[IC] Tropical Tyrant Times - Hillan and LetterA

[Hillan]

"Tropical city is a metropolis filled with tourist traps, a steady population and a booming film industry, it's growing to become the new Los Paradiso of the United Nations of Aeris. Tropical City is also home to many impressive scenes, from the beaches and the sea that gave it it's name. There's countless resorts, and people from all over Aeris are pouring into the city to experience the sweet release of being on vacation. The city also holds the world's highest crime-rate. The high crime-rates comes from the many criminal gangs, the mobs of thugs and thiefs.

But on the flipside, they are the home to the world's greatest heroes, who have become infamous for their nickname as "The Tyrants" Due to not letting the criminal underbelly of Tropical City take advantage of the tourists coming into the city. The Tyrants have existed for almost ten years, and while in the beginning, they were a novel idea, people have grown accustomed to them and their sporadic figthing with the criminals who matches them blow for blow when it comes to crazy abilities, incredible feats of strength - of strange control over monsters of the Aeris area.

Time to see what being a Tyrant really means.

[LetterA]

C H R I S T I A N . A L E X A N D E R

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The summer afternoon heat baked the students making their way home from summer classes, uniforms melting with bright, disgustingly designed t-shirts that sported the hideous Tropical City logo. One such student was a blue haired teen, though rather than dressed in his uniform, he was dressed down in typical teen garb. He was, after all, the school's student council president, and thus couldn't possibly have landed himself in summer school. The epitome of normality, Chris walked amongst the tourists without so much as a glance up his phone.

The only thing strange about the teen was his right hand, hidden in the pocket of his jeans and covered in a latex glove. As his left hand continued to text away, his right shoulder accidentally collided with a man walking past him, the man immediately falling forward, the crowd of strangers merely making like a river meeting stone and passing around him. It'll probably take a few hours give or take, for anyone to even notice the man was bleeding himself to death with a knife to his chest, deduced Chris as he peeled the glove off and shoved it in some woman's bag.

"Hey, yeah, I just finished a game in South Street," he said into his phone after it rung, inconspicuously stopping by a bench as he tied up his shoes, smiling at the people nearby, an explosion happening behind him. Probably some supers duking it out. Not his problem. He was just a high school honor roll student spending a summer out in the tourist trap of the world. As he stood from tying his shoe, a flyer made its way against his leg, Chris picking it up. "Hm? Yeah the Festival tomorrow? Sure, see ya there."

[Hillan]

Tropical Empire Stadium, 6 months ago.

His scarlet hair fell on his shoulder as they took out the rubberband that was holding his ponytail together, falling on his naked torso, showing every scar, and each of his tattoo, each tatoo signaling a different mark - a different hit the man had succeeded with. Each tattoo resembled a life he had destroyed, either by taking, or by making meaningless. Each of his scars resembled a wound - someone who had gotten close to ending his tyranny, but had failed to finish the job. From gunshots to flames, to frostbites and swords. They tried everything, yet, he had refused to go down.

Till now, that is. It took Six of the Ten tyrants to finally defeat and capture the Crimson Crusader, Xilian Noon. The most feared criminal in all of Tropical City. Nay, in all of Aeris. Without him, the Valorian Vipers would crumble, the authorities promised and the city would be a safer place, all thanks to the Tyrants and by extension, all the other heroes of the world.

As the whole world tuned in, they saw Xilian meet his doom, by the blade of the executioner, cutting his throat with a swift slice. But as he bled out, choking on his own blood, he grinned. "See you soon." Were his last words.

A L E X A N D E R R Y B E R G

Angry Alex

Alex woke up from his evening snooze. He had fallen asleep right after noon, after grabbing two cheeseburgers from the burger joint around the corner. Before that, he had woken up from his morning snooze, since he had woken up from his night rest at nine, and by ten, was resting again. Some would think him to be lazy.

None would say it, though. Since his mood was known to be quite temperamental, and whenever he got mad, things tended to go awry for everyone else. His phone rang. He picked up, mumbling. "Who the fuck is thi- Oh, hi Wade." He sat up, wiping his eyes. "What's up?".

"Fuck you mean it's late"

"Fuck you mean I'm late?"

"FUCK DO YOU MEAN THE RED'S ARE GOING IN ON OUR TURF?!" He shouted the last sentence, sitting up, scrambling for his shirt, pulling the black tank top over his torso, looking for his jeans, finding the pair laying on the floor. Putting his leg into one pant, he scurried down the stairs

"I swear to fucking god Wade, if the bar is on fire before I get there, I'm gonna.."

"FUCK YOU, IT'S NOT EMPTY THREATS!" Alex shouted, slamming the phone, as he managed to put on his pants, and his shoes, grabbing his jacket, he headed outside, towards downtown on his moped, honking furiously at everyone in his way.

[LetterA]

CHRISTIAN ALEXANDER

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The teen had met up with his friends, students of varying images from slackers to four eyed bookworms. Gathered under the safety of a tree, the group watched the man who'd been lying on the ground for an hour now, a blonde teen to Christian's left holding a stopwatch. Nibbling on a palm tree shaped popsicle, the blue haired President, glanced from his phone to the stopwatch to the body now and again, the others beside him talking about a hot new phone app as they showed one another their hefty collection now and again.

Just as Chris was starting to feel bored and finishing up his ice cream, the roar of a motor paired with the distressed shouts of surprised strangers caught his attention. There, in all his glory, was the resident douchebag driving quite possibly the lamest moped in town. At first, Chris barely bat a lash, but as he noticed the direction the man was making his way to, a playful grin tugged on his lips. Before he knew it, the crowd parted to make way for the moped man the same way they parted for the corpse on the street, and the two made contact, the man bumping over the body.

"He probably wouldn't care," noted Chris as he grabbed another kid's modified longboard, crashing it to the ground and hopping on to it, the motors of the board revving as he started his way towards the man on the moped, occasionally giving the thing a kickstart as it slowed down. He made sure to dodge past any civilian, though at one point jabbing his thumb into a passerby's throat, glancing back to laugh as the woman fell forward with no one so much as batting a lash in her direction.

As he took the time to laugh, however, he crashed right into moped man's body, an arm reaching up for the longboard as it started out of control, his other arm grabbing himself onto the man. Hooking his legs around the moped and straddling the back, he held the longboard under his right arm, his left arm resting on the dark haired man's shoulder.
"Alex," he greeted, his Polite Student Council President Smile planted on his face despite being behind the man and not being seen. "You just ran over a dead body, where's the rush?"