The metal door behind her slowly slid to a close, the mechanism hissing as it firmly shut. They had two rooms, both with metal beds hanging over the floor, lit by lights that ran along the outskirts of the room concealed under the metal walls that protruded slightly to hide old apparatuses that barely worked, a dingy kitchen with a metal countertop that matched the metal of the walls and ceiling, and large windows that looked out onto the pornographic neon scenario below. The living room window let out from the 25th floor unto a cascade of old skyscrapers blinking away at night and old holograms glitching out.

Each level was like a self-contained world, hiding the other with cheap tricks. It was as if the city wanted to ignore the inequality of the levels. She had once read about neighborhoods, a term from the old world, a distinction much like thier own made arbitrarily.

The counter was littered with her mother’s different tools. Once a surgeon, she had become a doctor who fixed rusted cyborg parts, a sought-after profession in the slums. Unlike her own experience, years were wasted on academics, reading old-world literature to rich kids who treated her as a subhuman pet.

Now, she taught at a government-funded school at level 7. It was not as profitable as what her mother did, but she liked to hope that it was a noble task.

One window opened onto a fire escape. The holographic screen on her nightstand read 02:34. She sighed.

Today, her tiredness had been won over by a feeling of nostalgia. Manually, she pushed the round window open; the mechanics had long rusted out of the old thing and climbed through onto the fire escape. And like every night before this one, Emelie already leaned out of her own window, skinny pale legs dangling out of her window, a thin metal cigarette in between her heavily colored lips, bubble gum hair tied back, exposing the hollows of her cheek, and eyes transfixed on the street below.

“Sup,” Emelie mumbled and kept sucking colored smoke from the small black pipe.

“Rough night?” she asked and made herself comfortable against the cold rails. They both stared, mesmerized by the commotion of nightlife below. Cars drove, people stumbled drunkenly, nanocyclist raced, barely missing drugged-out pedestrians who subsequently leaned over and fell into piles of garbage dead or unconscious, prostitutes stood dressed in plastic opaque dresses on street corners, gangsters strutted by patrolling with laser phasers at the ready, and crappy neon signs hummed.

“Don’t get me started,” Emelie sighed. Reaching over a scrawny hand, she offered her the cig. She took it and inhaled the sweet purple smoke, which eased down her lungs and escaped slowly from her lips.

“Which one is this?” she asked.

“Supposed to be Happiness, but they can never seem to get it right.” Emelie laid her head into the palm of her hand. She was correct; the smoke just seemed to relax her, and the world seemed brighter for a moment, but that feeling of euphoric childhood happiness escaped with it.

“Are you hungry?” She let her eyes trail off from the colors of level 1 life and toward Emelie.

“You offering?” Emelia asked, twirling a piece of loose hair between her fingers.

“Yeah, why not,” she took another puff of violet sweetness, the purple escaping. “They really can never get them right,” she muttered.

“Give me a sec,” Emelia climbed back into her apartment, closing the window.

After a few moments she also climbed back in. If someone had offered her a cig, much less an emoticig a few years ago, she would have been appalled. A surprising fact considering the elites did drugs much worse than these. She had been too good. A goody two shoes. She cringed.

A knock sounded a few moments later. The small screen displayed Emelia now with her make-up off, and her clothing changed into loose black sweats. The door struggled to function properly, unable to pick up Emelia's face before finally malfunctioning and just opening. It was a great safety feature.

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“So, what’s for dinner? I’m starving. That bastard at Blink is refusing to pay again. I think it’s the 3rd paycheck. I don’t get naked for those bastards for free.” Emelie sat down and grumbled some clearly distasteful words under her breath. “Some girls had left already; I’d kill to work at your place. Maybe then I could stop showing my tits for a living.”

She rumbled through the collection of instant meals, soups, meats, and an array of different things used to pay her mother. “It barely pays. Who even goes to school in the slums? If I'm lucky, my class of 30 is a class of 5. It’s that age when most of them decide that the streets bring more than an education. I can’t exactly fault them either. It’s not like they can continue their education unless they can get up a lever or get a sponsor.”

She hummed to herself, trying to find something that didn’t taste like cardboard, which was a task harder than it seemed. Finally, her eyes landed on a set of familiar containers. “Well, we have that miso ramen, or maybe the beef stew, hmm.”

“Ramen, let’s do that. We can spice it up with some dehydrated veg or meat,” Emelia said, playing with a random tool on the table that clattered loudly against the metal counter.

“Hey, can Miss Freth check up on Anthony’s arm this week? He says it hasn’t been working as smoothly since the fight with T12,” she sighed again.

“Sure, how is he anyway? Haven’t seen him around. Patrolling again?” She shuffled, looking for some dehydrated chicken cubes. They never had to eat such junk back on level 5, their maid A156 would always have dinner ready for them with real meat and fresh produce. On level 5, they had grocery stores with beautiful, genetically modified vegetables and meat. Here, they made do with what they had. Sometimes, if they got real lucky, one of the bosses would pay them with real food. On level 1, the grocery stores were filled with dehydrated and instant meals sold in colorless boxes. They even had gum that tasted like real food for when the hunger pangs got real bad, and arrays of emoti-cigs to fill in the emotional pangs.

“Yeah, it’s been bad, the clans are starting to clash, and the boss basically has him on patrol 24/7. He’s barely been home this week. I keep waiting to at least see him passing by to...” there was a pause, “see that he’s alright.”

Jane put water to heat and broke the ramen into two bowls, topping it off with a mix of vegetables and a few pieces of dehydrated chicken. She sprinkled the packets of flavoring into each bowl. Her eyes lingered. She wanted to eat real meat. Even the vegetables she had refused to eat as a child, she would savor. Maybe next week, she will be able to buy something from Haris. He would harass her and, as always, try to get her to see why being his girl would do her some good around here, but he and she both knew that he would eventually be replaced by another street smuggler. His body dumped off the wall never to be found, plus, he couldn’t even read. And she was once set to do great things in the academic world. That was the bare minimum. That and... he wasn’t him.

She poured boiling water over the dry noodles, the smell of miso, almost instantly filling the kitchen. How long did they have to wait for it to be ready? She always forgot.

“Man, that sucks; mom’s been pretty busy, too, with the clans. Lots of people and androids are getting hurt. They even fly her out sometimes. Remember Quincy, the girl who used to stand in the corner, the one with blue hair? Yeah, apparently, she was killed during a clash a few nights ago. They couldn’t bring her back; she had a kid at home.”

“Poor Quincy but being a streetwalker has those risks,” Emelia said.

A moment of unspoken silence in condolence passed between them.

“And these damn doors that just won’t stay shut; I can barely sleep since they open to every living and dead soul.” She placed the bowls onto the counter. “You can stay the night it would be safer that way,” She took a fork and slurped hot noodles into her mouth.

“Sure, I’ll stay; I know Miss Freth keeps one of those fancy ray rifles somewhere around here, which is much more than I have back home. But I have a favor to ask you.” Emelie fell quiet for a moment, her eyes locked on her bowl.

She only then noticed that the bowl had a crack on the side. How had she never noticed that before? The chip wasn’t small either, and it was on one of their fancy porcelain bowls. Her mother had dragged them down here for some strange reason. Out of everything she could have taken, she took her tools and the dinnerware.

“Could you lend us a week’s worth of nutri bars,” Emelia mumbled, her usual brazen self disappearing for a few moments. It wasn’t the first time they had lent them food; they had a lot to spare. Plus, Anthony was like their local security guard when he was around. Nutri-bars were the cheapest substitute for real food, one bar for one meal. They didn’t taste good, but they got the deed done. One of her mother’s clients, an android who should have long fallen apart, constantly paid with them, boxes of them that stood collecting dust in the corner of her mom’s bedroom.

“Hey,” she placed a hand on Emelia’s bony shoulder. When did she get so skinny? “Don’t worry; take as much as you need. You are my friends, plus we all need Anthony around to protect us. It won’t do us any good if he starved to death.”