Novo Rogue 1.1 - Prime Rogue Walking the Main Drag of District 9

Immutable

img

QmWvBXxVTkMisBVToqcXBBY9M1RwDfbCDtLoQHqmdfpjbYOpen

name

Novo Rogue 1.1 - Prime Rogue Walking the Main Drag of District 9

series #

Series 1, Entry 1

description

Rolling along the main drag of District 9, the hype boards and dope slingers blended into the background of the overwhelming neon space. I smelled a void that blended with the sweat and various fluids of the day workers who couldn't afford rooms for the night as I walked past the alco-vendor near Jimmy Page's slums. Hah - residential buildings he called them... There was nothing residential about them. Having grown up in the Water Realm, I knew what residential meant. But those were stories from a long time ago... I don't know if I'd ever be able to get a travel pass to return home. Fuck - I didn’t know if I would be welcomed home at all or if I would even make it back alive – all things considered. As I walked past God Mushi's food processing facility, where Charlie had been crushed by a vat of soylent to the point where his remains were shoveled straight into the trash incinerator, I contemplated the notion that I couldn't afford anything to season my own dinner with. Since the last district reforms, food was not only rationed but flavor was sapped from it so as to ostensibly preserve the equality of all the District's residents. I called bullshit and wondered if any of Charlie's remains had made it into the soylent the District was pouring through the biochip-faucets. There was no way the Council was eating this trash. I couldn't score any dope either. I had to feed the dog. Priorities. As I turned the corner and walked towards Ahmed’s bodega, I saw unmistakable flashing blue-and-reds. District 9 police had retrofitted the Guardians' flyers with what they called "police sirens." This apparently harkened back a few centuries to a time when vehicles rolled on the ground and the police still used metal weapons. Nobody understood it but the Council was filled with eccentricities. As I grew closer, the skunky odor of the workers' spliffs gave way to something nauseating – burning flesh. I gagged and did a double take. Something had happened at Ahmed’s. A crowd was gathering, and I felt the heat. I wondered what was going on but I was carrying. I had to jet - I couldn’t afford to score now but, after I fed the dog and delivered the package, I could get some stims and find out what happened at Ahmed’s. I was not looking forward to knowing or to riding the skytrain to District 13.