In the distance was a playground filled to the brim with laughing children. They swung on the swing sets, slid down the slides, played on the monkey bars, and cloistered into little cliques, hanging in their own little world. Presumably the most important things on their minds were how everyone did on the latest test or who liked whom. Petty concerns, things that stopped mattering as soon as the kids went home and had no bearing on the world at large. Dressed in white silk jackets with blue slacks and black dress shoes, the kids wore uniforms that seemed utterly alien yet familiar. The outfits looked like colors, but without the dirt and grime that was synonymous with the gang outfits of Vim. Yet here the playground was, looking pristine in the middle of a metropolis known for violence, drugs, poverty, and death. It was situated next to a just as pristine looking two storied building. Apparently it was where the students spent most of their time, where adults would teach them things. What a strange image.

The school was protected from all sides by a chain link fence, secluding it from the outside world. It was as if the school was in denial, using the fence to pretend Vim didn’t exist. Outside of the fence, with his hands clasping onto it, was a teenage boy. He let go of the fence and looked down as his outfit, comparing it to that of the children. His outfit consisted of a maroon monkey jacket with a grey undershirt, grey chino pants, and black boots. He was covered in dirt, his face ashy from the filth that permeated the ghettos of Vim. On his back was the symbol of his gang, the Outliers. It was a drawing of a blue bell curve, with a cluster of three red dots located to the far right of it. The boy had grown up with the image, seeing it more times than he could count. He still didn’t really understand the symbolism behind the image but he knew it meant a lot to the others. If anyone was seen defacing the symbol tagged throughout their home turf, he was allowed to wreck them, no questions asked.

In comparison to that of the children, the boy’s outfit was definitely less presentable. In addition to the dirt that covered him, his hair was a mess. His short black hair partially stuck up looking like he had bed hair. However he couldn’t help making a connection between the two uniforms. The uniforms were meant to instill discipline and a sense of community, so it is for gangs. The connection was amusing for the boy. Perhaps he was more like those rich children than he thought.

“What’re you looking at, Young Blood?” a voice called out, taking the boy’s attention away from the children.

He turned his head to see a man about three heads taller, wearing a similar outfit. He had the same monkey jacket and undershirt but his pants were baggy and black. His hair was brown and tied into a ponytail. The man’s light green eyes looked down at him, then at the school. The children were now returning to the building indicating that recess was over.

“Looking at the school again eh?” he asked.

“No.”

“Yeah you were. You’ve been doing it for a few weeks now. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. You want to go to school don’t you Young Blood?”

“No. Those kids are babies. I don’t want to be with them. ”

“They have older grades there. Think it goes up to 12th grade or something. My brother went there before he dropped out. From what he told me, school is no better than prison. Come on Young Blood, let’s go do our rounds.”

“Alright Iron.”

The two turned away from the school, heading into Vim proper. They travelled alongside a muddy road, filled with carriages and people on horseback. The buildings located on both sides of the street were very tall brick buildings, the smallest ones being at least three stories high. Most were tenements, where countless people were confined in the tall buildings like peas in a pod. Almost all of the buildings in the 7th ward made Young Blood feel like an ant. However most things made him feel small, given that he was only 5’5 and hadn’t experienced a growth spurt yet. Him walking next to Iron didn’t help things. The older man stood at 6’0 but it wasn’t just the height that made Young Blood feel tiny. Iron exuded this aura of authority that made him appear to be larger than life. He was the leader of the Outliers, being the strongest and oldest at a whopping 19 years old. To the 13 year old Young Blood, he looked so mature. Everyone revered the man whose older brother had founded the gang and could kick everyones’ ass. However even if he wasn’t related to the founder, his skill and charisma made him qualified to be War Chief regardless. For Young Blood, Iron was the closest thing he had to an older brother.

“So Young Blood, what made you want to go to school?” Iron questioned, passing some street peddlers.

“I dunno.”

“Come on you know. It’s ok you can tell me, I won't tell the others.”

“I guess it’s...interesting? Like I just want to see what it’s about. Hearing of adults that don’t hate your guts and try to teach you things is something I wanna see.”

“That so?”

“Yeah. Sounds stupid huh?”

“Not at all Young Blood. You’ve never attended school, of course you’re interested. It’s not worth it though. It’s way too expensive and you don’t learn anything that helps you survive in the streets.”

“I heard in other states school is free.”

“Yeah me too. Guess the lord of Zefren has better things to spend money on.”

“Like what?”

“Heh I would love to know Young Blood” Iron said, sounding bitter.

Iron stopped, looking to his left. Young Blood stopped as well, realizing that they stood in front of a general store. It was a place they visit often, to the detriment of the owner inside. Iron entered through the brown door with Young Blood following suit. Inside there was an eclectic grouping of objects being sold on shelves ranging from bags of grain to old clothes. In the back of the small store was an old man wearing a black and white apron. He had a shiny bald head and a bushy gray mustache.

“Hey Dennis you got this week’s payment?” Iron asked, picking up an apple from a shelf and taking a huge bite into it.

The old man with a frustrated look reached under his desk, took out a small sack full of gold coins.

“Right here you street poison.” he growled.

Iron nonchalantly went up to the desk, grabbed the bag of coins.

“You got something to say Dennis? You seem upset. Are you still mad at what we did to your shop last week?”

“What’d you think? You know how long it took me to fix the place up? It was like a damn orc went through the place.”

“Yeah the boys can get a bit wild. Especially Young Blood back there. He’s small but he’s a bopper. He can get violent when need be. You did it to yourself Dennis. It’s what you get for not paying for our services.”

“Yeah your so called ‘protection’ is such a great service. You assholes told me you were going to protect this place from the other street vermin. Like those orc, catkin, and lizardman gangs. Turns out the only gang in this area is yours. I got ripped off.”

“Hey Rockafella didn’t lie to you. Because of us the other human and non-human gangs don’t own this turf. It’s just that you also need protection from us when you don’t pay. We went easy on this place. If the Rolling 80’s or the Seraphs did it, the place would be damaged beyond repair. Probably would’ve sent a fireball in here or something. Dennis is quite fortunate, ain’t he Young Blood?”

Young Blood nodded his head, chewing on a peach he got from a shelf.

“You two could at least pay for the fruit” Dennis mentioned.

Iron reached into the bag, took out two golden coins and placed them on the desk.

“Being paid with my own money. Great.” the old man remarked.

Iron whirled around, strode back to the general store’s entrance.

“Come on Young Blood. We got a few more places to visit.”

“Okeh” he replied, his mouth full of fruit.

They left the general store back into the squalid streets of Vim. The rest of the day consisted of heading from shop to shop, receiving payments from the proprietors throughout the 7th ward ghetto. It was the biggest source of income for the gang. The other crimes of smash and grabs and mugging people didn’t make nearly as much gold. There was only one activity that made more gold than extorting, and that was drug dealing. However, selling drugs in the 7th ward was verboten on Iron’s orders.

They had finished their rounds for the day, their arms full of small bags filled with gold coins.

“You good, Young Blood? Need me to carry anymore?” Iron questioned, unable to hold anymore bags himself.

“Yeah. Can we head back to the winery now? My arms hurt.”

“Yep. Make sure not to drop anything. You know Rockafella would lose his mind if we lose a single coin”

They two walked the muddy roads of Vim when they bypassed an alleyway, hearing the sounds of moaning and loud thumps. Young Blood backtracked, peering into the alleway. There were two guardsmen beating what appeared to be a homeless person, their body writhing and moaning on the ground. The guardsmen were in panoply, wearing their signature silver chest plate, blue pants that had armor only on the knees to ensure mobility, rounded helms with t-shaped openings leaving the eyes, mouth, and nose exposed, silver metal elbow pads on their arms, and finally swords sheathed on their hips. The two men were kicking the fallen man, making him wallow in his old blood. One of the guards looked up, noticing Young Blood.

“What’s up little man?” he asked, his partner continuing the beating unimpeded.

The guardsman glanced down at the beaten man, began to walk to Young Blood.

“Don’t worry, we caught that guy stealing. Stole from a fruit vendor. We’re teaching him a lesson. So what’d you got there?”

Young Blood locked eyes with the guardsman who looked down at him like he was looking at a rat. He said nothing.

“Oh you’re flying colors aren’t you? You a gang member? Damn shame how they keep getting younger and younger. You steal that money? How much is in there?”

“Hey Young Blood why’re you back here?” Iron asked, rejoining Young Blood.

He stopped, looked at the guardsman who was the same height as him.

“Hello officer. Is there a problem?”

“I have reason to believe the little man here stole the money he’s carrying.”

The guardsman then realized that Iron held many bags of coins as well.

“Oh it appears I have reason to be suspicious of you as well.”

Young Blood looked up at Iron, trying to gauge his reaction. Iron was unfazed, his eyes staring into the guardsman’s.

“Take your cut and get the fuck outta my face” Iron barked.

“Heh, smart kid.”

The guardsman grabbed two bags from Young Blood and Iron respectively, strode back to his partner who hadn’t stopped beating the man.

“Come on Young Blood, let’s go” Iron beckoned, walking away from the scene.

The younger boy followed, speeding up so he could trot alongside.

The two finally reached their destination, an old and abandoned winery building. It was a white single storied building whose paint had faded long ago. Plants covered the outside, with some climbing up the walls showing how nature was slowly but surely overtaking the structure. The front of the building had a sign but the letters had faded long ago, instead now displaying the symbol of the Outliers. The old winery was in the abandoned part of the 7th ward, a place that once used to be home to thriving businesses but now looks like a ghost town. It was the perfect place for a gang to call home. Iron and Young Blood walked inside the building, happy that they were finally at the one place where they were safe. Before them were an open space that had once been home to dozens upon dozens of barrels, ready to be shipped across the country. But now all the barrels had been removed in order to create a living space. Metal sheet walls were erected all around in order to make rooms for each member. There were about 45 members in the gang, quite small compared to the other gangs in Vim but they were up and coming, receiving new recruits all the time. To their right was the small workout area. It consisted of a punching bag, a mat for push ups and sit ups, and a pull up bar. The punching bag and pull up bar were being used when Young Blood and Iron entered the building.

“Hey what’s up War Chief?” the Outlier using the pull bar asked.

“Whaddup Half-Dead?” Iron greeted. “You know where Rockafella is? Just finished our rounds.”

“He’s in his room. I think West and Feral are in there too.” the Outlier hitting the punching bag answered.

“Cool thanks Bushwick.”

They went into the maze of sheet walls, taking turns every few feet. To anyone not in the Outliers, it looked like a giant untraversable maze but all Outliers had memorized the location of each member’s room. Eventually they stopped in front of a decrepit brown door.

“Yo Rockafella!” Iron called out.

“Aye War Chief’s back” a voice said on the other side of the door.

It opened, revealing a teenager wearing the Outlier’s signature monkey jacket and light grey pants. He wore glasses with thin black frames and had shaggy black hair. Instead of greeting his leader he immediately examined the bags Iron and Young Blood carried.

“You guys are short.” he commented. “What happened?”

“Had a run in with some hogs,” Iron replied.

“The fuck? Why are they patrolling out here? God damn it.”

“It’s not that big a deal.”

“Yes the hell it is! We can’t afford to pay off those fucks.”

“We’ll figure it out, Rockafella.”

“We better. I know you want to expand but we won’t be able to without the finances. That reminds me, I got this idea. So what if-”

Young Blood began to zone out because Rockafella was about to go on another long speech on how to make money. He tried to pay attention before but it just hurt his head so now he just zones out. As Rockafella spoke Iron motioned for him to head inside the room to drop off the money. He headed inside. It was small like all their rooms were, the dimensions being about 6 x 6 ft. On the left side was an old mattress with many springs sticking out, on the walls were drawings of scantily clad women. Apparently they came from comic books as they had large cartoonish eyes and big breasts. In the upper left corner of the room were bags of money. To the right were two Outliers sitting on the ground, playing chess. The one closer to Young Blood with his back facing him wore the Outlier jacket with black baggy pants. On his head was a black trifold hat that he had found in the trash one day and had been glued to his head since.

“Hey West,” Young Blood said, catching his attention.

“Hey it’s Young Blood! What’s up man?” he pronounced with a huge smile.

“Not much. The usual. What’re you doing?”

“I’m beating Feral’s ass at chess. It’s funny, look at him”

He pointed across the chess board. Feral was adorned in the jacket with torn dark blue pants. He had long curly dirty blonde hair that went to his shoulders. His full attention was on the chessboard, scratching his head trying to figure out what to do next.

“Ffffffffuuuuccckkkkkkkkk!” he hollered out of the blue.

West laughed at his friend’s frustration.

“I didn’t know you guys knew how to play chess” Young Blood said in surprise.

“Nah we don’t. That’s why we made up our own rules. It’s not chess anymore, now it’s Super Dimensional Warfare 2.” West explained.

“Why the 2?”

“The first one is played with a checkerboard.”

“That’s it. Young Blood!” Feral hollered, pointing at him. “Take over.”

Young Blood threw his bags of money across the room to join the money pile, then took the spot Feral was in.

“I don’t know how to play.” Young Blood animadverted.

“It’s fine, I just don’t want to lose so you’ll lose in my place” Feral clarified.

“Aren’t you going to teach him how to play?” West pointed out.

“Huh? It’s not my problem anymore. I’m not playing. Young Blood, just move a random piece.”

Young Blood, having no idea what the hell he was doing, moved a random piece forward by one space. Feral and West stared at the board with mouths agape.

“HAH HE JUST WON!” Feral announced.

“What the hell? How?” West said in disbelief.

“Good job Young Blood! I knew you could do it.”

Young Blood didn’t know what happened but he felt good about himself now. The good feeling only lasted for a moment however as hollering was heard from outside the room. All three Outliers got up and quickly exited to see what the commotion was. In the hallway they saw an Outlier out of breath, bending forward in front of Rockafella and Iron.

“What’s wrong D-train?” Iron asked.

“It’s the fucking Seraphs! They’re tagging our turf on the corner of 5th and Wesson. Big Mike went to stop them on his own!”

Without a second though, Young Blood ran past them, sprinting his way out of the winery.

“Young Blood wait!” Rockafella yelled but it was too late, the young teenager was already out of earshot.

“Feral! West! Go back up Young Blood! Make sure he doesn’t kill anybody” Iron ordered.

The two Outliers nodded, began to run after their gang’s youngest member.

“Great now we gotta deal with the fucking Seraphs.” Rockafella complained.

“It’s fine. They’re about to be taught what it means to mess with the Outliers.”