DETERRENT - Apply Fic

18

The sun is in a territorial dispute. Many of the gang members remember such fights. Meetings in a secret underground room, hackers on standby to block broadcasting signals, and coated in lead deeper underground. They'd have maps drawn out of the city, occasionally printed if one of the organizations had stolen a printer from a nearby factory. They couldn't risk bringing electronics into safe rooms. Within the lower echelons, territorial disputes were in the streets. During the latest hours of the day, before the neon signs ignite the city, and when it was at its darkest. Nights were brighter than the day. In Neo Elysium, the sun would never be present for a territorial dispute.

Today, the sun is winning. Gale wonders if the sun's rays could be sticky. He would have to work up the courage to ask Faris later period.

"Still not used to it," Faris chuckles, Holding his hand over his eyes. An umbrella for the sun. "Ozone's real thin back home."

"Tan suits you well," Ronny, that's his name, says.

Faris Has never forgotten a name or face, but children are running, women are clucking, and chickens are gossiping. So, this is either Ronny or Ronny's twin brother. He can't remember the other name.

"You proper look like a farmer," Ronnie chuckles. "Not pale like the miners. Poor Mullins burns like a city boy."

"Ah, he's not so bad," Faris laughs. "He puts up with too much. Just this week, I asked him what ginger was if not a descriptor of Rhiannon Rose."

A lie, but the twins burst out laughing.

Yeah, Gale definitely can't ask what is likely a silly question now. He looks on at the groups of delinquents and farmers, unsure of where he can take his place.

~~~

The cane works well in the grass, which makes wandering easy for Harvey. No icy rain, damp ground, bone-crushing cold bothers him here. North Marcanty should pivot away from farming; they'd make as much as Hell's Haven on tourism. Perhaps they could have spa resorts, filtered glass ceilings to block out the harshest of the sun. Canopies and tunnels taking people off planes so they aren't forced into the sunlight. The planes that land in Underpass City have those.

Certainly though, if Harvey has thought of this plan, Faris is already executing it.

"Grey boy," a creaky voice calls, and Harvey knows before turning that it's calling him.

The woman on the porch has wrinkles. So do many of the farmers naturally, but Harvey has never seen a woman with so many. Deep dark alleys at the corners of her eyes, slicing her mouth, divvying up her forehead. People who can afford to get old can afford not to look it, and so Harvey couldn't guess how old she might be. Do they live to be over one hundred here? He's never known anyone to live over one hundred and twenty. They've tried everything to push it, everything including experimenting on MFZ residents. This woman may have cracked it.

"You look lost, grey boy."

Harvey smiles. She doesn't flinch like most people.

"I'm Harvey," he approaches her, struggling up the steps just so he can stick out his hand for her to shake it. "And you are?"

She chortles, which quickly becomes a cough. Her rocking chair tips forward so that she can shake his hand. The squeeze of her fist is shockingly firm.

"Holly Lee," she says. "Nobody's asked me my name in years."

"Well, I am nobody."