This could, theoretically, be posted as a oneshot but I don't like posting stories this long (14,808 words) in a single go (I also don't feel like editing them in a single go), so I broke it into three chapters.

You ever see that Batman show The Bold and the Brave? That was Nikki.

Other people were super worried about what others thought of them. I better not do X, Rando #372 might think I'm a loser, waaaah. Not her. She straight didn't care. Like...if you got something to say, come say it with the hands, b.

Not really, though. I can fight but I'm not trying to.

Anyway, a lot of people let others' perceptions of them dictate how they lived, what they did, and the kinds of things they liked. Pfft, lame. Nikki did her and if someone didn't like it, oh well.

Now, that's not to say she was fixed and inflexible. Her aunt Kylie, who was legit only a few years older than her btw, was always posting those Marilyn Monrone things on Facebook. You know...if you can't handle me at my worst, you don't deserve me at my best. Okay, Nikki kind of agreed with that, but only up to a point. Life is about change and personal growth, and that kind of mindset stunts those things. Oh, I'm perfect, I don't need to change. I don't have a problem, man, YOU have a problem. We're all human and we all have bad traits. An adult tries to identify their flaws and improve, especially if they negatively impact other people. If you don't believe you have to change anything about yourself, even your worst faults, then sorry, dude, you're mad immature. Her friend Ronnie Anne was kind of like that. Or used to be. She didn't know anymore. RA made this new friend named Sid and suddenly, Nikki didn't see much of her anymore. Ngl, that kind of hurt. Why did I get left behind? Is there something wrong with me? I can change tho.

Whatever.

Where were we? Oh, yeah. She didn't think she was perfect and she didn't try to justify behavior that hurt other people, she just did her own thing. She liked what she liked and lived as free as a young girl from the projects can live. She wasn't shy, she wasn't self-conscious, and she sure as hell wasn't going to dress a certain way or dig a certain thing to please anyone else.

Then, on August 25, Lincoln texted her.

I'm coming 2 the citee on Tuesday.

*Record scratch*

Uh-oh.

Alright, it didn't happen that fast. He texted to say he was taking a bus in from Royal Woods and wanted to know if she could hang with him for the day. Well, duh, of course she could. She wasn't all that, y'know, mushy or anything, but she loved Lincoln full stop, and every day since they parted at Camp Rolling Hills (yo, has it really only been a month?), she missed him with the deep, stomach turning intensity of a gunshot victim bleeding out in the ER. Without him, life was duller, not as sweet, and everything was kinda blah. Oh, yeah, video games. I'd rather be with Lincoln. Oh, rad, ice cream truck. Too bad Lincoln's not here to share this with me.

In essence, everything came back to him, and not having him around was like being in prison: Sad, lonely, and gay. So, so gay.

Not it a homophobic way tho. She was chill with gays.

That's not really the point, but...I'm getting off track here. Lincoln texted to say he was coming, and Nikki perked up like cokehead getting her fix delivered right to her bloodstream. Suh-WEET. She dropped her phone on the nightstand and got up...and that's when something occurred to her.

She lived in a dump.

Her building, a high rise tenament overlooking a park full of junkies, hookers, and used needles, was kind of like one of those places you saw in movies about Harlem. The elevator was always broken down, the stairwell was littered with cigarette butts, empty beer cans, condom wrappers, and passed out winos, and graffiti covered pretty much every surface. Her apartment was, uh, how do I put this nicely? A rat's nest. A clean rat's nest, but a rat's nest nevertheless. The linoleum in the closet-sized kitchen was cracked and always sticky no matter how many times you mopped it; big brown water stains splotched the ceiling; the carpet in the living room was matted with decades worth of spills; and the scent of mildew lingered on the air like a ghost. Spray all you want, y'all, I'm here to stay.

Her mom kept the place clean, but the neighbors weren't as hygienic, and sometimes...things got through cracks in the walls.

Things like roaches.

Not often, but, you know, every once in a while, she'd snap the bathroom light on and catch one scurrying across the tiles, or she'd find one dead in the cabinet, lying on its back like a turtle. Every other blue moon...one would get in her bed and she'd feel its hairy little legs brushing her skin. Wanna see a girl take off like a rocket and smash her head through the ceiling cartoon style? Toss a roach in her bed. Trust me.

It works.

Was she really going to bring Lincoln in here?

Oh, hell no. Just the thought made her blush, and that was before you threw her parents into the mix. Okay, first, there was her mom. She was a strong, caring woman whose only major vice was smoking cigarettes. Well...that and having the fashion sense of a trashy white woman. In the summer, she wore shorts that showed off the celulose on the backs of her legs and tank tops that didn't fully cover her pudgy stomach. She wore her unruly blonde hair up in a messy bun-thing, yelled at you from the couch when she wanted something (instead of texting like a normal person), and snorted when she laughed.

Second was Daryl, her mom's boyfriend They'd been together for, like, six years, and while Nikki would never be comfortable calling him 'Dad', he kinda was. Chillest dude ever, supportive, all that, but get this: He was in his forties and dressed like he was seventeen. Wife beaters, sideways snapbacks, gold chains, saggin' ass jeans, Tall-Ts that reached his ankles. She was kind of embarrassed for anyone to see her with him sometimes, but Lincoln? Lincoln wasn't a rando, his opinion actually mattered, and once he got a load of all this, well…

Not a huge deal, though! She just wouldn't bring him here. Problem solved.

On the morning of August 28, she rolled out of bed at seven. Bright sunshine screamed through the window over her dresser and the fan on her nightstand pushed stagnant air in her face. This building was, like, a hundred years old, and everything in it sucked. The AC system kept it marginally cooler than and oven and the plumbing...the plumbing was wack - really, you had to flush one wad of TP at a time, otherwise your crapper would back up. If you were really unlucky, the pipes would burst. The super, this old black dude named Thorogood, absolutely freaked when he had to do any work, and he'd act like a real jerk while he fixed everything. Y'all white motherfuckas stoppin' yo shit up, he'd grumble as he bent over the commode, can't even take a dump without fuckin me over. Want me to pick some cotton too?

Yo, he was funny tho. Last winter, he slipped on the ice outside and lay there like a dead roach, kicking his legs and screaming at the top of his lungs. Y'all white motherfuckas got me AGAIN!

Shoveling and dumping salt on the sidewalk was his job, but okay. He really didn't like white people.

Sitting on the edge of her bed, she yawned, stretched, and smacked her lips together, wincing at the rancid taste of morning breath. Owing to the heat, she wore only a pair of red panties and a spaghetti strap tank top with a picture of a cloud across the chest, its eyes closed and Zs drifting from its open mouth. Before leaving her room, she'd put on lounge pants because Daryl didn't wanna see her in her underwear anymore than she wanted to see him in his.

There was just a tiny little problem.

Where are they?

Casting about the room, Nikki grimaced. Remember that stuff about knowing your flaws and changing? One of Nikki's worst habits was being a slob. Clothes, shoes, change that fell out of her jeans pocket three days ago, stuffed animals, and other junk carpeted the floor. Yesterday's bra (or was it the day before yesterday's?) was draped over the open closet door, where it landed when she flung it off, and her dirty clothes hamper lay on its side like a wounded animal, its contents heaped in front of it.

She blew of puff of air that stirred her bangs. Great.

Ten minutes later, after looking everywhere, she found her pants between the wall and the dresser. Uh, how did they get here?

The world may never know.

Slipping them on, she went into the hall. Hall might be too strong a word. Basically, you open her door and right across from it is her mom's room, and immediately to the left is the bathroom. One step to the right and you're in the living room. Picture a landing on a flight of stairs and bam, you got it.

In the bathroom, she shut the door, stood in front of the sink, and studied her reflection in the mirror. A thick lock of honey wheat hair covered one eye and strands stuck wildly out on top, making her look like a troll doll. She brushed her teeth, gargled with mouthwash, then jumped in the shower. The water pressure was crap and you had to get directly underneath the head to get wet. Don't lather up too much or it'll take you forever to get it all off. She paid special attention to the V of her sex, since she and Lincoln were gonna do something today; fuck him while you got him, sister.

Done, she got out, toweled off, and, naked, brushed her hair in front of the mirror. She was almost finished when she spied something on her left breast, right next to the areola. Yo, is that a pimple? She prodded it and pain spread out across her boob. Ouch. I didn't even know you could get these there! She squinted at her face and looked for more, but she was clear, at least for now. Being a girl in that special time of life known as puberty, she was always getting zits on her cheeks and nose. Last week, she had one inside her nostril. Dunno how it got there, but damn, it hurt.

Hanging the towel back up, she hurriedly dressed, returned to her room, and pulled on a white T-shirt and a pair of not-exactly-clean jeans. She put her socks and shoes on, then checked her phone.

She had a text.

From Lincoln.

Be there in an hour.

Damn, he left early.

Not surprising. He had to be on the six'o'clock bus home, so it made sense that he would try and get here as soon as possible. That way they had more time together.

Ready for Nikkicoln time, she got up and crossed into the living room. Her mom rattled around the kitchen, the sounds and smells of breakfast heavy in the heated air, and Daryl sat on the couch with one arm draped over the back. On TV, a weatherman stood before a map of the region. "It's gonna be a scorcher, folks, 104 degree heat index with no relief in sight. You might even - "

The screen flickered, and a strange electrical whine filled the world. Suddenly, the TV and the window AC unit both went out with a hum.

"Seriously?" Daryl cried and threw his arms out.

"Did we just lose power?" Mom asked from the stove.

Muttering to himself, Daryl got up and shuffled over to the air conditioner. Without it, the apartment was already beginning to roast.

"I'm gonna head out," Nikki said, "I'll be back later."

Mom glanced at her, face already flushed and sweaty. Steam rose from a skillet and hazed her features. "Where?"

"To hang with Casey and Shameer."

"You don't want breakfast?"

In the living room, Daryl knelt next to the A/C and slapped it. "Please work," he moaned. It was all he could do.

Nikki shook her head. "Nah, I'm good."

"Alright," Mom sighed. "Love you."

"Love you too."

In the hall, Nikki started toward the stairs. People were coming out of their apartments like the traumatized survivors of a great calamity. "What happened to the power?" a woman cried. "It's too hot for this!"

Yeah, this heat kiinda put a damper on her plans. She and Lincoln were gonna melt after five minutes. She could already hear him now. Can we go back to your house?

NO!

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she paused. Two dozen people clambered at the door to Throgood's office, putting her in mind of zombies from one of those old movies. They all talked over each other in a chattering din of voices from which she could make out only the occasional wood. Power. Hot. Nigga best get his ass up.

Suddenly, the door whipped open and Throgood came out with a battered tool box in one hand, his face pinched and sour. Roughly 5'6 with a pot belly and a shock of gray hair, Thorogood, in his gray janitor-like coveralls, resembled a sausage stuffed into a case, the fabric stretched and bulging. "What'd y'all white motherfuckas do now?" he demanded of the all black congregation.

"Get yo ass in the basement and fix my power," a fat woman with a shaved head ordered. She waved one arm, and the fat hanging from her bones jiggled like jello. "Or white people gon' be the least of yo problems."

A tall, lanky man about twenty with dreads and a goatee glared at Thorogood. "Yo, homie, this shit best be straight before The Brash and the Bountiful come on. I ain't tryna miss my stories."

"Back the hell up and get out my way, nigga," Throgood said and shoulder checked him as he passed. Dude looked like he was about to go after him, but held himself back.

Pushing through the crowd, Nikki went out the main doors and down the concrete steps leading to the sidewalk. An old black man sat on one and smoked a cigarette, and a white guy in rags dug through the metal trash can sitting next to the bus shelter. The dry, arid heat swallowed her like a hungry beast, and sweat instantly burst from her pores. Baking sunshine singed the exposed flesh of her arms and neck, and the air squeezed rudely from her lungs.

It was like standing in the heart of a raging fire as stalks of flames enveloped your entire body, burning your skin from your bones and crisping your skeleton black.

If this wasn't Lincoln we were talking about, she'd turn around and go back inside, but it was, so she squared up.

Cars moved along the street at a crawl, and without warning, the sound of breaking glass rent the day, making Nikki jump. She whipped her head north, and there, in the intersection, a taxi kissed the passenger door of a Camry in a rough T. Traffic came to a halt, and horns started blaring.

That's when she noticed it.

The lights dangling above the intersection were dark.

Oh. So...I guess everyone lost power.

Damn.

The drivers got out of their cars to survey the damage. Impatient motorists tried to get through, and in moments, the crossroads was hopeless snarl. A city bus blocked one street, and a box van another. People came out of shops along the sidewalk to look, and someone walking by said into their cell phone that all of Center Ave was dark.

Wow.

That sucks.

Anyway, I have a date, so...cya.

Ducking left, she followed the sidewalk past an overgrown lot strewn with trash. Traffic was at a standstill, horns honking and people leaning out their windows to yell scattershot obscenities at whatever may or may not be causing the jam. At the corner store, an Indian man stood outside the door with his arms sternly crossed. The inside was a pit of shadows. People streamed out of restaurants, barber shops, and the check cashing place, their heads turning left and right as if in search of danger. Each of the storefronts she passed was dark, and some were already shuttered with roll top security gates. Across the vehicle choked thoroughfare, a group of black men milled in front of a supermarket while a Hispanic man stood in front of them and gestured, telling them, probably, that he was closed.

Jeez, how much of the city lost power? She turned in a circle as though an answer would present itself, but none did. The cacophony of horns, swelling sirens, and distant shouts told her a lot.

You know...I'm starting to think today's not gonna pan out so well.

As if on cue, glass exploded.

Across the street, the black men bolted from the market, their arms loaded with goods. The Hispanic man sat on the ground, looking dazed and rubbing his head. Another man, this one white, crawled through the shattered window of an adjacent shop, and a group of people loafing on the sidewalk casually joined in.

Annnnd there's the looting.

Yep.

Today's gonna blow.

She quickened her step and didn't look back. At an intersection, traffic was stalled bumper-to-bumper, and she had to squeeze through a gap between a Toyota and a FedEx truck to get by. The buildings here were taller and cast the sidewalk in shadows, and Nikki was grateful to have the sun off her. To her right, a towering Art Deco skyscraper loomed over the street, its ledges and spires looking like something straight out of Gotham City.

Hey, I like Batman, wanna fight about it?

The courtyard surrounding it was filled with office workers displaced by the blackout. Some talked into cellphones while others walked in restless circles, like they had no clue what to do with themselves. A block up, cross traffic was still moving, but most of Center was blocked.

She cut across the street and walked through Coates Park, a narrow strip of trees, statues, and benches wedged between Center and 145th Street. She met a few people as she made her way through: A man on a bench eating Doritos, a woman walking her dog, and a black guy sitting against a tree and listening to a boombox. Instead of music, however, it played news.

"...the city is without power. They're saying a transformer blew somewhere, but we haven't gotten official corroboration on that. Again, right now, much of the city has no power and a good portion of the surrounding neighborhoods are also in the dark. The temperature is already in excess of one hundred degrees, so this makes for a potentially dangerous situation for the very old and the very young. And, really, for everyone else too."

Somewhere, glass broke, and sirens shrieked, getting closer, closer, then winking out. Nikki swore she heard Freeze, police!

*Dejected sigh*

Of all the days for Detroit to finally fall apart, it had to be the one day Lincoln was going to be here. Why not have the sun blow up too? Yo, if you really wanna mess this up, bring the dead back to life. Nothing ruins a day quite like flesh eating zombies. Bonus points if they're radioactive.

She was on 145th Street now. Crumbling brownstones with wide front stoops and bay windows pressed against shaded sidewalks. Skyscrapers lifted into the sky both behind her and off to her left. The blinking red light on top of the Mutual Bank building was out and none of the pedwalk signs of traffic lights she passed were operative.

The bus station was situated between the river and a network of interstate overpasses and off ramps. The neighborhood around it was scummy on the best of days, but now it was a warzone. People ran in and out of looted storefronts, crashed cars blocked the streets, and debris, including stolen merchandise, littered the sidewalks. A group of black men hung out around a car in a McDonald's parking lot and talked as, across the street, a pack of looters converged on a nail salon. Nikki reached the platform and leaned against the wall, the sounds of chaos wafting over her.

I was really hoping to impress Lincoln and...my city went crazy. Mom and Daryl are one thing, but this is just stupid. He's gonna take one look at this and dip.

Oh well. Imma just play it off like this always happens.

Then what?

Well, uh…

Good question. When she decided to keep Lincoln away from her house, there wasn't a literal riot going on...and it wasn't a thousand degrees outside. The power was out so they couldn't chill at an arcade, people were acting a fool, so hanging outside probably wasn't smart.

She scanned one of the off ramps, and froze when she spotted a Greyhound. Well, it's not so bad, at least no one -

A man standing in the street hurled a bottle through the broken window of a computer repair shop. WHUMP! Orange light flickered on shards of glass and the swift, hungry crackle of flames found her ears.

- has started any fires.

She hung her head.

The bus turned onto the L-shaped road servicing the station and ambled along like a happy character in a children's cartoon, completely oblivious to the apocalypse raging around it. It pulled to the platform and came to a rolling stop, air brakes hissing. Nikki stood up straight and took a deep breath. Armageddon or not, seeing Lincoln was the most important thing in the world right now. They could figure everything else out later.

A second passed, then the accordion doors opened. The first person off was an old woman in a sunhat who moved with the exaggerated care of one picking their way across ice. The second was a teenage girl with lime green hair and a nose ring (lesbian, SJW, or both?). Nikki's heart raced and anticipation ballooned inside of her. Come on, come on, I've been waiting a month for this!

Lincoln appeared and came down the steps, and a giddy smile burst across Nikki's face. She pushed away from the wall and met him halfway, the twinkle in his eye making her feel warm all over, the blackout, the looting, and everything else totally forgotten. "Hey, dandruff head," she said.

"Hey," he said.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, bent down, and kissed him, the taste of his mouth like ambrosia after so long away. He gripped her hips and kissed back, their tongues grappling for dominance. The heat of his hands soaking through the fabric of her shirt became too much, and her knees went weak, making her stumble. Their lips broke, and Lincoln smirked up at her. "Did you feel the ground move, too?"

She looked at him.

He looked at her.

Then they both broke out laughing. "Shut up, dork, the ground didn't move," she said, "we did have an epic earthquake last week, though. Killed millions of people."

Lincoln snorted. "Yeah, I see that."

He turned his head, then tensed at what he saw. The repair store was completely engulfed in flames now, long stalks curling up and over the roof. Someone threw a trash can through the window of a clothing store, and people ran aimlessly back and forth with arm loads of stolen stuff. A dozen different sirens mingled in the super heated air, and somewhere very far away, a gunshot rang out.

"Holy shit," Lincoln cried and pulled away from her. "What's going on?"

Nikki smiled sheepishly and shrugged her shoulders. "Welcome to the city?"

Lincoln looked from her to the carnage and back again, jaw slack and eyes wide. Sheesh, you'd think he'd never seen a full scale riot before.

His mouth impotently opened and closed as he grasped for words. "W-What's happening?"

Alright, now was bluff time. Let's get this over with as painlessly as possible. "Eh, we lost power," she said, "brownout, blackout, something like that. You wanna grab something to eat?"

Lincoln gaped. "So...your power's out and everyone riots over it?"

"Oh, it's not a riot," she dismissed, "it's just a little looting, it's nothing."

"THAT BUILDING'S ON FIRE!"

Nikki rolled her eyes. "Calm down, dude, fires happen."

A group of black men strutted along the sidewalk, each one dressed in a uniform of white T-shirts and red bandanas tied around their foreheads. A battered Oldsmobile Cutlass turned off a hilly side street, tires squealing, and a black man in a black tank top leaned out the passenger window. He wore a blue bandanna.

And held duel Tech 9s in his hands.

"Break yo'self, fool!"

The Bloods froze. "Aw, shit!" one yelled. The Crip opened fire, and they scattered for cover, ducking behind cars and in alleyways; one dove into a dumpster and pulled the lid closed after

him.

Lincoln and Nikki both cried out and dropped to their stomachs where they desperately clung to one another like children in front of a scary movie. Nikki was no stranger to the occasional gunshot, but open gang warfare was something even Detroit didn't see everyday.

Bystanders screamed and scrambled to get out of the way. The black guys in the Mickey D's parking lot dove, crouched, and crawled under their car; one sheltered behind the front end and cried like a baby, hugging himself and rocking back and forth, his sounds of misery blubbering and pathetic.

Across the street, bullets pelted the brick facade of a liquor store, kicking up puffs of dust, and the Cutlass took off. The Blood came out of hiding and gave chase, shooting with handguns; one, who'd wrapped his bandana around his face, wielded a sawed off bolt action rifle. The car took a sharp left onto Center and disappeared, and the Bloods gave up.

Nikki's heart slammed in her chest and when she pushed herself up, she realized she was shaking. Lincoln's face was milk white and his eyes haunted, like those of a combat veteran shot in the shoulder and held prisoner in a bamboo cage for eight months.

Whoa, that was a weird analogy.

"Alright, fine," she said, "there's a riot going on, okay?"

Lincoln caught his breath. "You don't say."

"Just...ignore it. I've been waiting for this for a month and there's no way I'm letting some punk ass civil unrest get between me and you."

"It's not the civil unrest I'm worried about," Lincoln snapped, "it's the gunfire!"

Nikki took a deep breath. "We'll be fine."

Another report rang out, and they both jumped.

"But we probably should get out of here."

Taking Lincoln's hand, she dragged him to his feet and looked around. The gangstas weren't in sight, but the fire had spread to the adjoining buildings and the whole block was in danger of going up. Most of the looters had fled, and all that remained of them was discarded merchandise they either couldn't carry or realized they didn't want. The high, mournful cry of an approaching fire engine sounded from the north, and a helicopter appeared overhead, the whup-whup-whup of its blades overlaying the sound of fire.

Okay, where to? As much as she did not want to bring Lincoln home, she also didn't want to stay out in the open. The electricity had been out for just over an hour and already all hell had broken loose; it was bound to get worse.

She heaved a defeated sigh. All I wanted to do was hide my pigsty of a home from my boyfriend, but noooo, the universe had to get involved. Oh, embarrassed, Nikki? BOOM, blackout, have fun! She recalled the state of her room that morning and cringed. She doubted Lincoln would break up with her over it, but, yeah, he probably wouldn't be impressed, and that might get the ball rolling toward a break up or something.

Then there was Mom and Daryl. Daryl was probably already in his underwear, hairy fat rolls glistening with sweat. Shiver. She could see Mom now, in her bra and panties, fanning herself with a TV Guide. The weatherman said it was gonna 104 degrees today...out here. In there, with literally no A/C, it'd be, like, 1,104.

Still better than getting shot in the face, though.

"Come on," she said, "we're going back to my place."