The gates to the central district weren't walls in the traditional sense—they were colossal segmented plates of reinforced alloy that folded back into the ground, revealing a seamless continuation of the street. As they stepped through, the air shifted.
The noise here was layered—multiple conversations overlapping in different languages, the hum of mag-rail pods zipping through overhead tubes, the deep bass of some subterranean club rattling the pavement. The smell hit next: street food mingled with the sharp tang of ozone from power lines and the faint synthetic sweetness of manufactured air.
Towering arcology blocks loomed over them, their facades alive with cascading data streams and newsfeeds. Drones swarmed like metallic birds between buildings, some carrying cargo, others projecting AR signs into the air for anyone with the right implants.
Gene stopped to look up at a massive hologram that took up the side of a skyscraper—a shifting mural of mechanical beasts, some shaped like wolves, others like hawks, their plated bodies glinting as they prowled through a stylized neon jungle.
"That," Max explained, "is the Horizon Fleet's corporate logo. One of the big players here. Think private military, tech conglomerate, and city planning committee all rolled into one… and with more guns than the rest of the district combined."
"Lovely," Rize muttered.
Mu Qing tapped her visor. "Multiple security drones tailing us now. They're not subtle about it either."
"They don't need to be," Max said. "In here, everyone's on camera anyway. The trick isn't avoiding being seen—it's controlling what they see."
They passed a cluster of market stalls tucked under a steel overhang. One vendor sold cybernetic animal companions—miniature mechanical foxes, owls with optic-lens eyes, and a serpent that slithered along the table with perfect articulation. Another hawked rare pre-Collapse artifacts: analog watches, printed books, even a scratched vinyl record displayed like treasure.
Further ahead, a mag-rail tram hissed to a stop at a hovering platform. Its doors opened with a pneumatic sigh, releasing a flood of passengers dressed in the latest neon-threaded jackets, some with skin mods that shimmered like liquid metal when they moved.
Max stepped off the tram and into the flowing tide of the crowd, letting the pulse of the city wash over him. The air smelled faintly of ozone and heated alloy, tinged with the faint spice of street food steaming from vendor pods parked along the concourse. Overhead, transparent screens projected news updates, fashion ads, and shifting holograms of upcoming concerts, each with their own embedded music beats that bled into the ambient hum of the megacity.
Above the platform, a kilometer-high arcology loomed, its outer walls alive with animated graffiti that morphed every few seconds. Drones zipped between the towers like mechanical hummingbirds, delivering parcels, snacks, and—judging by the occasional muffled bass rumble—probably entire mini-clubs on demand.
Max moved through the crowd, his coat brushing against the leg of a chrome-legged courier sprinting past. The courier barely glanced at him, but others… noticed.
A group of locals leaned against the railing nearby, sipping synth-drinks that pulsed faintly with neon swirls. One of them—a man with slicked-back hair and mirrored ocular implants—gave a slow grin when his gaze landed on Gwen, who was a step behind Max.
"Hey, stranger," the man said, pushing himself off the railing and swaggering forward. "You look new here. Ever had a real tour of the district?"
Gwen shot him a disinterested glance and kept walking, but the man didn't take the hint—at least not until his eyes flicked to the faint holographic projection hovering just above Max's wrist. The projection wasn't there by accident; it was the universal ID interface every citizen carried.
Max's glowed with a crisp platinum-gold frame, the symbol of Citizenship Rank: Prime Sovereign.
The man stopped dead mid-step. His smirk evaporated. His friends—laughing a second earlier—suddenly stood straighter, like students caught talking during inspection.
"...My bad," the man mumbled, quickly stepping aside.
Max didn't even look at him. He just kept walking, letting the cybernetic streets unfold before him.
The tram's departure left a soft hum in the air, and the platform returned to its steady rhythm of flowing commuters. Max didn't hurry. His eyes drifted over the glowing sigils etched into the corner of the platform—holo-panels quietly displaying the City's Citizenship Rank Index.
It was simple, but brutally hierarchical.
Prime Sovereign — The pinnacle. Reserved for megacorporation heads, ruling council members, or entities that owned entire districts. Their badges weren't worn—they were broadcast, woven into the air around them with subtle authority. Anyone in their presence knew instantly who they were.
Sovereign — One step down. Often powerful CEOs, military leaders, or political magnates. They commanded resources, territories, and the allegiance of thousands.
High Citizen — Wealthy investors, elite innovators, and district governors. Their badges granted them privileges in trade, travel, and governance.
Citizen — The standard, the majority. Workers, traders, artisans.
Low Resident — Transients, unregistered drifters, or indentured laborers.
Max hadn't invented this system—this world had. It was something that had evolved over the last millennium: a rigid Citizenship Rank System. On the surface, it worked like a status hierarchy or a VIP tier list, but its real purpose ran deeper.
The higher your rank, the more your presence commanded attention. It wasn't just wealth or influence—it was legal authority. Someone of a higher rank could, within certain limits, demand obedience from those below. At the same time, there were strict laws preventing reckless abuse. Attacking or harassing a higher-ranked citizen without cause could land you in prison for decades—or worse.
Likewise, those at the top couldn't casually crush the weak without facing serious consequences. The system was designed to protect the weak from the strong, and the strong from the reckless. It enforced balance, but also made sure you knew exactly where you stood.
Among equals, however, things were different. At the same level, disputes could be settled freely—competitions, challenges, even duels were fair game, as long as no forbidden laws were broken.
Max's new rank was high enough to make most people take a step back the moment they saw it. At the Prime Sovereign level—that was a rank reserved for corporate heads, megacorp founders, or political figures with power over entire sectors—Very high enough that picking a fight with him would be suicidal for most.
***
Support me at
patreon.com/boring_world
It's 22 chaps ahead