A week passed unnoticed. Things seemed to be getting better, the streets quieter, and the apartment cleaner. Everything would have been great if she could ignore the mental turmoil caused by last week's events. Now, they stood with Emelia leaning against the cold exterior of the apartment building. Emelia smoked, inhaling vile smoke from the e-cigarette. Tranquility—a small green tube of chemicals to calm the brain—was just another method to keep them complacent.

“So, what do you think?” she asked Emelia.

“What a fucking bastard,” Em sighed, running a hand through her bubblegum hair.

"You could accept, but just be wary this time. Now you know what he's capable of. You'll be ready. Just use him as much as you can. Maybe you'll become rich and pull me out of this shit hole as well,” she laughed and took a drag. Green puffs of smoke escaped from colored lips.

"Em!" Fri was stunned, "how could you say that?"

"You know I'm right, plus all he wants is to spend time with you," She hummed, "even if things go in another direction- we've all seen the Sapos heir. He's a hunk. Open your legs and turn off your brain; sex can be just that. A transaction."

A child ran by wearing tattered and torn clothing. They watched him with unwavering eyes. He stopped and ran towards a torn open container of garbage. They had all been there at one point. Searching through garbage with shaking hands for something to eat. Tearing up the carefully compressed squares of trash left for cleaners to pick up. For them, until she sold that pistol and, her mom had formed a solid reputation. The first time Fri had reached, scrapping, throwing, and shuffling through the trash like a wild animal was the most memorable. The experience had humbled her real quick. It was the day she had let go of the idea of dignity. Here dignity killed. Pride was not a trait for the poor. Hunger did not care about your pride or where you came from.

“Hey, kid!” she called out. The boy stopped and turned to look at her. His cheeks were sullen, his skin pale; it was hard to tell his age behind the malnourishment. He wore a long white shirt, the ones they gave out every few months—a pathetic attempt at charity from the rich. His shirt was stained and ripped at the shoulder, and his black boots had holes.

“Come, don’t be scared.”

Cautiously, he took a few steps towards her before making up his mind and finally running up to her. This was the standard around here. His parents must have died recently, leaving him to fend for himself. It was kids in these sorts of situations who ended up dying in clan wars or drug sales gone wrong. They were the most hungry and the easiest to recruit. What would one do for a nutribar if hungry enough? Kill. Would hunger be sufficient to risk your life out there? She looked at the sky for a moment, wondering how the intergalactic syndicates functioned. Everything but this city seemed to function on a scale much grander than her mind could imagine.

“Hold out your wrist,” she told him.

He held up a scrawny wrist, the biochip a stain against his white skin. She tapped her own chip against his, activating a transaction, a small hologram popping out between them. “I’ll give you some credits. How does 500 sound?” she asked. His eyes grew wide.

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500 was what she made in a month. It would be enough for some new clothing and a few weeks of nutri-bars. “It should be enough for you to hold out a little while.” She approved the transaction, and a few seconds later, the child's credit balance glitched out and changed from 0 to 500. In broken words, he thanked her and ran away.

“It would be nice to change some things around here. They couldn’t even bother setting up an orphanage.” She took the emoti-cig from Emelia. This time, they were trying tranquility, which seemed to work better than happiness. At least it mellowed out her emotions.

“We had one; it just didn't survive a clan dispute; they never built a new one after that,” Em whispered, her eyes glazing over for a second. “Anthony gave so many years of his life protecting 6 and 7, but it didn’t change anything even then. They still threw him away when he got hurt protecting one of them. Maybe if they had given him a choice, he would have chosen to die; instead, they replaced half his body with electronics and threw him into the streets. Nothing can change in this city. The best thing to do would be to wipe it off the face of the planet.” Em took the cig from her and inhaled it. "That's why I'm telling you to use him, run him dry, Fri; this place is hopeless. At least one of us needs to get out of here." The smoke slowly escaped as she talked. Dark green fleeting from red lips.

Em was right.

Her biochip buzzed, and a message from him popped up. It read, “Be ready by 8.” But what was there to be ready for? Did he forget that she now lived at level one and owned three pairs of clothing? Or did he want her to mentally prepare to deal with him? A week was not enough time to prepare. Maybe a lifetime would be too short for that as well. Fri sighed. "I gotta go. The devil awaits," she told Em.

Em smiled, "Go get 'em, Fri. Remember what I told you: don't overthink things."

The same security guard came to pick her up, dressed in a pristine suit once more. She learned that his name was Julius, and he was one of the latest AI intelligence systems on the market, so he really was a kiss-up. It was just programmed into him. He was so well built that there was no way to tell him apart from a person. However, unlike last time, she willingly got into the car. They made their way to level 7 in complete silence. Once at the Sapos tower, she was ushered through secret entrances and guided back to where she had been. He was already waiting for her, dinner served on a smaller table in the corner of the condo. The space between them was too close for comfort. This time, the skyline blinked away, filled with other skyscrapers that had reached well into the clouds. Another breathtaking sight.

“Good evening,” he greeted her and smiled. It was a sickly sweet smile. The one he probably gave at meetings and to the public.

“Sure,” she muttered and sat down across from him. She didn’t want to show excitement at the food placed before her. There was meat, real meat. Not the dehydrated strips she had grown used to. It was clear he was bribing her, trying to soften her up. A robo-maid poured them a glass of wine. The bottle looked old, vintage. She was almost salivating.

“Eat,” he instructed, watching her closely, those eyes analyzing her. She often wondered how it was to see through them. Did the world look different? Was it better or worse, and did they remind him of his parents and what they had put him through?

Tentatively, Fri picked up the fork—a peculiar fork made from a blue translucent material. She scanned the table and noticed that there were no knives or anything sharp. The wine glasses and plates were made from black nano-steel. The steak had already been cut. She looked up at him for answers, and he smiled.

“A lot of people want to kill me, and you could be one of them. You made your hatred quite clear last time.” He took a sip of wine and sighed. “my physicians told me I need a way to decompress and relax. Your presence relaxes me, but that doesn’t mean I trust you.”