'm-"
"Are you dumb?" Musa snapped louder than she'd anticipated. His eyes widened in shock and he looked like she'd just slapped him. Under normal circumstances, she might back down a bit. Apologise for snapping before continuing to reprimand him. Such a shame for him that she was at the very end of her rope. Whatever empathy and rational she had had been hanging on by a thread that had snapped the minute be said hello. "I told you I wasn't interested. That's not a fucking invitation to sit here and try to chat me up. Not interested doesn't mean convince me, it means fuck off."
"Shit. Look, I'm so-"
"I swear if you're about to say sorry, I will fucking lose it." The poor guy – Jerry, was it? – looked like he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him. "I'm going to finish my beer at another seat. Don't fucking bother me again or I will castrate you."
Musa stormed away from him before he could say anything, or she could continue to yell and take her anger out on him. It wasn't his fault that everyone around her was getting on her nerves, but he wasn't helping himself. All she wanted was to drink her anger away and be left alone.
(1) A kutte (also called a cut-off) is usually a leather or denim jacket with its sleeves removed that's decorated with patches and, in this case, the logo or name of the club the person is affiliated with.
