"Excuse me," a woman approaches me, holding out a microphone. "Do you have a few minutes to discuss your thoughts on the Patron's policies."

Judging by the microphone, her suit, and her blond hair being fixed up in a bun, I'd say she's probably a reporter. The cameraman with her suggests that to me, too. A glance at the camera and the microphone reveal she's from the city's biggest station, though I don't recognize her. Even if I don't watch the news much, I do still recognize the anchors from the biggest station due to having at least seem them from time to time on various TVs.

"Is this live?" I ask.

"No," she answers. "There are too many issues with people saying inappropriate things, so the station reviews everything first. Since children do watch the news, we strive to make sure that we don't allow crude things to be said."

Makes sense. Most of the 'live' footage that I've seen them do was usually just them doing a report somewhere live and not interacting with civilians.

"I've got a few minutes," I tell her.

It's not like I have a job to be at or a meetup to attend. They're had to come by for someone with as few skills as I do, and most of the time I do get a job, it's just something temporary, one to three shifts. I was on my way home from a frustrating appointment at the temp agency when she stopped me, so I have nothing better to do.

"Are you new to the station?" I ask. "I've never seen you on there before."

"I've never been broadcast, but I'm not new," she smiles. "Normally, I screen people on the streets. You know those interviews with random citizens done at the station?"

"You pick them?"

"I do, indeed," she smiles. "So this little interview might be a bit more casual than you're used to seeing, since I'm not used to the proper way of things."

"That's fine," I tell her. "It's not often I see coverage about the Patron, though."

Every city on the back of a great beast has one. Sivalshi City rests on the shell of a turtle over fifteen miles across and is home to around twelve million people. It swims around the ocean, resulting in a rather safe environment. Most of the demons and monsters that plague the world don't mess with the great beasts, which is why people moved to live on them once they realized the beasts didn't mind.

When the migrations happened a few centuries ago, the Patrons were eventually discovered. Gods, we think they are, and it's likely the great beasts are their pets, which would explain why few things ever bother trying to mess with the cities.

I've grown up here on Sivalshi's back, though I've never met our Patron. No one has, though I know there are a few who've actually heard his voice. Each Patron has their own quirks, their own way of doing things, but each also usually talks with a select few.

Most people try to ignore the existence of the Patrons because it doesn't usually affect them. Whatever the Patrons do, it's less about us and more about themselves. At least, that's what many believe.

"Our city has one of the most benevolent Patrons," the reporter tells me. "So while most people don't think about him much other than to thank him for protecting us from monsters, the station decided to do a small piece on it. They sent me out here to talk with a few people, see their thoughts. If I think we have something we can use, they might expand the horizons and do a bigger piece."

"Makes sense," I say.

"Alright," she smiles. "Let's begin. I'm Amanda Shendal from the Sivalshi News Network. What's your name and age, sir?"

"Kieran, and eighteen," I answer.

"Are you in high school?"

Questions like this are normal to start a street interview, it helps build a relation, or something like that. From what I've seen, they often tie in the actual interview to the starting questions, too. At least, for the live interviews I've seen on other networks.

"I'm not," I answer. "Even if I'd gone to graduation, I'd have graduated back in May."

"I see," she says. "So you've been working instead?"

"Yes," I answer. "I dropped out of school after my parents died when I was fourteen, have been renting an apartment since."

According to the stories, that wasn't normal before the Rift Calamity. Back then, in the Old Society, it wasn't legal for someone to even have a contract for an apartment at that age. Some people were able to receive permits to work, but they were exceptions, not the rule. Here, though, in the New Society, that's different. Resources are scarce, technological advancement is pretty slow, and anyone, of any age, might find themselves needing to work.

Sure, I could have gone into the system, but that would have come with headaches I didn't want to deal with when I was fourteen. Like overcrowded group homes. So I got to work and started renting an apartment. I do end up behind on bills sometimes, but everyone does unless they're at least well-off.

"Pretty common story," she says. "Mind if I ask how your parents passed, Kieran?"

"Bank robbery gone wrong," I answer. "My parents went to the bank to try to negotiate a loan to help pay to fix the apartment we'd been living in. Some power users came in and robbed the place and killed several people, including my parents."

My name was kept out of the papers, and such events aren't uncommon enough that someone would be able to identify me. Even if they did, a small piece on this for the station wouldn't matter much despite how large they are, so I wouldn't find too much issue. No one would really care, though. Almost everyone around me has either lost someone or knows someone who lost someone due to disease or crime. The only thing special about my situation was that there were power users involved.

"Power users?" Amanda asks. "That's not a common way to go when compared to all other things."

"Still common enough," I slip my hands into the pocket of my hoodie.

Sivalshi likes to swim around cooler areas, and we rarely reach sixty degrees in temperature here, though he's nice enough to rarely go into the freezing areas. Right now, we're in a bout of him swimming around a zone that stays between forty and forty-five during the day, and about thirty-five at night. Only when it's windy is there much of an issue. My hands were getting a little cold. Unlike her, I don't have gloves.

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"Yes, it is," she says. "Quite sadly. Fortunately, the Patron of Sivalshi City is one that cares about such things. I am, of course, referring to the Sivalshi Guardians."

They're all power users hand-picked by our Patron. A small, elite force of power users whose main job is going after those organizing disruptions in our city. Anyone attempting to rally forces to cause a disturbance will find themselves targeted by the Sivalshi Guardians, as will anyone who commits too many disruptive crimes.

Naturally, there are a few organizations who can oppose the Sivalshi Guardians, but they're usually pretty hard-pressed to do more than just drive them off. In the end, they also always lose. I think only one organization's actually managed to exist for more than ten years as a major force against the Sivalshi Guardians. The Patron's warriors are the elite, after all.

What's more, the Sivalshi Guardians have never gone-all out against one of these forces before.

"Our Patron cares about keeping order on the larger scale," I state.

"Exactly," she says. "On the larger scale, Kieran. Tell me, were the power users who killed your parents ever caught?"

I don't like this line of conversation.

"No," I answer.

"So normal," she says. "So standard. Yet the Patron is a god. Even if he doesn't know all, he knows more than most, sees more than most. How else can his warriors so efficiently fight against those who wish to disrupt the peace?"

She sounds like she's opposed to the Patron. Is that what this network is going for? That won't bode well for them. While the Patron is rather benevolent, it does not take well to attempts to rally against it. Such attempts always end up with riots that disrupt the peace, so the Patron tries to stamp them out early on.

"I don't know," I tell her. "I'm sure the Patron had his reasons. He may not be able to interfere in things too much. No one really understands what the Patrons are or how they work. What are their rules? Their limitations? The extent of their powers? They're all mysteries."

"Yes, they are," she says. "Especially as the Patrons tend to act differently, even for the ones with similar patterns. According to our sources, there are fewer than ten Sivalshi Guardians, Kieran. Did you know that most other Patrons have at least thirty to forty of their chosen? There's one city whose Patron has over sixty."

"You're referring to Kelorins City, right?" I ask.

"I am," she answers. "The last time we received a communication with them, they had sixty-four working for their Patron."

The Patron of Kelorins City has its warriors fight each other. At least once a week, they're ordered to track down and fight another warrior, and killing the opponent is allowed. It's a form of sport to that city's Patron. Some Patrons are sadistic instead of benevolent. I'm glad I grew up on Sivalshi.

"I wouldn't call battling each other and causing disruptions to be a good thing," I say. "Our Patron looks for the grander scheme, leaving it to us to police the smaller things. If he interferes to much, then we'll become dependent on him and his warriors. He probably doesn't want that. This is, of course, speculation. No one can truly know what the Patron is thinking or what his reasoning is."

We also have the vigilantes dealing with lesser issues, anyway. They aren't the Patron's chosen, but they certainly help to some degree. Power users who don masks and patrol the streets on their own, looking for crimes-in-progress and helping the police catch criminals who got away. Sometimes, I wonder if the Patron actually approves of them and that his approval is why the authorities don't hunt them too much unless they get stupid.

"Maybe not," she says. "But he could definitely increase patrols, couldn't he? Lamrivax City's Patron has its chosen policing the streets, looking for crimes in progress and helping hunt down criminals."

"Lamrivax City," I say. "Does have three times as many chosen as Sivalshi. However, they have millions of citizens, which means that their overall impact probably isn't actually all that great. It says something that all of the Patrons we know of have very few chosen in relation to how many citizens are on their pets."

"So you're suggesting," Amanda says. "That something limits the Patrons' influence?"

"No," I say. "They have plenty of influence. That's why there are entire cults that either worship them or hate them. What I'm saying is that the Patrons have their reasons, and it's not our place to question them. They're already kind enough to let us live on the backs of their pets, where it's safer than living on the continents. Why should we ask them for more?"

"So you think," she says. "That it's acceptable for the Patrons to help us as little or as much as they want then, Kieran?"

"I do," I answer. "Asking them for more may even cause them to turn their backs on us, and that might cause problems. Sivalshi has let us ride on his back for three centuries without once diving underwater. What if we beg his Patron for more, and in response, his Patron tells him to drown us all? We should be grateful for the mercies they've given us."

"Even though the Patrons could help us more?" She asks. "They could drastically decrease the death rate if they wanted. So many people die from illness, yet they're able to cure the incurable. So many people die from hunger, yet they're able to increase food bounties. So many people are killed, yet our Patron keeps his protectors to a select few, only having them protect society as a whole rather than the common man. Your parents could still be alive today if he was more active, Kieran. Their killers could have been caught even if not."

She really wants me to change my opinion, and using my parents as an argument is only serving to annoy me. Maybe others would have fallen for her bait, her arguments, but not me. While I cared about my parents, there's no changing the past and the Patron has his reasons. It's not my place to ask a god – or a godlike being – to change his plans. It's my place to accept things as they are.

"Look," I tell her. "I've heard it all before, and I don't really care for the preaching of this. If your intent is to try to convince me to side against the Patron, we're done here. You can tell your station to be careful, too, Amanda. If the Patron thinks you're trying to rally people to cause a problem, he will stop you. Thank you and have a good day."

I turn and resume the walk home, and Amanda doesn't try to follow me, like some reporters are wont to do. She kind of upset me with that, and the walk home gives me time to calm down. What game is her station playing? If they really want to do a piece painting the Patron as a bad guy, they should screen people for interviews first, then interview them live and make it seem like it's on the spot, to better paint it as if the majority of people are opposed to his current actions.

Coming up to people like me will only net them bad results for their plans.

When I reach the thirty-story apartment building that I live in, I use my key to enter, then approach the mail room, noting that the tiles of the floor look like they were actually cleaned for the first time in a long while. Maintenance is always spotty on stuff like that everywhere that's not a better district.

Entering the mail room, I dip my head to the twenty-nine-year-old woman checking her box, a baby on her hip and a toddler holding her pants. I don't actually recognize her, but there are six apartments on each floor, so almost two hundred apartments here, and most of them are occupied. Most of the residents here don't interact with each other unless they actually need to, and I'm no exception to that standard.

The mother and her children leave as I reach my mailbox, and I pull out my key and unlock it. Instead of nothing being in it as I expected, there's a manila envelope resting inside, with only my name, Kieran Wolfe, written on it. No addresses, no stamps, nothing that would have made its delivery legal, even in this era.

How did this get in here? I'm doubting the mail service would have put it in. Did management? I did manage to pay everything last month, and they don't really evict people over missed or late payments unless it's too extreme, so I shouldn't be getting a notice from them.

Grabbing the folder, I walk to the elevator and take it up to the twenty-third floor, then to my apartment, flipping on the light. After pulling off my sneakers, I plop myself on the couch. There's no heating here, so staying comfortable means staying with socks and my hoodie on.

Opening up the envelope, I pull out the items inside. An ear comm, a stack of crisp, neat bills, and a letter. Did some sort of organization or gang decide to recruit me? How much trouble will I get into for having this? They've already paid me, so I may be seen as an accomplice.

It's very rare for someone in the lower sectors like this to ever have new bills like this. Heck, I'm pretty sure most of the wealthier people rarely handle fresh money like this. That only makes me more worried. Who was robbed for this, and why was some of the money given to me?

Looking at the letter rather than counting out the cash, I begin reading.