2222: A Novel (With Graphics) by Felix I.D. Dimaro

Author:Felix I.D. Dimaro [Dimaro, Felix I.D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Infinity Road Press
Published: 2021-05-15T22:00:00+00:00

Even with his improved immune system, Desmond wondered if he should have worn a face covering. If not to block out pollutants, then at least to diminish the rank smell that seemed to cling to and scrape at his entire olfactory system. Not even Stowe was as cheerful as she had been just moments prior, on the roof of TROJAN TOWERS SITE #1241. N-S Line 12, Station 16.

Things had felt wrong from the moment they had gotten to the ground. Much like the area outside of Wolf’s Town, Station 16 was guarded and patrolled by uniformed sentinels. Severe looking men and women, armed and pressing through the crowds, hurrying people along. It was Lincoln who first noticed that these guards wore different uniforms than those who patrolled the business district. Greg explained that while the soldiers they had seen in South Telesto had been Guardians of the City, those outside of Station 16 belonged to a private security team called the Keepers of Peace. There were several private security forces in the satellite cities, some more harmful than helpful.

This team, these KOPs, were cheap, aggressive and dangerous, and were only found in the most perilous of slums, generally hired by business owners desperate to keep thieves and vandals from their wares. Greg seemed to regard each of them with disdain as they passed, telling his little tour group that the KOPs were only legally permitted to carry pulse batons and sedation spray, but often carried firearms anyway. They were only a step above the criminals they claimed to be protecting the citizens from.

The city glowed dully all around them as they walked from the station through the core of Telesto. In every direction, they saw signs for a variety of storefronts, restaurants and businesses – some lit, some non-functional. Pink and blue neon light attempted to penetrate the dark from poorly maintained light strips built into the bases of most of the buildings and along the street, giving the pavement a steady, creeping shine. The night sky was black and grey, all celestial bodies washed away by both standard and light pollution.

Here, in the heart of Pink City, the streets teemed with people. Everyone walked at a pace inspired by lust or craving or fear – the things that ran this city. No one walked slowly, Desmond noted as they made their way through the throng of Telestonians along with their two guards.

Hache gestured toward a pub at the base of an edifice down the road ahead of them. The neon sign above the boarded-up glass doors read CUSTOMS. On either side of the name of the establishment, listless in the windless night, were the flags of at least twenty different countries. Below the signage, on wooden boards which covered doors that had likely been broken into nearly as many times as they had been locked, were the words, in bright red spray paint:

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