Unchosen Champion

Marcus couldn’t hide his amazement at the sudden respectful silence that smothered the aggressive side negotiations that had dominated the basement meeting room.

He was seated among almost 20 people, all presumably working together, but espousing extremely confrontational positions between them. The fact that he was there, an outsider, had made little difference in the way they presented themselves. None of them bothered putting up airs, and most of them had already pitched Marcus or his diplomats for support in private meetings. They were demanding concessions, resources, or man-power from each other for their respective territories in ways that hardly promoted cooperation. The fact that another settlement event had been announced earlier in the day had put them into a frenzy. If Marcus didn’t already know better, he would have been surprised to learn they were a united front when it came to the settlement as a whole. Glancing at his new friend at one end of the main table, he could tell the bespectacled man had both grown accustomed to the environment and was quite exhausted by it, but it was his doing that held all the pieces together.

Marcus had been a part of his fair share of diplomatic negotiations, heard the subtly threatening pitches of powerful corporations, and been lobbied by all sorts of experts and charlatans when he had pursued his career in politics. None of them had any inclination to display any modesty when they thought to strongarm the youngest representative that had been elected in his district, but nothing had ever crossed any obvious lines of legality, at least not by the time they reached him. His staff certainly had stories, but everything was carefully filtered before making it to his desk. The current setting was different, and if he had still been operating in a more official capacity, he would have excused himself for fear of being caught up in potential criminal conspiracies.

The two century old, dark stained, solid wood conference table was glowing with the yellow light of old lamps, highlighting the natural grain and expert finish, but the rest of the room was dimly lit and shrouded in smoky shadows. The table dominated the room, leaving little space beyond its edges. The attendees sat in plush black leather chairs that were creased with age and unusually comfortable. A large fireplace crackled with life across from his position. The mantel was covered in old artifacts with a large mirror covering the wall above, reflecting Marcus’s seated position back to him between distracted representatives as they argued amongst themselves. Both sides of the fireplace were covered in heavy shelves filled with a combination of books, sculptures, and dark oil paintings propped against each other. Small side tables were scattered around the room, displaying alcohol and cigars with crystal ashtrays.

When Marcus had been invited to participate in a meeting with all of the leaders of Neon Park, he hadn’t expected to find himself in the basement of a rec room in the Bronx. The host had summoned them all to one place specifically to discuss important matters that would dictate the future of the region. He thought they would be meeting in a bright spacious executive room for such an occasion, especially given what he had heard about the host’s elegance.

Marcus had spent the last several days learning absolutely everything he could about the various forces in the region. His ambassadors had done the same, and now he had a pretty decent read on the lay of the land. He was in his arena, and it was about time he delivered on behalf of Ghost Reef. He was excited to meet the final piece of the puzzle that was Neon Park as the host of the meeting was the only prominent person who hadn’t had a personal meeting with him beforehand.

As he sat between shouting voices, he imagined how Coop would respond to such aggressive political posturing. The thought brought a small smile to his face. The nonchalant rejections delivered by the casual Champion would probably infuriate the borough leaders even more than the shouted insults he was hearing.

Sitting behind Marcus, Charlie was doing her best to sink into herself and avoid attention while Camila leaned her boots on a side table next to a thick glass decanter half-full of aged whiskey while pulling loose strands from the end of her ponytail. Neither of the girls demonstrated a particular desire to be present for the meeting, but the three of them were the official delegates of Ghost Reef. Marcus intended to make their information the main topic of the conference, regardless of the official itinerary, and he thought their united presence would lend credence to the wild claims he would need to make. An existential threat was on the horizon, and it was about time the word spread outside of Ghost Reef’s holdings. With all of the region’s leaders present at once, it was the perfect time for him to dictate how the information was presented.

A moment before the silence, the group of leaders were still talking over each other, demanding cooperation or subservience from the neighbors to their areas of influence. Neon, the Champion of Neon Park, sat quietly at one end of the table, with the Brooklyn commander at his side. Marcus considered them the most stable of the bunch, and would even be willing to call Neon a new friend and easy ally to Ghost Reef, with aspirations that aligned with their ideals. The fact that he was also the official leader of the city by virtue of his Champion status made the situation even better, though he was less of the singular force that Coop was for Ghost Reef. The fact that Neon provided leadership for tens of millions of people throughout the region seemed to necessitate a more delicate touch than Coop had the appetite for.

Neon had a subtle smile on his face as the commanders from Staten Island and Manhattan yelled over him with their own delegates. Behind him, a girl scowled at anyone that spoke to him from beneath long strands of silvery hair that caught the light from the fireplace. Evidently, she was the top dog in the entire region when it came to actual combat, and she had her own exciting information to share with the group, having only recently returned home from a long trip. In the meantime, she seemed to be barely containing the urge to violently defend the Champion from those who would disrespectfully demand his attention.

The other borough leaders had their own agendas, but at least they were all aligned in the continued safety of Neon Park. They worked together when it counted, but they were constantly forced to react as block leaders within the city staked their own positions and angled for increased authority, gathering and losing momentum and followers as quickly as the days passed. There had nearly been a full uprising while many of the elites that kept the city from infighting were off searching for Camila. Evidently, groups of Chosen had decided it was time for them to take control. They leveraged their gathered power to demand a transfer of leadership to them, and them alone.

It was the stability provided by the one who called this meeting that prevented any sort of civil war from breaking out, combined with the not to be underestimated strength of the borough leaders themselves. The Chosen that believed they should lead were expelled when Neon led a squad of the leaders in combat, and not just from Neon Park. The entire north eastern alliance was aligned, with two of the other settlements in the region already officially becoming subordinate settlements and another two simply waiting for their turn. The decision-makers of seven different factions were present, covering technically wild territory from Washington DC all the way through the more tamed areas with surviving civilization shards in New England and into Canada. While Neon was the de facto leader, there was another that was keeping a steady hand on the city, and therefore the alliance.