The cream stung against my skin.
I rubbed it in harder, working it along my neck, my arms, until the pale undertones were buried beneath the warmer bronze the bottle promised. The mirror showed a stranger again. Healthier. Safer. Yerwa.
Whose name was Darin, Well Darin had eaten and rested well the past two months.
Today was Saturday, a day where I use my salary to go into the city and find things to squander on.
Turns out wardens don't pay this thing called rent, or electricity bills.
Or anything really, since their the one's keeping the sinned in check, their rewarded .
Imagine that, For Torturing their fellow humans.
I suppose they don't see us as that
" Well what do I care "
I say and walk outside the block, downstairs, through the gate and onto the city.
A specific street that has more food than I can ever eat , I've spent my last two months salary in eating out.
It's not exactly my fault I don't know how to cook is it.
Plus my cooking can never compare.
The city greeted me with noise. Doors sliding open, traffic coughing exhaust into the air, children laughing as they tugged their parents toward glowing bakeries. For them, life was routine. Ordinary. Beautiful.
I had never seen families before. Not like this. Not free. Not smiling.
I kept walking. Past neon-lit shops with their windows stacked in colors, past vendors calling out their deals, past a man strumming a guitar for loose coins. My chest ached with every step.
By the time I reached the square, the air shimmered with motion. A massive billboard stretched across the building above, and the image moved, alive:
A young man stood at its center — robes of white and gold, face sharp, perfect, smiling with a warmth that didn't feel human. His voice came through hidden speakers, smooth and commanding.
"Do not sin. Be grateful to God. And you will live a happy life."
The crowd paused to watch. Heads tilted upward like flowers chasing sunlight.
Beside me, a woman whispered to her friend, clutching her shopping bag to her chest.
"Do you see him? Father Malek. The youngest of the high order. They say he healed a whole village with his hands."
Her friend laughed, but not cruelly. More like envy wrapped in awe.
"I'd give anything just to meet him. Even for a second. Imagine being blessed by someone like that."
I stared at the priest's perfect smile, frozen on the screen even as the words repeated.
Do not sin. Be grateful. Be happy.
The crowd dispersed slowly, but I stood rooted, staring.
The longer I stared, the stranger it felt. Why would a man's face hang over a city? Why would people dream just to touch his hand?
If he was truly holy, shouldn't he be hidden away in temples, away from the noise of the market?
I glanced at the man again, wondering why he did the same thing over and over again...
Wait that's not a human being.
That's some...sort of...smooth metal or glass
How does the even work.
I didn't understand.
I tore my gaze from the screen, forcing my feet to move. The crowd melted around me, laughter and chatter blending with the purr of cars gliding over smooth streets.
After a while I arrived at the food street, The Street Name boldly written on top.
" Divinely Made Food"
What's with everyone in this goddamn country and Religion.
I went around buying and eating snacks
Took a bite of a pastry, I'd learnt their not healthy to overeat.
But who fucking cares , dying by over eating sounds fucking amazing.
Then bought a bag full more with the rest of the Money I had on me.
It's sweet and soft on the inside .
Not like rotten mush , but soft in a good way...
Incredible.
The square spilled into narrower streets. Alleys webbed off in every direction, all lined with glass doors and polished signs that meant nothing to me. I turned once. Then twice.
And then I froze.
My pocket was light. Too light.
I shoved my hand inside and felt nothing but fabric , the phone. The one thorne got me ,Gone.
Panic ripped through my chest. That device wasn't just glass and wires — it was survival. My proof I belonged here. Without it, I wasn't Darin. I was no one.
I spun in circles, scanning faces, hands, bags. And then I saw him.
A figure slipped between the crowd, cloaked head to toe in thick fabric despite the heat. Gloves. Hood. Every inch of skin hidden.
And in his hand, just for a flicker of a second, the glint of a screen. My screen.
My heart stopped.
Then I was moving, shoving past shoulders, ignoring curses as I broke into a run.
The figure darted into an alley, and I followed, lungs burning, the noise of the square fading behind me.
Are You Kidding, that shit is fucking expensive.
Plus I haven't even saved my progress on that farming game yet
Damn It.