Warm sunlight permeates the window shades, seeping into Phin's cramped room. But there were no birds chirping, none of that - all 'animals', as they were known in the pre-Great Mutation era, were promptly slaughtered or devoured by the awakened Florae.
Phin slips a modest brown coat over his shoulders as he heads downstairs. It is 7:00 AM, which meant he has some time to explore the Fortress before his Appraisal shop opens. Before he leaves, he adjusts his glasses several times in the mirror - the large frames hung loosely on his thin face.
Phin sighs relaxedly as he basks in the wee morning sunlight, and he is immediately grateful, once again, that he lives near the Fortress's epicenter; the buildings farther away are mostly shrouded in shadow by the formidable Fortress Walls.
As he walks, his weathered boots clack rhythmically on the concrete paths. The city itself seemed drained of life - dull, colorless, and monotonous. However, as Phin had to admit, its architectural beauty was not hindered by its dreariness - above him, massive gray arches reached towards the heavens, accompanied by stunning gothic towers.
A monument of the past and future, the Fortress stands as humanity's defiance against a world that turned upon them.
Dang it, I'm starving, Phin realizes as his stomach groans in agony. He makes a quick cut to the commercial district but is distracted by faint sounds of commotion. Tiptoeing through the claustrophobic maze of alleyways, Phin could discern faint sounds of yelling, among other loud noises.
Spurred by his compulsive curiosity, Phin pushes forward through the urban clutter and enters a clearing. It is some kind of plaza, one he had not visited before; the dense, labyrinthine nature of the Fortress made complete exploration nearly impossible.
'You see now? Power is but a construct defined by the weak to justify their weakness! Weak scum like you!' thunders a hulking figure - at least 220 cm, Phin figured.
On the other side of the confrontation, a meek commoner - easily identified by his frail frame - cowers, eyes wide in fear.
Food was not scarce, but nutrients were. As animals and what used to be called plants went extinct, humanity's sustenance became limited. Only a few Florae can be consistently slain, and among them, only a rare subset offers true nutritional value. High-tech fabricated foods and handpicked Flora parts were designated for the wealthy, who grow much stronger than the typical emaciated civilian.
And that one HAS to be on Juicers... Phin watches in disgust as the muscular menace continues to intimidate the civilian. A Juicer is a slang term for a strength enhancing Seed, which everyone with a shred of sense avoids due to its unpredictable side effects. However, Regals and the ultra-wealthy, being the egomaniacs they are, still regularly consume Juicers.
Shit... I can't confront him head on, I'd get slapped, Phin thinks, scanning the area for anything useful. By now a terrified crowd has gathered to witness the scene, which only invigorates the Juiced Regal further. "BOW, MORTALS!" he bellows, lifting the commoner off the ground and presenting him to his perceived audience.
Corny... Phin rolls his eyes. The regular people of the Fortress typically stay out of the Regals' paths, willing to subdue their own dignity to not incur their wrath. I wonder what this unfortunate fellow did - or maybe that hunk just had a bad morning, Phin thinks as he blends in with the crowd.
To his left and right, fellow onlookers, the majority of whom were bowing, were noticeably distraught, some with tears in their eyes. Phin sighs. Being closely tied to the Open Seed Market (OSM), which was run by Scavengers, he was relatively used to the ugly side of the Fortress's power imbalance.
The OSM, though legal, has garnered a shady reputation due to its lack of distinction from the Black Market. To the commoner, Seed traders are Seed traders - a malicious Seed trader stains the name of all. As a result, police intervention in OSM venues is not uncommon, and there are many tales of arbitrary arrests or beatings. These injustices are only directed at the Scavengers, though, rather than the wealthy customers.
'Oh goodness, what's gotten into the poor boy!' an old lady exclaims, covering her mouth in shock.
Murmurs propagate through the crowd, and Phin nudges his way forward to get a better view. The civilian who was the subject of the Regal's mistreatment now convulses violently on the ground, his pupils rolled back.
'MURDERER!' someone yells, throwing a personal item at the Regal. It bounces harmlessly off his shoulder, but more projectiles soon followed as the crowd's fear shifted to rage. The Regal, furious, commands them to stop, brandishing his swollen muscles. He takes a menacing step forward, but before he is able to threaten the onlookers, a scarlet dot blooms across his chest.
"Wha..." the Regal notices it, staring down in disbelief. Then he explodes, showering the plaza with carnage. A clamor of confused screams ensues as the crowd devolves into a wild panic. Behind him, the abused civilian rises to his feet, but where his heart used to be, crimson vines now protrude, writhing and twisting.
Vinea hemocrypta - the parasitic vine?! Phin quickly identifies, heart pounding rapidly in his chest. How the hell did this happen??
By some miracle, the man - or now, the vine - did not choose to pursue the escaping onlookers. It simply stands in place, eerily watching them run.
The disturbing image is still plastered in Phin's mind as he scrambles away to safety, backtracking his path through the alleyways. He must have consumed a corrupted Seed... shit. The Black Market's stirring mayhem again, Phin contemplates.
***
By the time Phin made it back to his Appraisal store, there was already a customer waiting outside. In his hasty getaway from the bizarre scene, he had forgotten to get food. Ah, hell. This is what life-death situations do a person. Guess I'll be going back tonight... Phin silently complains, massaging his angry stomach.
'I'm sorry for the wait, mister. What can I help you with?' Phin asks politely, unlocking the door. 'Or... missus?' The customer was draped in a hooded cloak, and their face was obscured by a thick mask.
'I hold an atypical request,' the customer gruffly states, walking up to the counter, where Phin hurriedly sets up.
'Ah, Mister it is - I think? Anyways, what's the request?'
The masked customer presents the Appraiser with a Seed in his outstretched hand. 'I do not require a price estimation, but I presume you are capable of giving a detailed quality examination.'
'Yes, you've come to the right place! May I see th- WOAH! What the heck??' Phin's eyes widen as he recognizes the green-blue Seed. 'It's early as hell right now, and I just barely escaped from a murderous parasitic vine, but I don't believe my eyes are fooling me - Lumiscythe??'
'Indeed. Luxfalcia asomnia, the neon reaper,' the man confirms. 'Quite a beauty, this one. 50% positive potential, robust rune encoding.' He cradles the Seed in his gloved hands, its ethereal glow dancing across the surface of his mask.
'Huh, you know your stuff!' Phin ecstatically remarks - he rarely meets anyone who specializes in Flora categorization. 'I don't think you'll be needing my help much, in that case.'
Though physically indiscernible, Phin could have sworn the man frowned behind his mask.
'Your secondary skill, Appraiser,' he calmly whispers.