I strolled through the mazing streets of Red Fusion, scouring the morning for sustenance while keeping an ear tuned for potential job prospects. My usual routine dictated that I lingered in Red Fusion during the initial hours of the day, hoping for one client while I eat, and then head towards the more grim and job rewarding city center.
The early hours bore an unusual ambiance. Though the ever-present haze and looming spacecraft freighters persisted, the fleeting sunlight, as well as the local populace spilling onto the streets, lent an almost deceptive respite from our typically dreary existence.
My perambulations led me to a diminutive vendor's stall peddling Congee, a venerable breakfast dish rooted in ancient China. In this era, the notion of countries, as once comprehended, had crumbled into oblivion. Wars, the mass exile of the Elite, and myriad other mysteries had scrambled the world's narrative. A cataclysmic conflict had marred the planet, reducing it to ruins. The refugee spaceships were an enigma, hastily constructed to evacuate those who held the power to escape. The manner in which this exodus unfolded remained a murky conundrum, cloaked in obscurity as only fragmentary remnants and cryptic archives hinted at what had occurred. What was clear was that the traditional concept of nation-states had unraveled. In its place, cities had become self-governing entities, their mayors assuming the mantle of modern-day monarchs.
The result was a patchwork of city-states, each a sovereign island in the tumultuous sea of human existence.
Curiously, I haven't mentioned the name of the city where I resided. It was called Synas City, a nomenclature rooted in its history, harkening back to the era of the first mayor or a legendary benefactor – details had blurred with time, rendering the city's origin a quasi-mythical enigma akin to urban legends. The locals, though, bestowed their own moniker upon this haven of contradictions – ToxCity. It had earned this name through years of toil, suffering, and strife, evolving into a citadel of destitution.
I placed an order for a "pork" sausage Congee, fully aware that the term "pork" was more a linguistic relic than a statement of culinary fact. More often than not, the meat within these dishes was a dubious blend, with rodents making up a substantial portion.
Seated on a rickety wooden chair, adjacent to the modest food stall, I ruminated on ToxCity. It was the realm of the disenfranchised, notorious as the Junkie Kingdom, yet paradoxically, as far as I knew it was one of the largest settlements in existence. Once the formidable barrier of Sapphire Summit to the east or the menacing Silk Valley to the west was breached, all that remained was a sprawling wasteland, rife with desolation and irradiated despair. The closest semblance of civilization was a distant city known as Nuno, accessible through the treacherous expanse of the wastelands. But reaching this distant outpost was no simple endeavor. A handful of intrepid nomadic vendors occasionally undertook the perilous journey. The rest resorted to travel companies, entities that facilitated the arduous expedition in exchange of a ridiculous amount of Credits. The bravest among us, however, opted for the daring path – riding headlong into the wasteland. A veil of mystery shrouded this arid expanse, accompanied by persistent whispers of grotesque beasts and ruthless savages lurking along the route. Although I had never borne witness to these fabled horrors, deeming it wise to avoid such perilous unnecessary journeys.
As far back as my hazy unreliable memories reached, ToxCity was my home. Nestled within its boundaries, the city center housed the formidable headquarters of MainFrame, the extensive Melrose Farms sprawled to the south, while the north was dominated by the ceaseless hum of Neo Future's factories, birthing everything from rudimentary chopsticks to intricate cybernetic augmentations. It was a world where many never ventured beyond the city limits, their lives intricately woven into the fabric of ToxCity.
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Occasionally, tales of intrepid individuals from diminutive, independent settlements beyond our purview reached our ears, but over the years, such encounters had grown scarce. In ToxCity, a quartet of colossal corporations reigned supreme: Neo Future, master of factories; Melrose, guardian of the farms; MainFrame, purveyor of entertainment and Heavenly experiences; and Energy Bank, shadow arbiter of all monetary transactions. Though smaller enterprises existed, even indigenous farmers paled in significance before the behemoths.
In ToxCity, life, work, and demise unfolded within the inexorable grip of four corporate juggernauts. Their origin was lost in the annals of history, predating my existence. Such musings held little sway over my daily existence. Survival was the singular preoccupation.
Though the division between the affluent and the destitute was sharp, it was not as extreme as one might assume. Amidst the downtrodden, the junkies, and the underworld, a rough triage divided the inhabitants of ToxCity into maybe four classes.
The lowest rung consisted of individuals like myself, each nursing aspirations of escape, investing their meager earnings in the elusive ticket out of the city, or more modestly, securing a coveted Tier 1 Subscription to MainFrame Heaven. These were my primary clients, toiling throughout their lives in factories, farms, or small-scale businesses, occasionally dabbling as Couriers or NeuroSlicers.
The next echelon encompassed MainFrame's workforce, governmental employees, such as police, bureaucrats, and healthcare providers, as well as those from Energy Bank, and supervisors of Melrose and Neo Future. This slice of society embodied a dynamic middle class, many ascending to the coveted Tier 1, with a rare few reaching Tier 2.
Above this intricate social tapestry resided the enigmatic upper echelons — individuals such as supervisors and chief engineers in corporate entities like MainFrame. They inhabited a sphere far removed from the ceaseless grind that defined the masses' existence. Their presence was a rarity, their lives veiled in obscurity, leaving one to ponder what existence they truly led. On occasion, I encountered these elusive figures when I embarked on deposit assignments. They typically resided in the sanctuaries of the more secure zones, with a notable concentration in the idyllic confines of Green Ring. Here, they traversed the threshold of the city solely for their daily toil or, in some instances, exercised the option of remote work. The specifics of their daily affairs remained shrouded in mystery, a tantalizing enigma that bore little resemblance to the reality of the average ToxCity denizen.
The fourth class, the New Elite, reigned in obscurity. These high-ranking executives wielded considerable influence from their fortress, Sapphire Summit. They remained elusive, the true rulers of the city, orchestrating its destiny from the shadows. Although I had ventured into the precincts of Green Ring, the formidable gateways of Sapphire Summit remained an impervious fortress, a realm beyond the grasp of one such as myself.
It's noteworthy that our current Mayor, an individual named James Lyra, remained far removed from the fortified enclaves of Sapphire Summit.
In my early days as a Courier, I had harbored the notion that the riches of Green Ring were my ticket reaching the Credits needed for a Gold Tier. Yet, as I quickly learned, the death toll there was dismally low. Residents of Green Ring seldom found themselves on my roster; they sought refuge in the well-equipped hospital - where Courier weren't needed to collect the Soul. In any case, death rarely had the audacity to strike in such privileged environs.
On the other hand, the city center, teeming with hopeful Tier 1 aspirants, proved to be a goldmine for Couriers like me. The brutality of daily life here exacted a grim toll, populating my ledger with Souls ripe for harvesting.
I finished my bowl and offered a nod of gratitude to the cook, transferring the payment wirelessly from my dwindling credit balance. Glancing at my wristwatch, I noted the time: 8.12. It was imperative to make my way to the city center; opportunities waited with each passing second.