"Aren't you tired of the gas masks?"
A handsome white-bearded old man exclaimed as he leaned comfortably on a white chair made of clouds.
His surroundings: a still lake reflecting the numerous drifting fluffy clouds above.
"...and the cumbersome air purifiers."
He snorted.
A dirty, old-looking gas mask and a large, almost towering air purifier materialized beside him.
"Bigger doesn't always mean better."
The two devices revolved around him, shrinking with each revolution.
They slowed down, shrinking to palm-sized, halting as they levitated on his outstretched palm.
"Efficiency is always better."
They merged, a bright blue neon light emanating from their union.
The light dimmed, a blue metallic strap—an exact replica of a band-aid in size—hovered in his palm.
"P-band... Efficiency in breathing."
He smiled, like the salesman he was, as he plastered the 'P-band' at the bridge of his nose, then took in a deep breath.
"Refreshing."
"About 0.5-micron particles are purified..."
Sigh!
An exasperated sigh echoed in the space.
"Skip."
The space blacked out, the tired groan continuing to echo in the emptiness.
Annoyed.
The abyss-like darkness slowly faded, invaded by dim red neon lights.
"Sigh!!" the sigh continued, its frustration deepening.
The darkness had completely faded, replaced by a new scenery.
Soft dim red lights bathed a small hexagonal cubicle, the lights emanating from a circuit-patterned neon grid on the walls, adding both aesthetic and efficiency.
Attached to the wall was a translucent glass table, with barely visible circuit-like patterns running through it.
"I can't even get some shut-eye without those darn ads," a grunted voice echoed in the cubicle.
"Argh, my neck." He cracked his neck awkwardly, clearly waking from an uncomfortable nap.
The ergonomic reclinable chair he sat on had seen better days, its cushion worn out, showing signs of tear, the leather completely dulled and long lost its shine.
"What time is it?" he thought to himself, a grey translucent screen appearing before him, more precisely appearing in the depth of his black pupils, which glowed with a brownish-yellowish hue.
⫷----------⫸
T.hill _45°
04:45:56:07
Tue, April 7th
⫷----------⫸
"I got 15 minutes..." He closed his eyes, the screen vanishing from view.
"More time, let me rest for another five..." He leaned back, the recliner chair pushing down a few degrees.
"Aren't you tired..." The ads began once more.
"F*ck," he cursed angrily, abruptly rising from his seat.
With a loud thud, his head hit the ceiling.
"F*ck," he cursed once more, back bent as the cubicle was too small to stand in.
"Can this get any worse?" Disgruntled, he opened the door of the cubicle, unwilling to stay in his cramped-up sleeping chamber any longer.
"Ahhh."
Thud!!
"Argh," he groaned in pain, his cheeks slapped against the cold metallic ground.
Slowly he struggled to his feet, looking up with an expression of confusion and frustration.
Above him were rows upon rows of hexagonal cubicles, arranged on top of each other, such that they resembled a beehive.
A giant metallic beehive with multicolored neon lights.
"Why didn't the stairs exte..." Before he could finish his words, a window popped up in his vision.
⫷----------⫸
Stairs unavailable
Insufficient units.
Pay to use
⫷----------⫸
"F*."
"Huuu," he breathed out, dispelling the bubbling rage from his lungs.
It wasn't the fault of the system, nor the fault of the small cubicle, not even the fault of the ads that disturbed his sleep.
It was his fault for being poor in a world that ran on units, the universal digital currency used by the entire world.
This is the late 21st century, 2099, an era where the concept of free didn't exist.
An advanced society run by mega-corporations, where even the air one breathed had been monetized.
Life was easy, effortlessly so, if you were wealthy. With advanced cybernetics, everything was handled for you while you lived in comfort.
But for the poor, life was nothing short of hell.
A true living hell.
And Michael was part of such hell.
"I need to earn more units... I have to get out of this hillhive." He pushed himself to his feet, relieved that he had only fallen three floors.
"..." He turned, catching a glimpse of his reflection on the mirror-like doors of the hillhive.
A tall middle-aged man looked back at him, his silver hair styled in a textured crop, hazel eyes looking back at him.
He was adorned in a black hoodie with red stripes running across the sleeves and extending to the shoulder and neck.
Red-violet LED strips lined the inner side of the hoodie, changing color each time he turned.
Complementing the hoodie were black military trousers coupled with red sneakers.
To the onlooker, he looked like a middle-aged thug, even though he was barely nineteen years old.
In the current era, life expectancy was low—barely sixty years—mainly due to pollution and the excessive consumption of chemically treated foods.
Though he looked like a middle-aged man, he was considered handsome for his age.
"Sigh!!" He turned away from his reflection.
Whether dissatisfied with his appearance or frustrated by his only clothes, he didn't want to continue watching himself.
With his hands in his pockets, he walked down the pavement, neon lights occasionally lighting up, an arrow pointing towards the exit of the settlement.
His steps slow and study.
...
Walking for about five minutes, his scenery changed.
He halted in front of an escalator moving downwards, turning to face the hive behind him—a settlement sleeping chamber for impoverished people like himself—though he was the poorest, soon to be kicked out into the slums if something wasn't done.
Beehive, a simple name for a simple settlement.
"I gotta get a better place," he cracked his head, remembering the uncomfortable nap he had.
"Balance," he willed, the transparent brownish-yellowish screen appearing in his view.
⫷----------⫸
[CENTRAL BANK]
Account ID: #AX92-113C
Account Holder: Michael 0015
Current Balance: 160 units
Augmentation Loan: -40,200 units
Data Reserve: none
Net Worth: -40,040 units
Reminder: 30 days until loan deadline.
[Accept | Transfer | Withdraw]
⫷----------⫸
"I've been able to chip it down to 40k," he sucked his teeth restlessly.
"A miracle needs to happen, or I..." He shuddered at the thought of what would happen if he failed to pay.
Internally, he prayed a miracle would happen today as he stepped on the escalator, his head drooped.
The escalator ended,
"I hope I get a raise or something," he sighed, head now raised, looking for the train but something else caught his eye.
"Huh," he turned to his side, a holo-ad right beside the escalator.
A neon-lit hologram display.
In bright blue and red, the message read:
+++++++++
SEE SOMETHING, SAY SOMETHING