I N T R O
A city of rain, a city that never ends.
This was the reality of those within the steel and concrete megastructure, living lives below mountains of unrestrained architecture. People were clustered in the millions on the lower levels, comparable to what was once known as sea level. Far above sea level the buildings continued in an endless spiral built on top of their own crumbling forebears.
It could be ten miles, it could be a million. No one was entirely aware of how far the city stretched above them, only that no living man had seen the end. You yourself live on a lower level of the city, at least within the operational zone known as the "Fifteen Layers".
The Fifteen Layers, as they were known by the locals, were home to the majority of the populace. At the bottom of the fifteen layers were concrete footings and a solid street level, ever crowded. The Fifteen Layers are named after the dividing lines in which one building noticeably transitions into another, the new one having been built on the old. These layers stretch over one mile to the next zone, with each being its own set of structures crudely smashed together.


You are just one of many that have been brought to awareness of an end point to this bizarre land. Your life, history, and skills will be strained on a journey to find the end of this megalopolis.
In this city the inhabitants are always standing on the roof tops, climbing among the balconies, working at their tiring grey place of employment, or in one of the many shoddy run down buildings as the rain soaks all.
Having done some research, along with some knowledge you already had, you have become aware of the current difficulty just in escaping the initial ground level of the city. Above you, at the end of the Fifteen Layers, is a large cutoff point in which the only entrance to the next zone is through access points on three different buildings.

The first building is currently under the domain of the Zyklon Corporation, a popular trade aggregator and vendor supply group. As it is one of the few routes in and out of the 17th Zaibatsu Zone, they have it heavily guarded and taxed. This route is by and large the safest. The route in has a train line, the building itself has elevators and a constant guard shift, and the people inside will let you in gladly... for a fee. You see, the 17th Zaibatsu and Zyklon Corporation have an agreement, and no one passes through their agreed domain without a corporate passport and ¥17,000 Yuan. Breaking through here would be a task that would take at least three people and a heavy distraction, but people often work together when they have a common goal in mind.

The second route is through an abandoned shaft in the Kaba'yuta building, an old abandoned factory once owned by the titular Kaba'yuta Corp. They were a production and assembly line for robotic components and steel, shipping them up an elevator shaft in their main factory. One day, their systems went haywire, and the droids inside had their whitelist of trusted individuals erased. They took up arms and began to defend the factory from its own workers, killing them in an instant. To survive the journey here would take particular skills ranging from good movement, robotics skills, to raw combat skill. However, an android or robot would be able to easily walk past most of the dangers in this zone.
Industrial droids aren't programmed to kill their own.

The third entrance is controlled by the Ardmore Syndicate, a lowlife underground network of smugglers and high profile dealers. They made this entrance themselves over the course of ten years, blowing their way in with explosives on a weak point. Through this small hole they've smuggled everything from weapons to women, drugs to children, and as much contraband as they can. They are incredibly hostile and well guarded, but not unreasonable. Use of this entrance is free for all who serve the mobs interests, and they're always hiring.

From here you ponder your current situation, take view of your surroundings, and list off your next goal.
A harrowing journey awaits.

The relentless downpour had become a familiar backdrop in Iris's daily life, but it took her a long time to accept it. It bugged her for weeks. She knew her entire childhood was a detailed fabrication delivered through virtual reality, but it didn’t stop her from being silently unnerved. Reality ran afoul of her manufactured memories and she instinctively rejected the dull, sunless sky.

Her mind conjured a bright rooftop terrace and a vivid technicolor cityscape beyond, sharp towers gleaming gold under the sunlight. She felt the sun's warmth when she dreamed and she thoughtlessly yearned for it when she was awake. It was a strange need to cope with, but so were many others. Iris always had cravings that defied logic and earned a measure of surprise from people she knew. Not everyone was grown in a vat from a seed of spliced genes. Not everyone was designed to endure toxic chemicals and lethal doses of radiation. But Iris wasn’t everyone. Her idea of normal had been intentionally skewed by her authors.

Despite periodic, but mild bouts of depression, she always managed to find solace in unlikely places. Any time she rummaged through scrap piles for salvaged parts, she thoughtlessly started gravitating towards old nuclear batteries and would dismantle them in a daze. She liked the nostalgic warmth of radiation blanketing her skin. It was like a kiss of the sun hidden in a dark alley. Even in small doses, it seemed to lift her mood.

The rain stopped bothering her years ago, but she still kept a few spare batteries on hand to comfort herself on dreary days. She preferred the old units which used thorium salts. They had a spicy, earthy aroma which reminded her of incense. Iris had never smelled real incense before, but the memory was there and she knew she liked it. She always wondered if the dissonance bothered others like her, but a clench of fear and pity usually choked the words down before she could ask.

Lately, she had been salvaging pocket-sized reactors carelessly thrown out with the rest of the trash. They usually failed due to poor maintenance, but for Iris, they were easy to fix. More importantly, they were valuable enough to trade for food. Food in the poorer areas usually came in the form of a suspicious gray paste called “Nutri-gel”, which was excruciatingly bland. The ones with added flavor, like savory beef stew, were often more expensive than medical supplies. So, for the past week, Iris had been experimenting with arsenic as seasoning just to give it some kind of flavor. It kept others from stealing her food and she knew the swarm of nanites circulating in her blood would prevent any toxic side effects. Squeezing the tube, she gulped down her latest creation with a mix of wry apprehension and bitter resignation. Surprisingly, it tasted of almonds.

The greasy paste went down smoothly as she sat under a shingled awning and indulged in her new favorite pastime: people watching. Every day around dinner time, the underbelly of the city disgorged a shambling horde of tired, hungry dregs, who flocked to the young smuggler peddling rations across the street.

The man was likely twenty or so, but his round cheeks, larges eyes, and tousled hair made him seem several years younger. Thick skin on his neck swelled around odd, bony spurs--a clear sign of sloppy gene-hacking. Iris spied the prosthetic spine hidden beneath his jacket. The rigid links attached to his back protruded against the fabric, creating a sharp outline. Iris realized he would probably be is constant pain without it. She suddenly disliked his authors, whoever they were.

The abandoned shop behind him used to be a cyberware outlet at some point, but it seemed to have closed down years ago. Grime and algae has long since colored its cracked plastic frame in unsightly shades of orange and green. It’s walls stretched to either side of the throng of people crowded onto the sidewalk. Among them was an older man bent forward by age and wearing a prodigious moustache that bristled out like a prawn. A heavy layer of dust lined the creases in his face. For a brief moment, he seemed to be the oldest thing on the street.

Anger darkened her vision and formed a knot in the pit of her stomach. Irritated and anxious, she looked away. Avoiding not just the sight of the man, but the thought of her own mortality. The reflection of a holographic billboard in the glassteel windows suddenly caught her eye. When she absentmindedly looked up, a drop of water splashed into her eye from the awning overhead.

“Fuck!”

As she was rubbing her eye, the annoying whispers echoed in her head again. She could never tell what they were saying, but always knew what they meant. She shook her head in bewilderment, but the whispers only grew louder. Her ears started to ring from the intensity, but before she could react the sibilant chorus of voices died.

“There is no ‘end of the city’.” She mocked dazedly.

The whispers urged her to climb a tower at the edge of the known world. They taunted her with the feeling she might find some kind of salvation upon arriving. She had no idea if this was true. In fact, Iris had recently begun questioning her sanity, desperately hoping her brain hadn’t already started to deteriorate. Like the old rations being sold across the street, Iris had a definitive expiration date. As a courtesy from her authors, she was endowed with a genetic killswitch that would trigger on its own without regular treatment. The tiny black lesions had already started appearing around her nails. She figured she would survive maybe a few more months before accelerated necrosis reduced her to a meaty pulp. What disturbed her more than an agonizing death or losing her mind was the nagging feeling that the voices were real.

No. If she was being honest, it was real. She knew it. She also knew there wasn’t much for her to lose. She desperately wanted to leave and face the unknown, but leaving one's comfort zone was by definition uncomfortable. It’s difficult to take the first step. Yet, sometimes all it takes to move forward is a helpful nudge. For Iris, it was a naive hope: more than anything, more important than preventing her own death, she dearly wanted to meet the Sun.



Her chest tightened with apprehension as she eyed the factory at the end of the street. It stood out like sore thumb. Metal scrap and refuse had been piled against the twisted wreckage of the security gate to form a makeshift barricade. Among the rust-bitten apartments and the abandoning buildings, the factory was the only structure which sported a pristine metallic finish with unbroken windows.

No one has gone near there in a long time. Iris heard the story from one of the scrap traders before. That building used to be one of the auxiliary manufacturing facilities for the Kaba'yuta Robotics Company. The assembly line was fully automated and AI swarms handled both day to day management and drone operations. Only a had a handful of maintenance technicians stayed on-site. After a bad update to the AI’s security policies, all the assembly drones went rogue.
As the rumor mill tells it, the maintenance technicians quickly became dark stains on the floor and their remains were pressured washed down the drain. Kaba’yuta cut their losses and abandoned it. The robots may not be able to leave the factory grounds, but they seem obsessed with removing any filth from the premises. Humans included.

Iris knew there was an entrance to the upper layers of the city somewhere inside that factory. The noisy guests inside her head said as much. At their urging, she took to the street with an unsteady gait. A couple of local bruisers eyed her warily as one might regard a deranged person with a sharp knife. She was too absorbed in her own thoughts to notice them. Her mind raced, thinking of ways to make it through the facility alive, while her imagination vividly explored the countless ways she could be reduced to an inconvenient smudge on the floor.

Keeping your head low was a good skill to have in this city. Sure most people knew how to stick to themselves, stay out of trouble. It's easier staying out of trouble than it is getting out of it.

Jamie was in trouble.

With a hood pulled down over his face, he trudged through another alien street. They all looked similar enough though, and while some were much more dangerous than others, none were particularly safe either. He pushed through another puddle, his shoes soaked through, his feet chafing. His breath was a little hoarse, steam vapor emanating from his nostrils as he kept up the brisk pace. The small figure by his side was also hooded, though no breath could be seen coming from her.

They walked silently, stopping almost simultaneously at a rather loud outburst a bit down the way. A small group of individuals were arguing, a droid of an odd fashion standing between them and a vehicle. The thing had four legs, three glowing eyes and a bulbous metallic "head" of sorts. Jamie could hear the metallic whirring of it's head swiveling between each of the men's faces. They hurled insults and complaints at the drone, it's one claw-like appendage still securing a facet onto the corner of their transport. A toll-tag; a device placed by some gangs or businesses on unwitting loiterers cars, should they park in the wrong spot. Apparently, that was the wrong spot.

The drone completed it's task and took a step towards the group, who at first stepped back, before regrouping. Some sort of scuffle seemed imminent, and Jamie just sighed. With nothing but a shared look and a gesture with his chin, the two took to a descending staircase. They didn't want to be around when things went bad, it'd just slow things down.

They walked and walked, for what seemed like hours, under neon lights, past strangers and cigarette smoke. Past thugs working their corners, past all fashion of automated and sentient machinery alike. They walked and walked and kept walking. Who knew being dead would be so tiring?

The long underpass they were currently tracing was one of the darker corners of the city. A pleasant small wafted through the air, many food vendors running stalls under the highway. It was nice to be dry for a bit, so the two sat down to eat some fried noodles. A rust-eaten bench brushing elbows with other faceless customers. The young looking droid kept an eye out for trouble, and Jamie filled his empty stomach. Physical currency was such a pain, no wonder people seldom used it; living in a way that's hard to track was not his forte. He sighed again, something he found himself doing a lot of recently. He paused to look at his companion, her hand making a dull clicking noise, as she tapped her fingers on the back of her opposite palm. He trusted her, which some might seem an odd thing to do; but he was still unsure about their recent life choices.

She had been haring things, seeing things. Seeing a way up, a way out. He had no reason to think something like that existed. Well, of course rationally it had some end, this city was made by people after all, if only in the beginning. There weren't enough resources to create a true infinity, but the chances of anyone making it up there. That's what he didn't believe in.

Still though, it was something worth dying for. Rather than the profit of his superiors.

He finished his meal for the day and deposited the trash into a smoldering barrel. He was going to miss solid foods, it was one of the nice things working for a group with money. That grey paste everyone usually gets stuck with on the lower levels was less than savory.

He shrugged off the idea with a shudder, and began moving again. Some sort of new resolve, or perhaps resignation in his steps. He was already on the right level, he just needed to find the right address. Should everything work out right, his sister would be there waiting already. If they were lucky they might just make it through that factory alive.

Another sigh escaped his lips, falling out like a pen from the hand when tired of writing. There weren't many words left to describe his feelings in any eloquent manner.

"Shit sucks."

And they kept walking.

---

The knife plunged through her cheek. The bubble popped, and she sighed.

Andrea sat up from her perch on some piping, and wandered back towards the wall of the opposite building. Standing in the skeleton of a metal beast, she dug the knife out of the plastered and cracked wall. The photo of some android woman pinned, a good old fashioned wanted poster. It was strange what some people wasted paper on; she had seen so many of these posters and yet hardly did she see the ones on them brought to "justice".

Regardless she meandered to her seat, blew another bubble of strawberry gum, and threw the knife. It landed just shy of the wanted woman's left shoulder. She was photographed leaving a vehicle of some fashion, her synthetic hair plastered to her forehead by the rain. Andrea popped her bubble. She was patient, but this was getting to be quite enough; she wasn't fond of a hazy schedule. Knowing where to be and when, and being there when said meant a lot to her, for whatever reason. She was told to wait here for a few days, and days away from work were far and few between. Soon enough they'd be checking up on her, just to make sure she wasn't up to something.

Which was rather unfortunate, because she was presently up to something.

She returned her attention to the street, elevated above the floor on whatever these pipes were used for. Nestled into a small gap between two buildings she had a decent view at the factory entrance. She wasn't particularly sure on what to expect when they got in there, or even how they'd do it. She had expressly chosen to not snoop around too close; if she messed up all three of them were sunk. She dangled one foot over the shelf of copper tubes and tapped some sharp fingers against her knee. The other hand curled up into a ball and used as a chin-rest.

There were so many unknowns, but the things she'd been seeing. The voices prodding her brain and tugging at her gut; she couldn't ignore them anymore. Everyone wanted more than what they had, but chances didn't come easy. Why should she believe they had any? People would consider her crazy to try something like this.

Just as she considered the odd woman wandering around the factory rather insane herself.

She didn't seem to carry any particularly impressive arms. Of course looks only meant so much when every part of you can be replaced.

Was she going to get herself killed? Did she see the same things Andrea and Moxie had?

More importantly would she be a jeopardy to their chance at ascension?

Andrea made a clicking sound with her tongue. She hadn't variables like this.

With a crack of her neck she descended from her perch to the wet concrete. Her wings flashing into being for just long enough to cushion the fall. Her brother better show up soon or she might need to start hiding bodies.