Syndicate: ZERO

Falling Game

A soft crackle of thunder groaned across the melancholy sky, giving life to the gentle spray of a late-evening storm.

Onix Kiyata overlooked the ledge atop the rusty, metallic roofing of the lower-class housing sectors, which resembled shop shelving raising up a mile high from the dusty, carbon-monoxide-tainted and debris-littered street far below. The housing sectors were interconnected by catwalks that crisscrossed between the mile-high towers, and the single-bedroom units often accomodated entire families, crammed and confined into the less-than-ideal conditions. It was so bad, in fact, the tenants in corner units would often steal cutting and welding equipment from work and add on additional rooms.

Of course such actions were illegal, ajd when the GEARs did their monthly inspections, they would knock off the additional housing and fine the families for going against the housing agreement.

Onix loved the rain, and even though the patchwork-metal appearance of the shoddy housing sector's towers were overlooked by the higher and baron-class citizens of modern-day Ikebukuro, Japan, Onix couldn't help but admire the steampunk aura and theme.

Onix was only 24, and after living his life as an orphan, he came to rely on his instincts for scavenging, building and scouting. His appearance was simple, having short, dreaded hair that flowed back into a small ponytail, light-brown eyes, and caramel skin. He donned an old black, rainproof hoodie, which he custom-embossed the old "KW" logo of an organization from long ago in a ghostly-grey material, so that it only appeared when illuminated by light reflections, compression-style black pants, and a grey GEAR trainee compression t-shirt that he managed to recover from a shipping unit that wrecked not far from his housing building. His shoes were slip-resistant, generic, black tennis shoes, which for the most part were waterproof, but after years of use, the black fabric began gading and the tread of the soles were all but worn off from continuous use.

On his back was a petite, black camel pack, housing a stolen parachute, which he'd bought from a black market dealer, just as many teens and young adults had in order to compete in the latest in a line of recreational activities that blatantly gave the one-finger gesture to the housing's safety rules and regulations.

Onix looked down at the ground far below and sighed, running his right hand over the safety-orange, T-shaped handle of the parachute release ripcord, and stepped nimbly up onto the ledge. Normally such actions would trigger warning signs and fear sensations in the teens and young adults who participated, meaning their nanomachines were sensing imminent threat or danger, but Onix never had to worry about fighting past the nanomachine control, since being an orphan meant he never received any of the 3 primary injections at the ages of 9, 16, or 20.

He looked over the edge, as the world took on a bluish hue in his eyes, making the raindrops seem to flow in slow-motion as his heart rate increased, and without a word, Onix jumped.

He tumbled into a ball quickly, rotating in a corkscrew maneuver as he passed the first junctions of catwalks high up, and twisted his body acrobatically to avoid them, and continued his freefall. He went headlong and pressed his arms to his sides, streamlining to increase his speed as the second set of catwalks approached, and just as a vibrating sensation ran across his body, he unintentionally began weaving and rotating his body around the railings effortlessly. There was only one major section of catwalks left after this obe, and Onix knew that shortly after passing it, he would have to deploy his chute. As long as none of the GEAR patrols saw him do so, he could drift his chute into one of the many alleys often used as "landing zones", collect his chute and be on his way just as before.

The final set of catwalks thundered closer as Onix's Instincts kicked in again, whirling him expressively around the rails and into the open air beneath. He pulled the ripcord sharply, releasing the black-material parachute high above him as he grasped the handles and tugged his right hand to guide him towards the trash-covered, deserted dead-end alley on his right.

As soon as his feet touched, he collected his parachute and folded it crisply as he'd practiced many times over as a safety precaution, slipped it into his bag, and stood up to exit the alley. He took two steps and froze, the blue hue remaining in his eyes as he watched a small squad of uniformed GEARs stroll into the single opening of the alley, staring directly at Onix, who immediately placed his hood over his head and stood still.

"You're out way past curfew my friend," one of the GEARs in front stated ominously, making the others chuckle.

Onix remained still, watching the group of 4 carefully; GEARs were Government Enforcement and Anti-Riot patrols, but Onix knee their original outfit stood for Genetically Enhanced and Augmented Research hunters, who killed off rare individuals with Special Skills over 20 years ago--people like Onix. The hue remained in his eyes as he saw one of the GEARs remove a nightstick from his right side belt harness and still forward; the all-black uniforms of the GEARs were lightly armored and menacing in appearance, and since they were patrolling the housing sectors, they only carried lethal-shock tasers and stasis batons, which resembled tonfas with shiny, metal cylinder knobs on the end, and a trigger switch on the perpendicular handle to activate the stasis. The GEAR patrols twirled it with an electrical hiss and chuckled.

"You know what happens to people out past curfew, right?" he threatened.