I spent some time driving around after leaving the Rainburg Manor, hitting up several shops to run some errands. There are certain things you can only find in the Upper District; if you look for the same items down below, you’ll find nothing but knock-offs or scrap.
A few of the items I wanted weren't in stock, so I had to put in a special order. When I told the shopkeeper to deliver them to the Free Autonomous District, he scowled—exactly as I’d expected. But as soon as I pulled a little "gratuity" from my pocket and pressed it into his hand, his face broke into a beaming smile. I don’t mind people who can pivot that fast. Solving problems with credits is always easier than getting into a pointless dispute, and it ensures I won't be sent any "defective" parts as a middle finger.
By the time I finished my shopping, the sun had vanished completely. When the veil of night falls, this city reveals a different face. The neons glare with more intensity than the midday sun, casting 3D holo-ads into the sky until the buildings are drowned in a flood of artificial color.
It wasn’t just the lights, though. On every street corner, atmospheric scrubbers hummed as they converted toxins into clean air, emitting a faint glow during the process. Pale blue particles drifted through the air like a snowfall of light. Honestly, it was a somewhat magical sight.
But the people on the street were anything but magical. Once the sun went down, the rougher elements of the city crawled out of the woodwork. Thugs walking with a swagger, junkies with hollow eyes, and all the usual lowlifes. The Upper District wasn’t as bad as the Lower District, but it was far from clean.
I steered the car away from the main drag and into a district thick with a more suggestive atmosphere. This was one of the Upper District's many entertainment hubs, a territory run by a "Family" I happened to be on good terms with.
The Upper District is massive, but it’s essentially divided into blocks with distinct personalities. You have the high-class residential areas where people like Lucia live, and then you have sections like this, dedicated entirely to vice. The further you get from the center, the thinner the government presence gets—and the thicker the mafia influence becomes. Not that the administration cares; they're all in bed with each other anyway. As long as they get their cut of the profits, they’re happy to look the other way. The whole world, top to bottom, runs on kickbacks.
The Family running this block is relatively sophisticated. They use the ID sensors embedded in the roads to track everyone's position in real-time. If you commit a crime, they’ll have your coordinates in seconds. Rumor has it they keep certain people on a "Surveillance List" even if they haven't done anything wrong. I didn't know who was on it, and I didn't care.
Pushing those trivial thoughts aside, I turned the wheel. My destination was right in front of me: the high-end club, Nocturne Veil. Floating in the night, the club’s sign glowed mysteriously in a gradient of purple and deep crimson.
＊ ＊ ＊
I slid my car into the parking space beside the club, the engine letting out a low growl. The deep bass of the motor vibrated against the walls, drawing the attention of the crowd loitering outside. A few shadows started to approach me—likely looking for a mark—but a companion quickly yanked them back by the arms.
Good. They recognized me. I have enough reputation in this town to keep the idiots at bay, which is one of the few perks of being "famous." Though, more often than not, it just brings me more trouble.
The club was thriving tonight. A long line of people waited for entry checks at the front entrance, but I ignored them and walked straight toward the VIP-only door. A mountain of a man stood by the entrance—a bouncer with cybernetic arms who was glaring at the surrounding crowd. Neon light reflected off his chrome-plated limbs, and his red eye sensors glowed behind his sunglasses. He stood perfectly still, sizing up every passerby as either a friend or a foe.
When his sensors locked onto me, his face suddenly softened, and he raised his voice.
"Sensei! Long time no see! How have you been? It’s been ages—I was starting to get lonely. Oh, by the way, about that cybernetic arm you looked at for me... it’s been in great shape! Just the other day, some idiot tried to ram me with his car as a joke, and I took it head-on—"
"Shut up," I said.
I gave the metal limb a sharp smack. He immediately slumped his shoulders, sheepishly scratching his head and letting out a "Hehehe..." with a smile that didn't suit his enormous frame.
This guy calls me "Sensei." I only did a little work for him once, but he’s been like this ever since. At first, he seemed like a gruff gatekeeper, but now he’s more like a large dog. He’d probably look good with dog ears and a tail—though I was afraid he might actually agree if I suggested it, so I kept the thought to myself.
I rubbed the bridge of my nose as if to shake off the mental image and briefly stated my business. The man hurriedly straightened his posture.
"Ah, my bad! I didn't mean to hold you up... Big Sis will be happy to see you. Get in there!"
He pushed open the heavy door and ushered me inside.
"Thanks," I replied and stepped through.
The atmosphere changed instantly. A deep bass beat pounded into the marrow of my bones, making the walls, the floor, and my eardrums vibrate in unison. I had stepped into an alien space filled with heat, light, and sound—the nighttime face of the Upper District.
Once past the door, the world split in two. The entrance was shared, but the density of the air was entirely different between the General Floor and the VIP area. Below, the General Floor led to a dance hall thick with the smell of sweat, booze, and smoke. At the bar, a bartender was busily shaking drinks while a four-armed DJ egged on the crowd from the decks. The center of the room was a sea of light; holographic petals rained down from above, and the crowd reached out to grab them as if they were real. There were booth seats there, but they were just a step higher than the floor—a stage for vanity and cheap superiority.
Then there was the VIP Route.
As soon as I stepped into the passage, an attendant appeared and quietly guided me toward a seat. He was a new face; probably a rookie. Regulars go to their designated spots, and first-timers... well, first-timers aren't usually allowed through at all. Even with a referral, they’d be lucky to make it to the front counter.
My seat was already decided: the very back of the counter, the edge of the L-shape. It’s always reserved for me. From the outside, it’s a blind spot, but from here, I can overlook the entire floor. It’s my own personal observation deck.
On the way to my seat, I locked eyes with several familiar faces. We didn't acknowledge each other. In this business, a "hello" can get you killed; information is a weapon, and light talk can easily become a bullet.
I tipped the attendant with a quick credit transfer, and his expression softened for a split second. It was likely a higher amount than he expected, but he quickly regained his composure. Good—he was well-trained. If he had smiled gleefully, he would have likely faced more than just a reprimand from the owner later. I didn't appreciate being used as a surprise test for the staff, but that was just how things worked here.
The moment I settled into my seat, the sweet scent of perfume wafted toward me. A woman in a sequined dress that shimmered under the lights approached. She had a glossy black bob and amber eyes with a tiny beauty mark beneath one of them. Her rouged lips curved into a bewitching arc as she smiled.
"Oh my... you finally showed your face. I was starting to think you were never coming back."
She watched me with moist, provocative eyes. This was the face of the club and a mafia executive—Solis Eleza. More than any drink or any conversation, she herself was the strongest liquor in the house.