Two Days Earlier

"Where's the boss' PS40, R.C.?" A bald heavily tattooed man in a green sleeveless shirt said in an interrogating manner.

Him and a group of 4 other thugs had a younger blue haired man cornered. His face was a bit bruised from taking a beating.

"It's actually kind of a funny story. I kind of... accidentally dropped it from five stories up and it sort of broke when it hit the ground."

The tattooed man fiddled with his ear piece for a few moments. He then began speaking to someone over it.

"We got him right here boss. Apparently he broke the game console... Yes I got you... I'll let him know."

He pressed a button on his ear piece and ended the call. He then proceeded to land a kick in the young man's chest, causing him to fall to the ground, letting out a gasp.

"That was Monsieur Croix. He is not happy at all."

"I completely understand. I'm sure if I can just explain the situation to him, we can work something out." The Blue haired man said.

He stood back up from the cracked pavement and dusted himself off. The gang members all gave him death stares.

The tattooed man spoke again, "The boss doesn't care about your excuses, he says you have thirty days to get him a new PS40 or else."

"Or else what? There's a supply chain shortage, PS40's are a bit hard to come by, Peligrino."

Peligrino signaled to the other four men. The two larger of the four each grabbed one of the young man's arms to restrain him. He pulled out what looked like a large metallic syringe.

"Well then R.C., I guess you better start looking because your timer starts now."

He shoved the syringe into the young man's neck. R.C. yelled out in pain. Pellegrino intentionally left the syringe in longer than he had to increase the pain.

"What the hell was that!?" R.C. exclaimed.

"I just injected you with a neurochip. If you step outside of a radius of 100 miles of the city of Popolis it will release a deadly toxin into your bloodstream. The boss can also remotely activate it. This is just a bit of insurance on our end to make sure you don't try and bail on us."

R.C. laughed arrogantly, "Then I guess I'll see you guys in thirty days then."

The two men restraining him released their grips and he fell to the ground.

"Just make sure you have the PS40 in hand for your sake. The Le Croix gang always collects its debts one way or another."

With that, Peligrino proceeded to slam the heel of his boot into the back of R.C.'s head, knocking him out cold.

"Our business is done here men."

The group of thugs left. Leaving the young man lying unconscious in the secluded Alleyway.

...

A few hours passed when R.C. finally regain consciousness. When he came to, he was laying face down on the cold pavement.

He rolled over onto his back and thought to himself, I think I might have ticked off the wrong people this time.

He sat up and huffed a bit and then stood on his feet. He was a little off balance after the blow he just took to the head. It wouldn't be any surprise if he was concussed.

He stumbled his way out of the alley, tripping over an aluminum trash can, causing one of the trash bags overflowing out of the top to break open. It left a rancid odor that caused R.C. to puke in his mouth a little.

He made it out to the sidewalk and walked over to where he parked his dirt bike curbside. The bike had been tipped over by the gang members and they intentionally opened the fuel tank. Cola had leaked out all over the pavement.

Roughly three decades ago in 2050 an engine was invented that ran off of carbonated sugar water. This led to a technology revolution worldwide.

The city of Popolis became the forefront of that revolution, since it was the home of a majority of large beverage corporations.

R.C. picked up his red dirt bike off the ground. He inspected it to see if there was any visible damage. He wiped some mud off the fuel tank revealing a faded Cola-Cola logo.

It was already an older bike, so he wouldn't notice any new scratches or dings. A few years back he pulled it out of the dump and repaired it himself. It was kind of crappy appearance wise, but ran fairly reliably.

He began walking it down the sidewalk, since the fuel tank was empty now.

This day is really sucking so far, he Thought.

His body ached. Holding the bike up was exerting. Lucky for him there is a vending machine on every corner. He managed to get his bike to the nearest one.

He only had a little pocket change on him. He put the coins into the machine. It dispensed two cans of soda. This is all he could afford at the moment, but it should be enough to get him home.

He popped off the cap of the bikes fuel tank and dumped the cans in and proceeded to try to kick start the bike. It took a few attempts, but eventually the engine fired up. He drove off towards downtown where he lived.

…

It was rush hour and he wasn't about to sit in bumper to bumper traffic. He sped down the road weaving in and out of traffic. Lane splitting wasn't legal in Popolis, but R.C. could care less.

An orange Fonta brand sports car cut him off while he was trying to pass. In all honesty R.C. was definitely the one in the wrong considering he was driving recklessly, but in his mind he thought, tch, who does this guy think he is? Too bad for him he caught me in a real bad mood.

He sped up behind the sports car and began to tail it. Orange vapor came out of the car’s exhaust. It smelled pleasantly like orange cream soda. Eventually he got an opening and he sped up next to the car.

The driver was a middle-aged man with slicked back hair and an expensive looking suit. Based on his appearance and the expensive sports car he drove, this guy was likely some kind of executive or something.

R.C. was driving alongside the driver side window. He knocked on the glass. The driver jumped a little. R.C. proceeded to flip the guy off and then he punched the man's side mirror causing it to shatter.

R.C. floored it and sped off. The man was unable to pursue because traffic began backing up.

R.C. laughed to himself, "what a loser."

His hand was bleeding and had some mirror fragments in it. It didn't bother him though, in fact it kind of felt good that he was able to take his anger out on something.

By the time he got downtown it was night. The city's skyline was illuminated by a rainbow of lights. The sidewalks were littered with people. Restaurants and stores were packed as well. It was Friday night, which meant most people were off of work for the weekend.

Holographic advertisements for everything imaginable were displayed everywhere R.C. looked. When he looked in the sky he could see the skyscrapers that stretched hundreds of stories in the air.

Above those was a web of lights. This was the cities high tech rail system that was built on top of the skyscrapers. This is used to transport people all over the city.

This was the business district. It is considered to be the wealthiest area in all of Popolis. Unfortunately for R.C. This wasn't where he lived.

He drove several blocks down, as he went the lights became less and less. Many of the buildings were in disrepair and looked vacant. This area was considered to be one of the city's slum districts.

As he drove through, he observed many shady characters loitering about on the streets. He knew it best to just avoid most people in this area.

He eventually drove up to a dingy looking brick building. It was obvious from the outside that it was not well maintained.

There was a set of small storage sheds outside the building. One of which belonged to him. He locked up his dirt bike and began ascending a set of rusty metal stairs that were attached to the exterior of the building. He went up five flights until he got to his floor.

In front of him was a greenish door that had the paint peeling off. He stuck his key in the lock and turned it to unlock the door. He opened it and entered the room.

"Back to this crap hole like always," he said to himself.

His apartment was a one room studio apartment. It was absolutely filthy. Garbage and dirty laundry was scattered all over the place. There were flies flying around an old box of pizza spread out on his coffee table. He lived here alone.

He ignored the filth in the room. Not once since he lived there had he cleaned anything. He tore a piece of fabric off an old shirt on the ground and used it to wrap his bloodied hand.

There was a couch and an old tv in the middle of the room..he stripped down to his underwear and laid across the couch. At this point he was too tired to think about all his current issues. After a few moments, he fell asleep for the night.