Everyday Life in Fusion City
You live in the resiblocks, gigantic concrete colossi, rising over the city, visible for miles. Well, if it wasn't for the other gigantic structures spread throughout the city. The block is an entire neighborhood in one building, housing up to 9 000 apartments and over 30 000 tenants.
Everything you could ever need, and much less, is available in this cityblock-in-a-skyscraper. Towering to the sky, packed with cramped, poorly maintained apartments.
As you stroll through the solid metal security gate, open at this time of day, and hear the bustle of the local shops, you get outside to street level. One would expect to see a ton of vehicles in a cyberpunk setting. Not so in Fusion City. Transportation is designed from the ground up with hundreds of millions of people in mind. Okay, maybe not hundreds. Closer to 50 million. But they tried, right?
You put on your Sensotech ICAS, an intracranial auditory stimulator. It's all the rage these days. Music that only you can hear, as it sends vibrations through your skull. Just don't try to listen to it on regular speakers. It sounds horrible.
With awesome tunes blasting in your head, you take a stroll to the closest tube-station. The tubes, kilometers of transparent, composite tubes with escalators in them. Designed to transport tens of thousands of people every day. They get you to the closest shuttle or Interrail station in quick order.
As you zone out on your way to the station, thousands of automated lorries buzz beneath you, transporting goods to and from the production districts. The Interrail, a sleek, super-speed train, takes you coreward.
As you approach the Downtown districts, Vault of Heaven and its extravagance shines above your head as you dive into the perpetual twilight of the downtown districts. Downtown is where all the action happens. Or so they say. There's plenty of action in the rest of city, just perhaps not of the party, alcohol, sex and drugs. At least not the consumption, but production, trade and war over such.
As you approach the obnoxiously extravagant office building where you work, you sneak a handfull of pills into your mouth and swallow. You hate these stimulants. They completely fuck with everything in your life, but if you wanna meet the quota and have a chance at promotion, you better do the do. "Everybody does it" they say. Well then everybody is probably a shaking, cold-sweating wreck at the end of the work day too.
The thoughts fade as you stride inside, to take your place among the white-collar worker hordes of the megacorp. It's not that bad. After all they pay for your education, your partners and your children's education, their healthcare, your transportation. Heck, they even pay for your apartment. Their security forces are your police. Maybe it's not so bad. I mean, they own you. But aside from that...
After work, you drag your drug-ridden, broken body to the nearest convenience store to pick up some basic supplies. "Basic supplies" meaning several variations of Synthfood. Yeah, yeah, you're a white-collar worker but that doesn't mean you got the moolah for fresh, real food. You eat the colored, flavored sludge everyone else eats.
As you pass through the store, you subconsciously ignore all the armies of ads being thrown at you from every angle, some even reading your ID-chip to adress you on a first-name basis. You're used to this shit. Everyone hates it, but what can you do? Most of the time the ads aren't even interesting. Just the same old bombardment of cheap crap. For a moment you wonder if the rich folks get better ads.
You pick up your PersoCom to clear the upcoming transaction on your way to the exit and as you pass the payment terminal, you sweep your hand across the reader. A solid beep confirms that your purchase has been paid, the cold, sterile, robotic voice thanks your for your purchase and you're on your way.
Semi-unconscious, drained after another terrible work day, you observe the gang shoot-outs in the back-alleys as you pass by on the Interrail. Will this nightmare called life ever change? Or end?
|Chromie||Heavily cybernetically enhanced individual.|
|Cockroach||Wastelander. (extremely derogatory)|
|Towards the center/outside of the city|
|Corpie||Someone working for a larger corporation. (somewhat derogatory)|
|Citizen of Fusion City. Used by wastelanders. (Derogatory)|
|Esper||Psionically capable individual. (Respectful)|
|Gimmie||Corporate, white-collar worker. (Very derogatory)|
|Jack||Cyberjack, neural interface to access the Web. Sometimes referring to a hacker|
|Jacked||Someone with a cyberjack|
|Mute/Mutt||Mutated individual. (very derogatory)|
|Normie/Smoothie||Non-mutated individual. (sometimes derogatory)|
|Psycho||Psionically capable individual. (derogatory)|
|Sandstalker||Infamous wasteland raider tribe. Sometimes used generally about all raiders.|
|Scope||Long range ID-chip scanner used by the police.|
|Skimmer||Small, rat-sized drones working in hordes of 10-20. Usually used to scout out buildings.|
|Skinner||Police scanner for embedded ID-chips. Used directly on skin.|
|Spoofer||Someone without a chip, living "off-grid".|
|Wastelander||Someone living in the Shadowmark.|
|Weewoo||Collective term for security droids and bots of all kinds. Inferred from the siren noise.|