Chapter 4
It took them thirty minutes to arrive in the 9th District on the Northern side of Blackridge City. The transition from the world they knew to this one was not marked by a sign, but by a feeling—a palpable shift in the air that grew heavier, tinged with the acrid scent of smoldering trash and neglect. The city was divided into four sectors—North, West, South, and East—with the Northern side containing three districts: the 7th, 8th, and 9th. Each was a world unto itself, a stark lesson in the economics of safety.
The 7th District was ruled by a single gang, the Ravens. It was the most expensive and luxurious area, a gilded cage of polished chrome and clean sidewalks, where the theft rates were low and the control was absolute. This was also where Elijah and his family lived, clinging to the lower-end fringes of that privilege. Their house might have been small, but it was a fortress of relative calm, the safest haven the Northern region had to offer.
Just a breath away was the 8th District, a turbulent sea of rival gangs where territorial skirmishes were as common as the graffiti marking their claims. The air there often crackled with a nervous energy, the unfortunate consequence being the suffering of the local citizens caught in the crossfire. It was also the location of Elijah and Amy's college, a pragmatic choice made by a worried mother. She worked in the sterile safety of the 7th District, but couldn't afford its ivory-tower schools. The college was their compromise—the closest one to the 7th District's border, a place where the violence rarely spilled over unless a full-scale war was declared.
Then there was the 9th District.
It wasn't just a location; it was a warning. The most unsafe place imaginable, a festering wound on the city's body. Where the 7th had one gang and the 8th had several, the 9th was a hive of countless, swarming factions. They fought daily. If it wasn't over a few feet of cracked pavement, it was over drug sales. If not drugs, then it was pimping, and if not that… well, there were too many illegal activities to name, a shadow economy thriving in the rot. While other districts had some grim semblance of control over their crime, the 9th was pure, unadulterated chaos.
Locals called it the "Gangless Area," not for a lack of gangs, but for a total lack of the order they usually impose. It was a free-for-all. The police had long since written it off; entering was a tactical operation, not a patrol. Almost everyone living there was a gear in the chaotic machine, a member, a dealer, or an informant. Police authority was a joke, their presence a spark waiting for gasoline.
That was why Elijah's stomach had been a tight knot the entire drive, his knuckles black on the steering wheel. That was why he had desperately wanted to take Amy home first, to deliver her to the muted glow of their 7th District streetlights. Kai had assured him with a casual confidence that it would be fine, but Elijah knew better. He knew that "fine" in the 9th District was a temporary and fragile state. He didn't want his sister's shadow anywhere near this place.
Now, they had arrived. The car idled at the curb, and through the windshield, the 9th District stretched out before them.
Elijah parked the car on the side of a surprisingly clean street, next to a building that looked like a closed bar. Kai was on the phone before sighing and saying, "The guy doesn't want to leave the building, so let's just go in." He opened the car door.
Elijah looked back and saw Amy watching something on her phone while eating her chips and chicken. He chuckled. "We'll be back. I'm locking the doors."
"Okay," Amy said, not asking any questions. It wasn't that she didn't want to, but after learning they were going to the 9th District, she had decided it was better not to know what they were up to.
After locking the car, Elijah glanced around and noticed a man in a nearby corner being beaten by three others. His heart sank not for the man, as he honestly didn't care about him, but because he wished his sister hadn't seen it. Fortunately, her attention was glued to her phone.
What truly pained Elijah was the memory of what the other Elijah had said: [Being given a sign of safety doesn't mean you're safe. Gangs hold the power, and when a war breaks out between them or between gangs and the NCEA, the people who suffer are the civilians. Maybe it's rare among higher-ranked gangs, but it's not impossible. Do you have the strength or the authority so that if something like that happens, you will still be standing? Or will you lose everything, like so many others in this city?]
Elijah sighed as he watched the assailants take what they wanted and leave. Kai noticed Elijah's attention on the beaten man on the ground.
"Do you wanna help?" Kai asked. It was a simple question, but for him, it was a test to see if Elijah's mind was ready for what awaited them behind the bar door.
Elijah looked at him and said, "Not really, but I'll call for medical help, at the very least. I only look after those around me, Kai. You know me better than that. Everyone else can deal with their own problems."
Kai chuckled. "Yeah, I do." He was silent for a moment before moving toward the building. "Let's go. We can't keep the bastard waiting."
Elijah nodded, called for medical services to his location, and followed Kai inside.