Clearing the back alleys, I steered the car onto a slightly wider thoroughfare.
The narrow path I’d taken to Cordeaux’s place had been a claustrophobic mess of food stalls and squatter shacks, but turning onto the main drag, the scenery shifted significantly.
Perhaps because of the heavy traffic, the road maintained a decent width. However, I wouldn't go so far as to call it "maintained." Several cars rattled past me even now, every one of them a rusted, color-faded heap.
Few vehicles here were even remotely pleasant to look at. Occasionally, I’d spot one with a halfway-decent paint job, but those usually belonged to gang lieutenants, corporate subcontractors, or people with a modicum of money and muscle.
The residents of this city were experts at reading the air. They knew better than to pick a fight with a "good-looking car." They understood exactly what would happen to them afterward—usually through painful firsthand experience.
So, how did they treat my car?
Well, they went out of their way to avoid it.
Pedestrians gave us a wide berth, and even other drivers pulled over to the shoulder to let us pass.
Now, don't get me wrong; I had no intention of being intimidating.
It was purely a coincidence—yes, "coincidence"—that on the very first day I finished the modifications, I happened to flatten a car that so much as grazed mine.
A section of the road had been collateral damage, leaving behind a small crater. Honestly, weren't the locals who still grumbled about it the ones who were being unreasonable? Yeah, definitely.
Nodding to myself, I turned the wheel to avoid a massive, suspiciously familiar hole in the asphalt.
"What's with that hole...?" Lucia muttered from the passenger seat, sounding half-surprised and half-anxious. "Did a bomb go off?"
I gave a short snort. "...Something like that."
Ahead of us lay the path to the Upper District. There were several ways to get there, but as I’d mentioned earlier, we were taking the official route.
We were on the boulevard—the widest road in the area—which connected the Upper and Lower Districts in a straight line. Since the city’s layout was built around this road, it was considered one of the relatively "safer" areas within the Free Autonomous District.
The worst you’d usually run into here were pickpockets or scammers. Such a peaceful street.
Medium-sized shops lined both sides, selling everything from daily necessities and groceries to black-market goods that were never meant for public display.
The confectionery shop where I occasionally bought sweets was on this street too. The owner had once asked for my permission to hang a sign saying "Official Supplier to the Repairman." I’d agreed on the condition of priority service and a discount... and apparently, his shop hadn't been raided once since then.
It was a win-win. I got my sugar fix for cheap.
With the deep bass of the engine as my background music, I drove on, letting the anything-but-refreshing wind hit my face.
The car had air conditioning, obviously, but I preferred driving like this—windows down, feeling the rush of the air. That was just my style.
Of course, it was a different story when driving through a Contaminated District. Open a window there and your lungs would turn pitch black; you needed a heavy-duty purification system just to make the air breathable.
But around here? A few breaths wouldn't kill you.
Lucia had initially frowned and kept her window rolled up, complaining that the air was foul.
But this was my car; I wasn't taking requests. I did as I pleased.
Eventually, she seemed to get used to it. Now, she was humming to herself while leaning out the window to peer at the scenery.
"Look at that... The buildings are riddled with holes..." she said, her voice full of the wonder of a child on a field trip.
I suppose to a lady from the Upper District, this place looked like a zoo.
The most dangerous thing she’d see here was a stray junkie. Maybe I could make some real money running tour buses. I’d have to suggest the idea to Cordeaux.
While I was busy with those idle thoughts, the "Wall" came into view.
It was a forbidding structure that looked more like a military fortress than a checkpoint. To describe it, imagine a highway tollgate modified into a combat facility.
Except for the road itself, everything was blocked by thick concrete walls. Searchlights sat atop them—silent for now in the daylight—while heavily armed soldiers kept a sharp lookout. The roof was even bristling with anti-aircraft batteries.
It was absurdly excessive equipment for dealing with civilians... but in this city, there were times when you actually needed that kind of firepower. It wasn't a joke.
As we drew closer, the road split into multiple lanes. They were color-coded so you could tell their purpose at a glance.
The division was simple: one for Upper District Citizens, and one for everyone else.
The gates for the Upper District were numerous and stayed busy, with a constant flow of corporate traffic and high-paying elites. The corporate side, in particular, was always buzzing.
On the flip side, people from the Free Autonomous District rarely had a reason to go up. Those gates were deserted and bleak, though the security there was twice as tight.
Without hesitation, I steered the car into the lane for the Upper District Gate.
Lucia looked startled beside me, but I kept driving straight.
In this world, people were managed by their IDs. It wasn't a card or a chip; your biological signature was your ID. It was woven into your genetic code at birth and used for every authentication thereafter.
Many people were born in back-alley clinics or in the gutter without ever seeing a doctor, but it was possible to get a retrofit ID later. Since the authorities found it easier to manage people if they had IDs, they offered the retrofitting service quite cheaply. Most residents eventually registered.
Of course, some chose not to. Those were the ones who committed fully to an underground life.
I had a retrofit ID myself. In my line of work, it was too inconvenient not to have one.
However, a Lower District ID wasn't enough to get you into the Upper District. You needed a specialized permit on top of that. There were various types, but I happened to have a pass I’d acquired through a "certain route."
I’ll get into the details of that if the occasion ever arises.
Regardless, it was thanks to that pass that I could use the Upper District Gate so boldly.
I chose a deserted lane and slowed the car to a crawl.
The checkpoint was a two-stage process. The first gate scanned for dangerous items and contraband using X-rays, radiation, and infrared sensors. If you tripped the sensors, the system was designed to fire bollards straight up from the ground. I’d heard rumors that people occasionally got skewered.
Once past the sensors, we reached the manned gate.
As I pulled up to the smaller booth, several security guards emerged from the sides and surrounded the car. They were clearly frowning at the unfamiliar vehicle, despite the fact that I was in the Upper District lane.
It couldn't be helped. You heard stories about some idiot from the Lower District accidentally taking a wrong turn into this lane and getting turned into Swiss cheese. Whether the stories were true or not, the guards had every reason to be on high alert.
Ignoring them, I brought the car to a stop at the designated line.
The engine’s idle was a low, pleasant rumble that I could feel in my gut. The soldiers, however, looked visibly annoyed by the bass.
Clearly, they didn't appreciate fine machinery.
With me in the driver's seat and Lucia in the passenger's, the guards leveled their sharp gazes at us. Since the windows were down, we didn't even have to raise our voices to be heard.
"...My apologies. ID check," a gruff voice said.
At the same time, I saw a speech bubble pop up over the soldier's head.
<...What the hell is this guy? He looks like a total gutter-rat... but the woman next to him is different. She smells like the Upper District... I hope this isn't going to be a headache.>
The soldier raised a sensor.
Honestly, these manual checks were such a chore. They could have just automated the whole gate system... but I suppose there were reasons they didn't. Having actual boots on the ground served as a deterrent.
I obediently stuck my left arm out the window.
The soldier pressed the sensor against my wrist to verify the data. Lucia went through the same process on her side.
The on-site scanners didn't show specific details—like who you were or your life history. For security reasons, the system only displayed a "Pass" or "Fail" once it queried the central database. Since the permit was linked to the ID, everything should come up "Clear" as long as there were no issues.
A heavy silence hung in the air. I saw Lucia’s shoulders stiffen with tension. I suppose as a high-ranking lady, she was used to VIP treatment where no one ever dared to check her ID.
"...Verification complete. You’re clear."
The soldier finally spoke. A trace of confusion lingered on his face, but I just gave a casual shrug. It happens.
Leaving the guards behind, I drove deeper into the facility.
Past the gate, we reached a massive vehicle elevator. This was a special-spec lift that connected the Free Autonomous District directly to the Upper District. Normally, you’d have to drive up a winding, endless exterior ramp, but a select few were allowed to take the shortcut.
Before us loomed the massive structural foundation that held up the Upper District. The walls were hundreds of meters high, packed with underground infrastructure and hidden factories. It was a different kind of "underground" than what we had in the Autonomous District, and though it was fascinating, we didn't have time for a tour today.
I drove the car onto the lift, which was large enough to accommodate heavy machinery.
The doors hissed shut, and with a low, mechanical thrum that vibrated in my stomach, we began our ascent. Gravity pressed me into my seat for a fleeting moment.
Eventually, the vibration died down and the doors slid open.
Before my eyes lay the future.
It wasn't overly sterile, yet it wasn't chaotic either. It was a city where countless layers of neon light intersected, and the raw desires of millions swirled in streaks of luminescence.
It was a world completely removed from the soot-stained air of the Free Autonomous District.
This was the heart of Neo Babel.