Local Time: 3:44 PM | Earth Year 3252 | Planet: Queen’s Gate | City: Brompton | Western City Center
A slumped-shouldered form shuffled away from its most recent daily nightmare. Talking to himself, Rory Sheehan mumbled, “Why do I even go there?” He had asked himself the same question every day since he started at that shitty school. “Why do I still care?”
The answer was the same every time. Ugh. He just realized he had lost focus and his old accent came through. He hated his Irish brogue. It brought nothing but bad memories and was one of the reasons his daily life was such a disaster on this shit-hole of a planet. It was also one of the reasons he barely spoke anymore, even in private and to himself. The little that he did open his mouth to do anything but breathe tepid air and put cheap shitty food in it, he made sure to speak like a normal Britannian.
Rory looked up as thunder rumbled in the permanently dark and cloudy sky of Queen’s Gate. The planet had no natural day/night cycle so it was assigned one by the illustrious Crown. Thus everyone on this rubbish pit used a 24-hour cycle to match Earth, a place Rory could barely remember now.
Looking up, Rory’s deep-red slightly wavy hair that was just short of shoulder-length fell from his face showing him the numerous skyrises lit with various three-dimensional holograms of men and women wearing a variety of fancy combat suits and techarmor wielding an even greater variety of Soul Weapons. An advert flickered to life directly above Rory, alighting his freckled face and reflecting off his emerald green eyes.
Two men appeared, wearing the newest, fanciest, and most expensive armor and wielding their Soul Weapons in a battle against an unseen foe. Rory watched as the pair, one holding a glowing six-foot staff and the other a repeating rifle, dodge deadly balls of poison and acid while valiantly running towards humanity’s enemies.
Leaping, dodging, and flipping all while firing orange blasts of myst-based power, the white and orange lightly-armored rifle-wielder was a dexterous mass of never-ending energy. Suddenly the frightful forms of one of humanity’s enemies appeared. A six-legged mammalian wolf-like creature with a body made of glowing green smoke-like energy leaped at the dangerously quick human. This semi-formless Soul Cursed, known by humanity in this form as a “burning wolf,” opened a vaporous maw that enlarged to three times its previous size, appearing ready to swallow the rifle-bearing human in a single gulp.
Out of nowhere the red glow of the staff appeared and smashed into the bottom “jaw” of the Cursed. The red weapon caught fire and flared brightly, matching his matching red techarmor that was plated heavier than the agile gunner. As a result of the Soul Power-based attack, the vaporous enemy solidified and collided with a nearby wall causing it to crack and pieces to fall.
The staff-wielder pointed with a straight arm and hand and the other Soul Warrior nodded and ran towards where he pointed, shooting the whole time. The red human then leaped at the downed wolf and bludgeoned the creature with a two-handed downward blow just as it was rising. Becoming even more solid, the creature crunched back into the ground, pieces of the mist-like energy escaping from it. Spinning his flaming staff, the red-armored human continued his assault causing more and more of the creature’s Soul Power to leave it. After a few more strikes, the creature seemed to fade into the wind, leaving only a cloud of myst the size of a human head that floated towards him. Then it appeared to be absorbed into the long weapon, which flared briefly in response. The other human walked in, his rifle on his shoulder and then they both turned towards Rory and nodded to him.
A deep baritone voice resounded in his ears, “Want to protect yourself from the fearsome powers of the Cursed? How about enhancing your body and Soul Constructs to better fight, survive, and grow? For the leading techarmors in the empire along with weapon and body enhancements that can bring you to the next level, look to the galaxy’s best: Cosmica Engineering. Our premium armors can protect you as you grow and battle into the future. Our enhancements support nearly all weapon classes from level one all the way up to one hundred and even higher. Visit our local presence to experience our patented measurement analysis system and make a custom order. We can deliver directly to your home, no matter the planet as long as it has a transport beacon. Don’t allow yourself to suffer because of an unarmored body or lose out on power from an unenhanced Soul Weapon. Cosmica Engineering is here to serve you, the Britannian Empire, and humanity’s future.”
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Rory’s face hardened as he clenched his fists, hideous scars stretching and pulling at his skin, the ever-present pain a reminder of his past. His mind returned to the present when a drop of rain splashed onto his cheek and he felt its burn against his skin. Swearing, he lifted the hood of his school’s protective coat, for whatever good it would do, and ran to find shelter. This area was for the posh and proper, so Rory sprinted – well, his bruised ribs and hip made it more of a lope – towards the transbus stop, lest a constable be called as if he was some vagrant going to rob someone. Not that he hadn’t done that before. Starvation tends to make people desperate.
Rory swore when he realized he’d have to take the expensive transport to the stop close to work. At least this time he had the five shillings in his pocket or he would have been stuck burning in the acidic rain. Again. He knew his ratty shoes really couldn’t take it.
Speaking of, he grunted through the pain as he ran to the stop, which thankfully was protected by a small translumin cover for people waiting, like him. There wasn’t anyone else crazy enough to be in this wealthy area in acid rain so he was thankfully alone as he waited for the flying transbus to get him close enough to the mine to walk the rest of the way. Err… limp.
The large red double-decker transport dropped from the sky above and opened its doors. Rory ran towards it and got on as soon as the barrier fell and the door slid sideways. He stiffly dropped five shillings into the ancient receptacle and grabbed a seat in the back.
Most people used their commos to pay. Not him though. A bank account was needed for that.
A few moments later when nobody else got on, the transport rose and flew off into the traffic of the city. During his fifty-minute flight around the planet, Rory watched as various people got on and off the transbus at whatever stops they needed. Some were single, some in pairs or larger groups. None gave him a second glance at the back. He wanted it that way, which was why he kept his head down and ratty hood up.
He could tell the transbus was getting closer when he glanced up and saw the tall but crumbling apartment buildings so close together those in their neighboring building with sides facing each other could hand each other milk through their windows. He knew because he’d seen it happen.
But that was only for the best of the slums. If you were on an outside flat, you could afford milk. His apartment was too cheap for windows, of course. He and his mum were on the inside, in the least expensive apartment in the least expensive building in the least expensive slum on Queen’s Gate. It was supposed to be free according to the Crown, but no one from the government checked or asked. Or cared.
Two stops from his home, Rory heard familiar voices get on the transport. He tucked his legs up and ducked behind a separator near a seat.
These were the local enforcers. They were responsible for keeping the slums from turning into complete war zones. It was actually a really important job. The problem was, they worked for someone Rory and his mother owed money to.
The last year had been tough, the most difficult since… well since then. Because of his age, what shillings in subsidy he and his mum had received were long gone. Now all they had was debt. Owing twenty-five pounds probably didn’t sound like a lot to normal people, but to the two of them it was a queen’s fortune.
Especially considering the only “work” he ever found was in the old mines trying to dig up reusable M-steel or antiques he could sell at the local pawn shop or – if he got really lucky – metal yard. He wasn’t the only scrapper of course. He was just the one who’d lived the longest except for one other old fogey who’d been a scrapper for longer than Rory had been alive.
Speaking of being alive, his hopes for anonymity were lost when his stop came and the enforcer crew was still on the transbus and between him and the door. Swearing to himself in his mind, he made a quick decision and resolved to get off. He didn’t move at all until the transport came to a complete stop. Then Rory lunged up, turned towards the front, and loped as fast as his sore body would move to the just opening door. He ran by the group of five who were gaping at him. One realized who he was and called out but it was too late and he was past them. Then he was out of the bus and fleeing to the mines.