Illustration by Joi Rudin.
Yegor felt the weight of the new set of keys in his pocket, which made him smile as he looked out the train's window. He was bursting with joy, and the jingling sound the keys made whenever he moved seemed to him like the perfect soundtrack to that happiness—all those years of hard work had finally paid off.
Wardlord Defense Industries was an excellent workplace, and Yegor worked hard. He liked being a researcher and a scientist. His new promotion to Senior Leader at the Experimental Development Division wouldn't change his passion for trying new things and exploring new technologies. After all, this new title was the fruit of his curiosity; his boss said so herself.
Yegor had started researching the applications of an ultraconcentrated citric acid chemical compound in construction materials melting well before promotion was even on the table. When he finally had empirical evidence that the idea was feasible, he shared it with his boss. She said it was a marvelous initiative that could be weaponized to cause chemical structural damage to low-quality buildings and reduce enemy infrastructure capabilities. Then she said a new job title was surely on its way. And a bonus.
Yegor liked the bonus more than the title, but not because he was greedy. He wanted the bonus because it meant he finally had enough money to get his mom and baby brother a place in the city, out of the REPPS. The Refuge and Protection Projects, or REPPS for short, were the emergency housing the megacorps had built on the outskirts of the Autonomous City of Greater London.
They were a few hours by train from Lower Soho. They provided shelter for dozens of thousands of immigrants who'd come to London after the solar flare razed northern England and many other European countries. Even though the rats of Soho lived better than anybody in the REPPS, Yegor still considered this place home. His life had started here, his second life, that is. Fourteen years ago, after the country he was born in had dissolved in hunger and violence, his mother had brought him and his baby brother, Kostas, to the English Territories, hoping things were better here. And they were. Life was still hard, but it was doubtlessly better.
The REPPS were hundreds of kilometers of housing modules that comprised a concrete dam to contain the human flood. WDI assigned them a living unit there, their own minuscule home identical to all the rest: the smallest bathroom possible next to an under-equipped kitchen and a single room all three would sleep in. But they had a roof over their heads. And when Yegor was old enough, he applied for a WDI grant that would put him through college and most likely land him a job that could allow him to live in the city and still send money back home every month to support his mother and Kostas.
As the train advanced through the empty countryside, Yegor thought about how much he and his family owed WDI: both the house in the REPPS, where he grew up, and the house in Lower Soho, where his mother and brother would move, were, in the end, something WDI had given them. Yegor smiled. It was Friday, and his mother would be cooking lemon soup; the small apartment would smell terrific. Kostas would be watching some Adonis Digital Media program, as always. Yegor would tell Kostas he should get better grades in school now that he would live in a bigger house in a better neighborhood.
The train arrived at his stop. He took a moment to look at his reflection in the shop window next to the station. His hair was a bit messy, but his matte black coat looked immaculate. He felt the cloth with his fingers; the little "w"s embossed in the fabric shone under the sun. He fixed his hair and checked his reflection again. His mom would be so happy when he showed him the keys and the pictures of the new apartment. He wanted to look good so that when she remembered that moment, in her memory, he'd be as unblemished as possible.
He was still looking at his reflection when the ground shook, the window shattered, and he fell to the ground. His reflection was gone, so he couldn't see the dust covering him now. His hearing was gone, too. He saw people covered in dust and blood moving their lips, their faces contracted in what looked like desperate shouting, but Yegor could only hear a ringing. The ground shook in short intervals. Sometimes, he saw the explosions light up the sky but couldn't hear the detonations. With his hearing, his balance was also compromised, so it took him a while to get back on his feet and stagger his way through dozens of destroyed housing units to his mother's living unit.
Something in the air made his nostrils burn. His mother's roof was gone; that much was evident from the column of fire and smoke rising from what used to be the living room. Yegor screamed his mother's and brother's names, although he wasn't sure any sound was coming out of his mouth. He stood there, frozen in shock, trying to make sense of anything. It was Friday, and he thought he smelled his mother's lemon soup.
Wardlord Defense Industries was an excellent workplace, and Yegor worked hard. He liked being a researcher and a scientist. His new promotion to Senior Leader at the Experimental Development Division wouldn't change his passion for trying new things and exploring new technologies. After all, this new title was the fruit of his curiosity; his boss said so herself.
Yegor had started researching the applications of an ultraconcentrated citric acid chemical compound in construction materials melting well before promotion was even on the table. When he finally had empirical evidence that the idea was feasible, he shared it with his boss. She said it was a marvelous initiative that could be weaponized to cause chemical structural damage to low-quality buildings and reduce enemy infrastructure capabilities. Then she said a new job title was surely on its way. And a bonus.
Yegor liked the bonus more than the title, but not because he was greedy. He wanted the bonus because it meant he finally had enough money to get his mom and baby brother a place in the city, out of the REPPS. The Refuge and Protection Projects, or REPPS for short, were the emergency housing the megacorps had built on the outskirts of the Autonomous City of Greater London.
They were a few hours by train from Lower Soho. They provided shelter for dozens of thousands of immigrants who'd come to London after the solar flare razed northern England and many other European countries. Even though the rats of Soho lived better than anybody in the REPPS, Yegor still considered this place home. His life had started here, his second life, that is. Fourteen years ago, after the country he was born in had dissolved in hunger and violence, his mother had brought him and his baby brother, Kostas, to the English Territories, hoping things were better here. And they were. Life was still hard, but it was doubtlessly better.
The REPPS were hundreds of kilometers of housing modules that comprised a concrete dam to contain the human flood. WDI assigned them a living unit there, their own minuscule home identical to all the rest: the smallest bathroom possible next to an under-equipped kitchen and a single room all three would sleep in. But they had a roof over their heads. And when Yegor was old enough, he applied for a WDI grant that would put him through college and most likely land him a job that could allow him to live in the city and still send money back home every month to support his mother and Kostas.
As the train advanced through the empty countryside, Yegor thought about how much he and his family owed WDI: both the house in the REPPS, where he grew up, and the house in Lower Soho, where his mother and brother would move, were, in the end, something WDI had given them. Yegor smiled. It was Friday, and his mother would be cooking lemon soup; the small apartment would smell terrific. Kostas would be watching some Adonis Digital Media program, as always. Yegor would tell Kostas he should get better grades in school now that he would live in a bigger house in a better neighborhood.
The train arrived at his stop. He took a moment to look at his reflection in the shop window next to the station. His hair was a bit messy, but his matte black coat looked immaculate. He felt the cloth with his fingers; the little "w"s embossed in the fabric shone under the sun. He fixed his hair and checked his reflection again. His mom would be so happy when he showed him the keys and the pictures of the new apartment. He wanted to look good so that when she remembered that moment, in her memory, he'd be as unblemished as possible.
He was still looking at his reflection when the ground shook, the window shattered, and he fell to the ground. His reflection was gone, so he couldn't see the dust covering him now. His hearing was gone, too. He saw people covered in dust and blood moving their lips, their faces contracted in what looked like desperate shouting, but Yegor could only hear a ringing. The ground shook in short intervals. Sometimes, he saw the explosions light up the sky but couldn't hear the detonations. With his hearing, his balance was also compromised, so it took him a while to get back on his feet and stagger his way through dozens of destroyed housing units to his mother's living unit.
Something in the air made his nostrils burn. His mother's roof was gone; that much was evident from the column of fire and smoke rising from what used to be the living room. Yegor screamed his mother's and brother's names, although he wasn't sure any sound was coming out of his mouth. He stood there, frozen in shock, trying to make sense of anything. It was Friday, and he thought he smelled his mother's lemon soup.
Written by Espeche, original idea by Alvarythm.