Olivia Vitale is trying her best to get her life back on track. After escaping an abusive relationship, she moves back to her home city of Joy. She promises her roommate Carol to take it slow with relationships. That promise becomes harder to keep a...
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« 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑻𝒘𝒐: 𝑹𝒊𝒔𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑺𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒆 »
𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 with most cities, Joy has its own heart. A rhythm and a beat that would be hard to find anywhere else, and even harder to pinpoint. For Joy, it could be the lack of tall buildings, everything an even layer and placed in deliberate spots in order with the streets. The industrial area houses the largest constructions, with the city hospital, St. Francis.
The hospital, only three storeys tall and separated into five different buildings all connected through one long hallway, making it easy to rush patients from one ward to another if necessary. For such a small city, having a hospital of this size always impresses people, but the need for such a sizable hospital is hardly a good thing. The surrounding mountains and highways bring in everything from daring hikers to reckless speedsters. Few people realise the kind of intersection Joy is for the drug and weapon trade. How those people make up a large amount of the patients is unknown to most inhabitants.
Although St. Francis is there out of need, it had always given people a sense of security, for better and for worse.
It brings the heartbeat of the city together, and the rhythm? The rhythm, that in other towns is set and controlled by the cops, has been given to the biker gangs in Joy. The police still does their job – mostly. Things have a way of somehow always ending up in favour of the bikers. Especially, The Avengers. The Sokovians never get as much and The Sons of Hydra get even less, but they're also the ones to bring in the largest amount of drugs.
The Avengers and Sokovians prefer to deal with weapons and protection. Sure, they bring in their fair share of weed and coke, but neither deal in heroin nor meth like The Sons of Hydra.
The raucous barroom-brawling machine of a bike roars as it eats the asphalt. The black metal shine in the summer sun as the different parts from various Harleys harmoniously work together to create a bike made for the road as well as racing. Bucky's dad was the one who started building it, and his son was the one to finish it after his death. It's been his since his dad died.
The animal turns down the road, rolling past the wire mesh fence of the compound, where it slows at the prospect of a parking spot. Bucky yawns and takes off his helmet, hanging it on the grip after parking his bike next to Sam's like he always does.
He glances towards the mechanic's shop, where Peter is in the middle of cleaning up the floors after last night. His brown hair has gotten longer in the last couple of months, and it's pulled into a bun on the back while his face is drawn in concentration, fighting with the floor scrubber to get rid of the blood stains.
"How are ya, Pete?" Bucky chuckles as he walks through the open garage doors and into the shade of the shop. The lean frame of the kid cowers but lets out a relieved breath when he sees it's him.
"I'm okay, Mr president," Peter says and wipes his shiny forehead with the back of his hand.
"Sam give you a hard time?" Bucky asks while taking off the leather jacket, throwing it on a table as he gathers his tools on a cart.
