Warning: The same usual warnings apply. Things such as PD/DP and the Wrecking Crew ain’t mine, it’s Showstopper’s. The “Second City” was the title of a series of articles in the New Yorker magazine in the 50’s. This story has NOTHING WHATSOEVER to do with that. It also has nothing whatsoever to do with either of the “Second City” comedy groups, either the Chicago OR the Toronto branches. This has nothing to do with any other “Second City” you may have heard of, unless you’re just talking about a nickname for Chicago, which I realize is out of date, but who cares? Enough of my rabbiting, on with the story…

The Second City Enforcers

Chapter 1: Nira

Union Station, Chicago, Illinois, United States of America, August 1st, 2025

An Amtrak double-decker Superliner III train pulled into the station, with the locomotive’s bell ringing, and the loud hiss of air from the brakes. Sliding doors opened in the silver monstrosity with red, white, and blue paint on it.

Out stepped numerous people. The last of them was a girl with darkish skin and long brown hair done in a couple of braids. She also had pink feathers growing out of her head. The other non-human feature of her was that she had a fan of pinkish-orange feathers, much like a peacock, growing out of her back, and the tail even had eyes, although these were actual eyes, not decorations. She wore a purple blouse and a grey skirt. A sense of awe filled her as she saw the enormous interior of Union Station. She followed the signs to get out, but not without stopping to admire the Great Hall. Her initial impression of Chicago was thus summarized in one word. “Big.”

She reflected upon her life. Less than a year ago she was the daughter of an Anakoq (shaman) of the Circle of Destiny, since absorbed into the Golden Glocks. The Circle of Destiny was a nomadic Dakoita gang. They raided, they fought, they killed. And they took everything that wasn’t weighted down. Knowing she she now knew, she wish she’d never been a part of it. Her home planet of Pavonia was invaded, first by the Glocks, then the Next Wave, and finally by NATO forces. The Glock forces were rounded up, and she was sent, with many of the dakoita, to Earth. She was put into a program called U-Turn, to give her “another chance.” It really opened my eyes, she thought.

It was there that Nira learned about right and wrong, and about alternatives to the lifestyle she knew. It was there that she learnt all manner of skills ranging from using a computer to changing a lightbulb, from cooking to cleaning, from how to drive to how to respect people. The program was over for her, and while she was going to become a counselor, things changed in the past couple of months. Her guardian-parents, whom she admired so much that she took their last name, Anderson, as her own, arranged for her to go to the Windy City. It would be a chance to fulfill a dream of hers.

She was snapped out of her reverie by someone calling her. “Nira!”

Nira turned around. A woman with blue hair approached her. She wore a light brown dress. “WENDY!” she screamed. She knew this woman, it was the sister of her adoptive father.

“You going to get your bags?”

Nira went to the baggage claim section, where a couple of red suitcases that she owned came onto a conveyor belt. After that, the two left the station.

An orange Eon hovercar convertible was parked nearby. The two got into it. “Welcome to Chicago!” said Wendy.

“I like it!” replied Nira.

“You’ll like your new home.” Wendy drove along Canal street, until she got to Archer Street South, where she turned right. Nira was enjoying the ride. Big buildings abounded. She turned onto the local expressway, and headed west, before turning off, using a few roads, and stopping in front of an apartment building. The apartment building was a mixture of slate and marble. Next to it was a two-storey building that was a house on top, and a garage on the main floor. A sign advertised “Randy’s Psycho Cycles: We sell and repair motorcycles. Harley Davidson, Indian, Yamaha, Honda, Corbin, Buell, Triumph, Hoopie. We don’t have mechanics, we have EXPERTS!”

The two entered the apartment building, and walked through the lobby. An elevator already had its doors open. They walked in, and Nira was extra careful about keeping her tail away from the door. Wendy pressed the highest button. Most of them were marked with numbers, but that one and the two below it were marked with names, “The Zenith,” “The Crow’s Nest” and “The Eagle’s Nest.”

“Those are premium apartments,” said Wendy, “The Eagle’s Nest is the best.”

“Is this…”

“Yes, Nira, this is your new home.”

She was given a tour of the place. The outdoor patio/garden area, with its view, was especially impressive. “Is that…an airport?” She pointed in one direction.

“Yes, Midway Airport.” Nira was also shown the dining room and the kitchen, as well as the gym, and what would be her bedroom. It had wide windows on one side. There was also a large bed, and a walk-in closet. There was also an ensuite bathroom. “It’s different from the U-Turn buildings, isn’t it?”

“I won’t be sleeping with any ‘sisters’?”

“No. It’s your room. You never had your own room before?”

“Back on Pavonia, I slept with my mother and the other leaders. We moved our tents every day.”

“Things are very different here.”

“So, why am I here?”

“Well, you’re very mature and intelligent and skilful. We decided you may be of help to us.”

“Us?”

“I have something more to show you. Follow me!”

“What is it?”

She was led into Wendy’s bedroom, into a walk-in closet, and then numerous pieces of clothing were pulled to the sides. A panel was pushed to the side. Behind it was a door. They went through it, leading to an office with a desk and a chair, as well as a computer and a fake potted plant. And there was another door. Next to it was a button, that Wendy pressed. The door was opened. Behind it was a metal collapsible gate. They entered it, and once the doors were closed, the elevator, which was the size of a small living room, moved down.

“Where is this…elevator…going?” asked Nira.

“To the Grotto.”

“Grotto?”

“It means cave. I’m surprised you don’t know that…sorry, I keep forgetting you’re not from here.”

“If you came to Pavonia, Aunty Wendy, you’d probably not know everything, right?”

At the bottom, the elevator stopped. “I have someone I’ll introduce you to.”

A loud engine roar reverberated as the door opened. A black and blue motorcycle was visible. Seated atop it was a man dressed in a black and blue jumpsuit and a helmet. He took off his helmet, revealing a head of short red hair, and a pale complexion.

“Hi there, my name is Randy!” he extended a hand. Nira took a couple of seconds before shaking it.

“Hi, my name is Nira Anderson.”

“I heard about you. So the Second City Warriors can finally start.”

“Second City Warriors? What’s the Second City?”

“Chicago,” began Wendy, “Was once known as the Second City. It was second only to New York in terms of size. Now LA has jumped past both. Still, it’s a good name. ‘Windy City Warriors’ sounds a little too stupid.”

“We know you want to be like Katherine,” said Randy. “You’ll now have a chance to make the same kind of difference as her.”

“I’m not sure,” said Nira. “I thought I was being helpful as a CIT at U-Turn.”

“Yes, but you have potential. Besides, you’re probably marked for death. Your mother escaped from prison, along with several other dangerous women.”

“That’s wrong!”

“Not saying it’s right, only telling you the truth. It would be more wrong if you could do something to stop that type of people but did nothing.”

“Owawa…” began Nira, using a Pavonian dialect equivalent of “hmmm.”

“I’m sure my brother probably wishes you’d be a CIT. But just between me and you, my brother, your new father, is a little on the crazy side,” began Wendy.

“What do you mean? My father Nathan seems alright.”

“I admire him for being part of the U-Turn team. But some things about him I don’t. Ever notice how he keeps bringing up either the Bible or Jesus in every conversation?”

“Now that you mention it…” She remembered. It was true. And just before she got on the train, she was reminded to say her prayers on every occasion. But she didn’t say Grace in the dining car, nobody else was, so why should she? Wasn’t purposely changing her life around a bigger compliment than that? Her adoptive mother Julia wasn’t so obsessed, and she even recommended against mentioning Jesus in her letter to her biological mother. “He even said that I should want to be like Jesus. Jesus? Jesus was a man who lived in a far away place called Israel a couple of thousand years ago, and he’s not part of my history. Katherine is more like me than him. Should I tell Nathan to be more like Katherine?”

“You’re quite good at this, quite intelligent, articulate, and introspective for someone your age. You’re still only seventeen.”

“I grew up more quickly than I should have.”

“One thing you have to realize, although you’ve already noticed it, is that even those who love you can be wrong. And sometimes there is no line between wrong and right.

“Well, we have to train you,” said Randy.

“So, what shall we do?”

Nira was sent through the mill. First she did boxing practice. Then she was given a pair of guns and taken to a target range. “I’m not sure if I can do this.”

“Don’t THINK that you can do something,” said Randy, “KNOW IT!”

“Alright, I’ll do it!”

A buzzer sounded. The first targets were moving “man” targets. The second part involved shooting targets that flew from one side to another, including bull’s eyes and floppy diskettes. “They never work so we use them as targets!” said Wendy.

At the end, Nira had shot a few targets properly, but missed others. “Pretty soon you’ll be more accurate,” said Randy.

She had a break for cheese and pie, but after that she was made to fight in many different styles, mostly against Randy. Randy would win, but just barely.

“She’s pretty good!” he said.

Nira was then exposed to obstacle courses and more martial arts training. She was sweating and had a few small cuts.

She rested for part of that afternoon. Then she and Randy were called down to the basement.

Nira was wearing a pair of loose brown pants and a grey shirt. Randy was in his motorcycle gear.

“We’ve got a problem,” said Wendy. “But on the good side, it means Nira has a chance to prove herself.”

“Where will we go?” asked Nira.

Wendy pressed a few buttons. “Here’s the scoop!” A holographic image of five black men in loud 30’s style suits appeared. They had an inordinate amount of jewelry on themselves. “These are the Gangsta Boyz.”

“They don’t look so tough,” said Randy.

“From what we’ve gotten,” said Wendy, “they want to sell weapons to Al-Harb.”

“Al-Harb?” asked Nira.

“They’re a terrorist group based in Saudi Arabia,” replied Wendy. “Last month they tried to invade Ai’a’ivea.”

“Oh, them. I heard about them.”

“The Boyz musn’t sell those weapons. Randy will use his modified Indian motorcycle, that he calls the Screeching Eagle. And as for you, follow me!”

She was led through a tubular passageway to a garage. A green Cadillac Calais (hover Deville) was sitting there. Nira was handed a special large shaped key. The driver’s door opened. She entered it. It was started. “I’ll just follow Randy.”

“You have GPS, so there’s no excuse to be lost,” said Wendy.

Navy Pier Headhouse, Grand Avenue, Chicago

The former shipping docks were a major landmark. The sun was starting to set. The last actual boat to use it was in the 40’s. But several people were gathered by the structure at the head end of the pier. They all wore loud clothing. They had a parked limousine.

“When are those fools gonna get here?” asked one of them.

“Soon!”

“They better have real Benjamins, or else…”

“Shut up!” said another one of them. “They’re coming!”

A low hum reverberated. A navy blue hovercraft came up to the pier. It opened up. A couple of individuals exited. They were carrying a large metal trunk. The individuals wore black gowns. They had red fur, and stalks with orbs atop their heads.

“Show me the money,” said one of the Boyz.

The trunk was opened. “We have our requirements!” said one of the two fur-covered ones, as the money was exposed.

The Screeching Eagle and the Calais arrived. “SHIT!” said all of them in unison.

“You’re under arrest!” shouted Randy. “You’re dealing with illegal weapons, put your hands up now!”

The two strangers threw up their robes, revealing under-robes, and portable automatics. They fired at the Screeching Eagle, but he pulled out of the way, and leapt off it.

He jumped at them while pulling off his helmet. He smashed one of the gunners on the head with it, knocking out. He kicked the guns from the other.

Nira came out of the Calais. She slipped on a couple of gloves with attached neko-te (“cat’s claws”). One of the Gangstas whistled, and more Gangstas joined. Nira ran at them. She fought as she had before. They pulled out chains, knives, and baseball bats. One of them whipped her with a chain, she grabbed it and pulled “GET OVER HERE!” she shouted, before slashing him with her claws. A baseball bat swung at her as she ducked, before retaliating with a punch to the groin of its owner. He yelled like Michael Jackson. She grabbed the bat and broke it on her knee.

“No nice play, bring out the heatas and nines!” shouted one of them. All of them produced guns.

Randy surprised one of them from behind and smashed his head with his helmet. He crumpled to the ground, just as Randy ducked to avoid some fire from a few nine-millimeter pistols. One of the Boyz grabbed him, and put his gun to his head, but Randy grabbed the hand, and forced him to shoot at some of his comrades, before putting him down with the helmet.

Nira was hit by a bullet in the shoulder, but she kept going, and just as a Boy was about to open fire with a military-grade automatic, she did a double slash followed by a cartwheel kick combo. The two non-humans, however, decided to make a dash towards the parked limousine. Nira dashed towards it, hoping to intercept them. The trunk opened, and inside it were several boxes. One of the mysterious men tossed a strange metal ring at her, tripping her. She noticed them going at the boxes. She pulled out a gun. “Now or never!” she thought, and fired at the boxes. She was thrown a short distance by what happened next.

With a loud boom, the boxed weapons went off, taking the car and the mysterious men with them. The hovercraft, meanwhile, sped away.

“Shit, that was our ride,” said one of the Gangstas.

“You want a ride?” asked Randy, as he disarmed and pinned one of them. “You’ll be getting a ride. In a police van.”

Back at the Eagle’s Nest, West side, Chicago

Nira and Randy returned shortly after. “Did something blow up?” asked Wendy.

“Only a few crates of illegal weapons,” replied Nira. “I shot them because I Didn’t want Al-Harb getting them.”

“Good call. The Gangsta Boyz are shut down. But there’s still plenty more problems here in Chicago. And in other places.”

“Are Randy and I the only ones?”

“No, you’re not. The Second City Enforcers are part of a much larger outfit. And someone will be joining us soon. Before you came it was just Randy and I against crime. And someone else is coming. Tomorrow Stereo shall arrive. That’s his name.”

“And what about this larger outfit?”

“IT’s set up around the world. It’s more of an association than a single group, but most of the major groups are backed by a secret division of PD/DP Productions.”

“Isn’t that a record company? That also does cell phones and airlines?”

“Yes, but it was originally just a means of funding the anti-crime division, until it secured funding. The biggest group now is the Wrecking Crew in Japan, in terms of power, even if they are not the biggest in terms of membership. There’s also the Enega Warriors, who are funded by the government of Ai’a’ivea. And then you have many other groups.” She pressed a button, and a three-dimensional holographic presentation showing charts of different groups appeared. “And then you have your lose fish, your freelancers, those who aren’t connected with the Outfit, but sometimes help us. You have the likes of the Answer, who’s very helpful, and the Malleteer, who’s a joke, and nothing more.”

“So I may become as good as Katherine?”

“Even if you don’t,” said Randy, “you’re important to us. We are a team. We’re all hear for each other.” He put up a hand in the “hi five” position. “Slap it, Nira!” Nira slapped it very hard. “Not too hard. It’s called the high five. I keep forgetting, you’re not from here.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll learn all about this place soon enough!” said Wendy.

To be continued…

Special Thanks: Izzy Insane?

Author’s Notes: This is a side-series. But it could be very major in it’s own right. Chicago hasn’t yet seen any action…now will.