My mind linked to a white room, and dozens of screens floated in front of me. Each connected to simulations, shopping outlets, system news, and other possibilities approved of by The Union.
I had entered the web countless times, but I drew a blank about where I wanted to go. There was nothing I wanted to buy, and I had already heard everything from Jane. I wasn’t in the mood for games, either.
In the end, I decided on a more realistic simulation, one tied to the city itself. If I went Off-World, it would be my last chance for a while. I wasn’t even sure if I’d have access to VR outside of the city.
I searched through my available list and removed anything without backing. Free Sims with little support pushed virtual boundaries, the types that lead to a mental breakdown if you weren’t careful. It was hard to say how true the stories were, but being mind-locked didn’t sound pleasant.
If you were lucky, someone found you and they shipped you off to never be seen again. Otherwise, you pissed and shit yourself until you died in your bed from dehydration. Well, between the two, it was hard to say which fate was better.
Participants could earn credits or gain sponsorships in corporate simulations loaded with competitions. However, most Union Sims were work-related.
The Union had multiple layers of simulations that required employment codes. Items such as surveillance drones, trains, and cars ran through the network, and each required a human to operate.
As long as the network was up, Union employees could spend their days naked in a chair while watching you through a drone. The perfect job for a government pervert.
With my mind made up, I selected the free corporate simulation and found myself back in my apartment. I rose from the bed and looked through my tiny residence. The details were so accurate they scared me.
Corporate drones had scanners capable of penetrating the thickest buildings. They could recreate interior details down to the color of your bedsheets.
They told everyone they didn’t map organic matter; I wasn’t so sure.
The reflection in my bathroom mirror matched my avatar and the clothing I purchased. A charcoal gray pullover hugged my body and melded into a pair of black insulated jeans. Clothes to fit the weather and colors that mimicked my mood.
Once set, I walked over to the fake window panel and removed the tint. The city lights blasted into my apartment in a wide assortment of blues, yellows, oranges, and pinks. Scenes that were impossible to replicate outside VR.
A brilliant radiance covered each building with holographs of alluring women and the newest products. People packed the streets, rushing from one place to another, and decorated themselves with glowing hair and sparkling bodies. Even the most intricate tags couldn’t compare.
The city exploded with life and every imaginable vice. Corporations kept the Upper District Sims orderly and classy by hiding ads and adding a soft glow. That wasn’t the case in the Lower District, though.
The conflicting themes found in the free corporate simulation were beautifully chaotic. It was a mix of fantasy and reality that created a world without repercussions. And that’s how The Union controlled the population.
Once out of my building, halos of light surrounded my feet with each step and left a trail of alternating pink and blue footprints. The roads and walkways tried to outshine the buildings, and they decorated the sky with shimmering silver stars.
Music pounded in my ears as I walked, and large holographic dancers moved between the towers. I paused and hid my face in my hands after I remembered the Upper District simulations I had been in.
By comparison, they were dull.
A soft, white glow draped over the core areas of the city that pleased the eye. Gentle music hung in the air, and the pace was slow without interruptions or fears of privacy.
Refined men and women walked together towards opera halls in virtual courtship, then stopped for a meal in renowned restaurants. It was a comforting environment, unlike the colorful scene in front of me.
Government drones with spotlights appeared as I walked away from my apartment.
The simulation became a mix of carefree recklessness, and a police state the further I traveled; it was a strange combination. Like other Sims created and run by corporations, it should have been a utopia, but something seemed off.
Whenever a fight took place, or some form of dispute occurred, a light landed on the people involved. However, the drones only observed. Nobody stopped the fights. If I had to guess, the drones tracked who started the altercation, the brawl’s severity, and the reactions of nearby citizens.
It seemed like social monitoring. Corporations monitored purchasing patterns and created profiles, but it felt like Union interference. Were they looking for details on the terrorists? Not likely.
The Union kept records of everyone for countless number of reasons. Sometimes to suggest certain occupations or interests, and others were just mundane health logs.
I couldn’t think of why they tracked this Sim, though.
Sims were an outlet and a way to escape reality, but not without limits. Most corporate Sims put a leash on excessively violent behavior. Who would join a Sim if it meant getting stabbed or robbed every ten meters?
There were no warnings and no restrictions in this sim, though. It startled me at first, but I got used to it quickly. After walking close to an hour down the bright streets and witnessing several fights, I left the region.
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In VR, almost anything was possible, and shuttle cars flew everywhere. I swiped the back of my hand, and a holo-screen appeared above my arm. I ordered a car and waited for close to five minutes before it arrived.
The shuttle was nothing special and looked just like any other car, with two doors that slid up like a secret opening and seats for up to eight people. However, unlike traditional street vehicles, there were no tires; instead, a bright blue glow allowed it to hover above the ground.
Outside of simulations, the only true hover systems outside of bikes and scooters were in the Upper Districts, and they used quantum locking. They also hovered two meters above the surface.
The force required to raise a flying shuttle into the sky would knock people to the ground, so The Union outlawed them within city limits. There were platforms in the Upper Districts for private shuttles, but the small craft never flew below 200 meters.
“Please enter your destination.” The small bot resembled a cartoon character of a panda. I wanted to touch it, but resisted the urge. It gave off the vibe of having to pay extra.
I held my arm terminal to the scanner and transmitted the location. The scanner charged five credits for the trip; however, once I pressed accept, a red box appeared and canceled the transaction. The car sat motionless, and the bot spoke in a somewhat more robotic tone.
“Access denied, you do not have permission to the Upper District. Please enter a different destination.”
I knew it was foolish of me. The Union would never allow access without proper entry codes. The daughter of High Commissioner Jales Parker was dead. I had to remind myself of that.
Dead people didn’t visit the home where their fathers raised them.
After thinking of an alternative place, I entered the address of a spot my father told me about.
After paying the 5-credit charge, we rose at least 500 meters into the air and shot forward. Below, the ground became a blue canvas dotted with shades of pink and yellow, painting a spectacular image.
The shuttle blew through the holographic advertisements and past the kilometer-tall buildings. They resembled colorful prison bars that locked everyone in place.
Ten minutes later, I reached my destination. A ledge on the ruddy crater wall in which the city lived, less than 300 meters from the rim. The area outside was a vast desert of nothingness for a few hundred kilometers until the next crater city.
It wasn’t illegal to leave the crater and travel outside, but other than transport on ships or rails, nobody traveled beyond 100 kilometers. The atmosphere was too thin to go out without preparing. There was also the risk of running into rebels who refused to bend their knee to any form of central authority.
The rim of the largest crater on the planet had the most fantastic views, though.
The city lights shimmered and blurred together. Reflections bounced off the sea and created a screen a kilometer high. The holopad on your wrist listed shows to watch. It was easy to forget you were in an impact crater.
The impact occurred 100 million years ago and was possibly a collision from one of the many moons the planet once had.
At 800 kilometers wide and a dozen kilometers deep at its lowest point, it created a vast valley where water pooled and created a saltwater sea. When the terraformers arrived, they expanded it and created an ideal location for the future capital.
Tiliri II B was a desert planet with little water, and its atmosphere wasn’t as thick as Homeworlds. However, deep within the enormous impact craters, the atmospheric pressure was close enough.
When seed probes slammed into the planet dozens of years before the first ships arrived, the plants only spread in certain spots in the crater. Eventually becoming the Upper Districts.
The buildings and manors had a unique wavy style of architecture that settlers designed during their journey. According to records, they mimicked HomeWorld.
The Lower District was the consequence of poor population management.
The Lower District buzzed with life, and the Upper District glowed in beauty. I couldn’t imagine the world the first settlers saw when they arrived, or what they thought at the end of their journey.
They traveled over 100 years on a ship and created an ecosystem on a lifeless planet in its star’s habitable zone. It was an incredible accomplishment.
The orange dwarf Trinary System was younger than Sol, with more active chromospheres and a real risk of collisions. But they still came.
They colonized dozens of systems I didn’t care to remember and became so spread out it took decades to send messages. They didn’t feel like a single species anymore.
A bright light caught my attention as a stadium rooftop opened and erupted with shouts loud enough to reach me. I pulled up a screen and linked it to the nearest feed.
There was a demolition competition with sponsors and tens of thousands of people in the stands. Even the stadiums had corporate logos, and I understood why the simulation was so popular. Sports.
The crowd erupted in programmed elation. I didn’t share the appeal to violence, but I recognized the scene’s calculated hooks—the stimulating lights, and the chance of monetary reward. All carefully designed to entrance the populace.
I watched feed after feed of gory competitions, ranging from barbaric fights to high-speed races. Each channel maximized addiction. One particularly savage battle distracted me for hours. Competitors wearing customized skins fought their way through an obstacle course that pulsated with powder blue lights. It was a winner-take-all battle with a prize of 2,000 credits.
Fighter drones fired missiles at participants, and an enormous six-armed robot wrapped in flames attacked contenders who warded them off with unrealistic weapons.
Lights exploded from an armored suit and cut down a red dog sheathed in ice. A woman created a storm of black butterflies that detonated upon contact with a red bipedal lizard covered in spikes. A warrior with spiral markings lept through the air and slammed his fist into the face of a white-furred ape with blue skin.
I had heard of fantasy battles before but didn’t know they were so intense.
The trio fought as a team and defeated multiple enemies until an enormous metal lizard assaulted them. Red lights danced around the creature, and purple flames erupted from its mouth. They stood behind the butterfly woman’s barrier of insects until she pushed them both from her protection.
They were more than halfway through the course, and though they fought together, they were still enemies. The armor suit wearer’s body blazed orange as he screamed, “You Bitch.” The tattooed fighter pounded his fists on the insect barrier until he withered onto the ground.
When the lizard’s flames ended, the woman conjured dozens of stars from nowhere that ripped through the air and shredded the beast. The crowd erupted into cheers, demanding more violence like addicts, as the woman fell to her knees, blood pouring from her mutilated abdomen.
As sponsored competitors were obliterated in explosions, temporary allies predictably betrayed each other. Programmed beasts ate their enemies while a mysterious figure navigated the chaos. The contestant cloaked themselves and brutally slashed anybody too busy to notice them pass. They snuck through the battle, never getting struck, and crossed the finish line before anyone could stop them.
Once the battles ended, the simulation no longer held the same appeal. I fought against my sleepiness and waited for the first rays above the crater’s edge.
Tiliri peaked up and birthed a new day. It was another day of essential human workers traveling the rails. A day where bots commanded by headsets worked in the stores and other less intricate machinations. And a day for drones to scan and capture the whereabouts of people.
I watched as the excitement from the night disappeared and the bright colors vanished. The shuttles still flew through the buildings, but the number of people ordering rides dropped. Everything died as people left.
I exited the Sim, took care of my bodily needs, and laid on my bed once more. I had made up my mind.