Red Skies | The Prime Archives #1 ✓

thirty-seven

Loud hip-hop music blared through the speakers of the black Range Rover cruising down the streets of the shady burrow of Baltimore known as Sandtown-Winchester.

Oscar grinned as he peered out the tinted windows of the expensive vehicle. He recognized the usual sketchy characters loitering around the rundown apartment buildings. His smile widened as he spotted the homeless old man, Crazy Joe, sitting on a box at the corner of Laurens Street and North Calhoun.

Even the same drug dealers and gang members milled around the neighborhood, cautiously eyeing the black vehicle that passed by them. Luckily for Oscar, no one tried to carjack him and the driver.

Home sweet home.

Despite the bad rep the town received from tourists and the higher-ups of Maryland, Oscar didn't see what was so bad about it. Sure, the crime was rampant, and the murder rate was a little high, but it wasn't all bad. During his four-year stay, his bike had only been stolen from him twice.

At least is was better than San Antonio, Texas—the place he grew up.

''You sure this the right neighborhood?'' the driver asked. Oscar noticed his fingers tapping nervously against the steering wheel as he drove down the road.

Oscar nodded, leaning back into the leather seats. ''Yep. This is it.''

Looking out the window, he noticed the sky was starting to darken, the sun having been set already. Hues of burnt orange and purple decorated the plush clouds. The wind outside rippled through the tall trees that shrouded the sidewalks in shadows. Their gnarled roots pushed through the unkempt cement.

Oscar chuckled to himself, remembering the time he twisted his ankle running along the uneven pavement. His smile faltered as he thought about his mother, who had nursed his swollen leg back to health with an ice pack and a stern scolding to be more careful. They couldn't afford a hospital bill if he broke something.

After a couple minutes of driving down the street, the still music blaring, the luxury vehicle arrived in front of an old, brownstone apartment building. A couple of men sat on the stairs of the building, playing a game of cards with beers in their grimy hands. Oscar recognized them to be some of the men who worked with him and his uncle at the auto body shop Andre's dad owned.

''You know those guys?'' the driver asked, his tone cautious as he parked the car.

''Yep,'' Oscar answered. He patted the guy on his shoulder. ''They're alright, man. But you might want to lock the doors.'' He was kidding. Mostly.

He then opened the door and got out, grabbing the maroon bag full of the clothes he brought with him. After uttering a quick ''thanks'' to his chauffeur, he headed towards the apartment building, the car driving down the road and out of sight behind him.

Oscar glanced over his shoulder and chuckled. You work for Atlas yet you're scared of ol' Sandtown?

Taking a deep breath, he looked at the building. It looked as grungy as ever, but he didn't mind one bit. He grinned, ran a hair through his black curls, which he decided to let grow out, and walked over to where the guys on the stairs were playing cards.

They're going to freak when the see my powers—

He cut his own thought short, remembering what Director Shaw told him and his friends before they left the facility.

''Try not to show anyone your powers. The world isn't quite ready yet.''

Oscar sighed. What's the point in having cool stuff if I can't show anyone?

''Oscar?'' one of the guys, Armando, asked. He was one of the workers at the autoshop Oscar's uncle and Andre's dad, Mr. Steel, co-owned . ''Where you been, amigo?''