In a part of Brain City where ideas live, on a road between the memory of sun and the memory of breeze, four superheroes watch the passing of traffic create a daydream.
One of those heroes, Nora Drenaline, gasps in frustration. “We should be paying attention to that presentation. The city might miss something important.”
Another hero, Sera Tonin, says, “It’ll be okay. Don’t worry.” The soft lines on her face rearrange themselves as she smiles. She basks in the presence of the memory of sunshine, even though the sun up ahead isn’t what gives the sky its flat glow.
Nora says, “We should go to Sensetown.” There’s always traffic speeding into that neighborhood in the center of town, down highways from the eyes and ears.
Where they stand in the outer sense neighborhoods, tall buildings with pyramidal roofs border the wide street. It’s one of the countless roads connecting different pieces of experience, which combine in complex forms to create thoughts and memories. The traffic down this particular street is heavy right now because the memories it connects are pleasant, and most of the city isn’t worried.
Nora always worries. Her fists are clenched tight. Her dark hair, in a tight bun, contrasts with her pale skin. The snug fit of her outfit leaves no extra material to get in the way, while its mesh fabric keeps her dry and warm.
Sera Tonin responds to Nora without really paying attention. “You don’t want to stay and enjoy this?” Sera likes to let her loose silver hair flow down to the cape hanging from her shoulders. She’s so proud of the way they blow in the wind while she leans out the side of their helicopter using her super power, even though it’s distracting for everyone else.
Dopa Mean says, “Yeah, this is the party spot. That presentation’s no fun.” The smallest and youngest of their group, he watches the traffic whip past them, his messy red hair rustling in the breeze, while his bulging gut stretches the stained shirt under his black leather jacket.
Nora rolls her eyes and points at Dopa’s chest. “You’ve got something on your shirt.” She lives in Brain City to defend it from chaos, not boredom in guys with stained clothes.
Dopa grins. He seems to revel in his slovenly appearance, rather than being embarrassed. His hands glow red as he charges up his power. “How’d you like something on yours?” Nora takes a step back, in case Dopa infects her with his hyper enthusiasm.
“There’s no point in fighting,” says Ace Telcholine in a soft, even tone as he steps between them, his arms spread wide. His colorless jumpsuit bulges over his muscles, accented by gold trim and the gold amulet with a hole in the middle around his neck.