Divnyy Police Department Parking Lot
"She's something, isn't she?"
Ryan smiled, eyes locked on the car he hadn't touched since he was twelve. 1990 Mazda RX-7 FC3S, now painted in all black, unlike the state he'd left it in, gunmetal grey with a red pinstripe that had barely held on. It looked better than the last time he'd seen it, almost too clean for someone whos ready to dive headfirst into the underworld of Prime.
The officer who handed him the keys leaned on the hood, arms crossed. "I'm more of a muscle guy. Raw horsepower, big block, American-made. None of that rotary engine crap."
'Talking shit about my car?' Ryan thought. Running his hand along the fender, he said "Rotary is temperamental. But if you know how to treat her, she glides like an eagle."
"You always talk like that about machines?"
Ryan shrugged. "Only the ones worth risking your neck for. What do you drive anyway?" he asked the question with a smirk. He straightened up and raised his eyebrows, pushing the officers limit even further.
There was a beat. The officer looked him up and down as his face got all red.
"I drive a Crown Vic the PD gave me," he snapped. "And if I'm lucky, they might even let me fill it up with the gas I paid for."
Ryan let out a short laugh through his nose, but the officer wasn't done.
"You think pulling that rustbucket out of impound makes you one of the cool guys? Let me remind you, that thing's a courtesy. You didn't earn it, you filed a fucking request. That car's back on the road because people like me stayed on the force, in this lawless city, answering every call and coming back empty-handed. We took wage cuts, buried friends... And now you show up, playing street thug, breaking god-knows-how-many rules, just for us to come and clean up your shit at the end of the line? This isn't a fucking game Trejo, take it seriously." Ryan's smile faded. He didn't fire back. Just nodded, slow.
"Thanks for the tune-up," he said.
The officer stepped back, brushing dust off his pants.
"Don't thank me. Thank the budget committee. Or better yet, don't crash it this time."
The officer turned and walked toward the entrance, muttering something under his breath that Ryan didn't catch, letting the engine's subtle hum mix with the sound of busy streets of Divnyy.
Ryan slid into the driver's seat. The leather was new, the gauges were replaced and the old FM radio was swapped with a Bluetooth unit. Sunlight flashed off the chrome NOS tanks where the passenger seat used to be, blinding a crow mid flight. Someone had done more than a patch-up job, they'd made it feel like it could win a race.
"Thanks, Captain," Ryan murmured under his breath, then revved the engine. The car roared back to life.
For a second, he swore he smelled his dad's cologne in the vents.
But it vanished before the RPMs leveled.
Streets of Tek
As Ryan drove over a bridge, the one standing over the Shepard River, dividing Divnyy's skyscrapers and Tek's neonlit skyline, he thought to himself.
'Tek, the shining crown of Prime. An advertisement on every surface. A city within a city, neon bleeding out of every sign, engines so loud they drown your thoughts, highways and overpasses weaving through each other like the layers of the roads seem to defy gravity. Nothing here is stock. Even the kids on scooters had more mods than a patrol cruiser. The clubs are louder, the drinks are stronger, the cars are faster, the stakes are higher… If you don't push your limits, you don't belong in here. The economy runs on a cyber underworld, nonstop digital battles eating away your data, just as deadly as a gunshot. But Tek isn't built to last, it is a fantasy. It thrives because people believe in the illusion, and they never let reality sink in.'
Ryan pulled up to a barbershop, on a corner connecting North 23rd and North 25th Streets. Jaki Varela's car had been spotted here a couple nights ago. The shop didn't have a name, didn't have a sign. Just a sun-faded newspaper clipping taped to the window, reading "HERO FIREFIGHTER SAVED THE DAY".
Ryan parked beside an orange '59 Impala, covered in reddish brown vinyls, with a plate that read "4CT10N". It was too flashy, even for Tek.
Inside, the shop felt like a time capsule; baby blue walls turning yellow from all the built up nicotine and tar, vinyl chairs that squeaked loudly if you breathed wrong, a box fan humming in the corner, the steady rhythm of shears snipping on hair... The man behind the chair had arms like a body builder and the eyes of someone who'd seen too many seasons pass in Prime.
"Sit down, and wait your turn," the barber said without looking up.
Ryan raised his hands in mock surrender. "Just need a cut. New to the city."
The barber pointed toward the empty chair, eyes still locked on the customer in front of him. "You got a name?"
Ryan sat. The chair leaned back with a hiss.
"Trejo."
He didn't know what pushed him to say that name. Maybe he hoped that would ring a bell on the veteran barber. Maybe somewhere inside, he wanted the name to carry a weight around here, so he can prove the feds right and be done with the past.
"That your name or your story?"
"Both," Ryan said, cracking a smile. "What about you?"
"I'm the guy that cuts hair." The barber replied and finally glanced at Ryan in the mirror. "That's all you need to know."
There was silence for a bit. Then the customer stood up and walked out. No payment, no thank you. The Impala rode off into the neon maze that was Tek. It was just Ryan and the barber now. The air felt heavier without the extra body.
The barber arrived at Ryan's chair, and started cutting his hair. Ryan didn't argue, he knew better than to ask for a style in places like this. After the radio finished playing a 60's tune, the barber started talking.
"Nice car out front," he said. "You race?"
"Used to. Thinking about getting back into it."
A grunt came out of the barber's throat. "You don't think about racing here, kid. You do or you don't."
Ryan paused. "I heard there's a guy who runs things here. Keeps order."
"You heard that from who? Cops? Tourists?" Ryan looked for a tell in the barber but his face was as motionless as cement.
He kept it casual. Maybe he wasn't going to be able to break the barber down, but he sure wasn't going to be the first one to break down himself. "Just want to know where to go. Who to talk to."
The scissors stopped.
The silence stretched.
Then the barber leaned in close, voice low.
"Let me tell you something, Trejo." His tone sharpened. His hands slowly moved down, towards Ryan's neck. "This city? It remembers. Every favor. Every betrayal. People here, they don't trust easy, and they forgive even less. You step into this world, you better know why."
Ryan nodded slowly. "I'm not looking for trouble."
"That's the thing about Prime, kid," the barber said, hands wrapped around Ryan's neck. He could've snapped it if he wanted to. "Trouble finds you."
Then his hands dropped, brushing the loose hair from Ryan's shoulders. "You're cleaned up. Don't come back until you're dirty."
Ryan knew the barber was talking about Julio. He was more than a mob boss, more than a king. He was worshipped here. He was Prime.
Ryan stood, offered a few bills. The barber waved them off.
"First one's on the house," he said. "Next one costs double."
Outside, the sun had dipped low enough to paint the sky red, bleeding into Tek's neon blue skyline. The whole city looked like it was caught in a crossfire between ice and fire, and neither was backing down. Ryan got into his RX-7. He turned the keys, with a light head and a racing heart, as if his adrenaline glands disconnected from his veins while he was in the barber shop, and reconnected the moment he got in the car.
He didn't get any real information, but it was his first day on the job. The streets hadn't spoken yet, but they didn't shut him out either. And in Prime, that was more than you could ask for. Ryan knew that.
He stopped at a red light near the shop. To his right, a black Nissan 350Z purred at idle, tinted windows and a phoenix decal along the side. The driver rolled his Windows down and looked over.
They didn't speak. Just revved their engines. It was on.
The light turned green, and for a second, the whole world stood still.
Then, Ryan left his first skid mark on the city.