The man was tall, his form completely obscured. His stride was long and fluid, and his feet, clad in thick black boots, created forceful splashes with every heavy step. Citizens gave him a wide berth as he stalked through the square, his head swiveling left and right, scanning every face and looking into every shadow.
Tag: short story
Only a handful of Colossus machines were known of across the Triocracy. They existed as a statement to the power and progress of the Spires.
Towering buildings surrounded the open air bazaar, creating a deep light well with only a small square of grey at its top. Light refracted off the fine mist and create a shifting, multi-colored fog that hung over the crowd. It was actually beautiful in its own right.
Hunched over him was a figure shrouded in tattered rags pawing over his body. Mottled grey hands, striped with bulging black veins, furiously unzipped his jacket and hungrily plunged into pockets. Then it noticed the strange thing lashed to his wrist and began pulling up the jacket sleeve.
Inevitably they spiraled inward and gently upward toward the Rise. The buildings grew taller and even more impossibly dense. The streets below the rail disappeared from sight to be replaced by clean and brightly lit elevated walkways that connected buildings like coarse spider webs.
The dark city slides by as I mechanically follow directions. Buildings and streets blur into the next; a monotony of inhuman concrete.
The low, sweltering Mediterranean sun felt all too real. Perhaps I should have picked another setting for this introduction, or another season. But there’s nothing more beautiful than the low summer sun reflecting off the blue sea as locals and vacationers stroll the Venetian waterfronts.
They turned a corner and found themselves staring down the Southern Spoke as it gently curved up, through the distant Rise, and into the base of the three mile high Spire. Even this far away its base was so wide that it devoured what little sky existed behind the small looking skyscrapers splashing up against its footing.
Taria’s day had been a busy, and tedious, day at the Third Circle Ward. This far out in the Tangle she had seen it all over the five years assigned there, everything from the disturbing fruits of a serial killer’s labor, to the inhumane treatment of Integrators hunting their prey.
The purple haze diminished and a seething, mottled gray expanse filled our viewports. Nullspace, the void between realities, a shortcut that allowed humanity to bypass its shell of existence and travel the Sphere of the Triocracy in greatly reduced time.
Saito shuffled through the red storm toward the airlock … hesitated … then stopped. Fine Martian sand hissed against his faceplate, the white noise interrupted by the occasional tick! impact of larger pebbles.
Martos propped himself up and leaned against the wall watching his fellow citizens glare at him as they passed. Looks of fear, disgust, sympathy, and yes, even apathy hung upon their brows. But not a single soul made any effort to help him in any way, even the sympathetic ones.