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  Someday, Marcus hoped to visit Saint Louis and compare it to Detroit. It was the closest big city. Still, it was not all that close, and it would be a difficult drive.

  Getting off the bike, Marcus made his way toward the easiest way to the street level. With one glance back to William, Marcus entered the elevator, which was big enough to carry dozens of people at a time. It wasn’t a fun ride down. The thing smelled like weeks-old pizza. Not a pleasant odor at all. Marcus hoped it didn’t get any worse.

  Unfortunately, it did. Stepping off to the street level, Marcus was greeted with a stench that he couldn’t even describe. He almost vomited from its intensity. Breathing through his mouth to avoid the smell, Marcus stepped forward and took it all in.

  Every step he took, he stepped in filth and squishy stuff beneath his feet. For the first time, he wished he had cybernetic legs. They would be immune to any disease. Marcus’s arm was the only cybernetic limb he had. That was enough. He did it to fit in with the elite. All of them had at least one cybernetic limb or body part. Unlike the Security Force that worked for the Mara Corp. They were more cybernetic than human. Marcus’s arm didn’t have much to it, other than to make him stronger. It also served to make calls and connect to his laptop. Others were much more sophisticated.

  Marcus crinkled his nose as he walked, trying to avoid as much of the nasty trash as possible. There was discarded food and drugs on the pockmarked street. Almost a layer of trash on the ground. Not to mention it was dark, almost no visiablity at all. The lighting was dim and yellow, making it hard to see. What Marcus could see of the buildings made him wonder how they were even standing. As part of the bet, he had to be here for several minutes before going back up. Otherwise, it was a fail, and he’d owe them.

  A whistle sounded, and people started to fill the streets. Soon, he’d see firsthand the people. It was part of the dare. He not only had to be here but witness the people and how they lived. It was truly a terrible existence and utterly inhumane. Marcus couldn’t believe how bad it was.

  “Hey,” a person said, in a tone filled with hate and disgust.

  The voice frightened Marcus. So much so that Marcus feared for the worst. This wasn't the best idea he and his buddies had ever had.

  Marcus spun around to see a group of people with no mods at all starting to surround him. Before he knew it, he was overwhelmed and under attack, with too many on him to fight back. His reflexes were slowed from the drinking. They easily overpowered him and made Marcus feel hopeless. Never had he been so scared and worried for his life. Marcus feared that he was going to die. He might never make it back to his house and his family. To his cat, Soul.

  Panic filled him, and Marcus was certain this was the end. A calm realization hit him. These people hated him and were going to make him pay for the injustice done to them. To them, Marcus was the filth, the disgusting person, but did that mean he had to die?

  Act one

  Modified

  1

  Life Sucks

  The lower level streets of Detroit were littered with people. Amita hated having to deal with it. Above her, the upper levels were a mythical haven. The home of the rich, home to the modified people. For the longest time, she'd dreamed of being up there, with the elite, the privileged.

  She’d never left the bottom level of the city, not once. Though Amita had been told that she was born on the second level, her parents had died shortly after her birth. From then on, Amita lived in an orphanage, Halo Home. It wasn’t much of a place. None of the caretakers cared much for the kids. It was rough on her. Amita was always smaller than most. Still was. Her long brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Best to keep it out of the way.

  The only modified people that she’d ever seen were part of the Mara Corporation. They provided the security for the city.

  In reality, they ran the city. From the government-run news on down, most of the country was controlled by the Mara Corporation and its CEO, Keres Mara.

  On the screen next to her, Amita saw a picture of Keres. The woman was the opposite of Amita, tall and blond with deep blue eyes. Every time Amita saw her, it angered her. Keres was up on the top level of the city. Amita wasn’t even sure how high up that was.

  Growing up, none of the kids at Halo Home could agree on exactly how many levels Detroit had. It was the capital city that arose from the ashes of America. Amita lived in the New Republic, and Detroit was the center of it, the leader in technology that ran the world.

  Amita passed the one shining hope here as she walked to work, the elevator that took people to level two. It was the one thing here that made her optimistic. Every day, Amita looked at it and wondered what it brought on the other side. What she could do if she went up.

  If Amita tried to board it, she wouldn’t be able to. It would reject her and her implant. Every person had one. It let the Security Force know where a person was allowed to go, who a person was, and everything else about a person. But that didn’t stop Amita from dreaming about trying.

  One of the Mara Corp Security Force members strode by her. Everyone looked away. It was best not to draw attention when Security was near. They could strike down a person at any time with no provocation. More than once, Amita had seen them attack a person for no reason.

  The Security Force member was tall and wore a black helmet with a reflective visor. No way to see where he was looking. There was a good chance he had his eyes upgraded. He’d be able to see in the dark. The modifications Amita could see were to his left arm. It was mechanical and most likely a weapon. Amita didn’t want to find out what it could do. Bullets or lasers, she would rather not know.

  It was a tense moment before the tall man passed by. When he rounded the corner, the people around Amita visibly relaxed. She was one in a long line of people walking to their jobs at one of the factories that made the first-generation droids that served the elite. The world was filled with droids and modified people.

  Not that Amita actually got to see any of it in person outside of the ones who kept them in line. Those on the overcrowded ground level of the city didn’t get to see any of what they made in action.

  “Amita,” a voice said from behind, and an arm wrapped around her.

  Amita turned her head to see a childhood friend, Samantha. Both grew up in Halo Home.

  All Amita had known was the life at the orphanage or the factory. They weren’t much more than five miles apart. She had spent her life in both, never venturing outside that area.

  It didn’t make for a fun life or one where Amita got to learn who she was or what she wanted in life. Not that it mattered. Amita was going to work for Mara Corp, making droids and drones to serve the wealthy and clean up for the modified in the world.

  Samantha was taller than her. Most people were, since she was only five feet tall. Sam had chin-length, fiery red hair. On the first level, none of the people would be considered large. Their rations wouldn’t allow it.

  The Mara Corp controlled everything, including how much food everyone ate. It was never enough. People bigger than Amita had it worse than she did, and she was always hungry.

  The streets filled with even more people, the closer they got to the factory. Both the roads and the people were dirty, covered in filth. The droids they built could be deployed here to clean, but they weren’t. Once, an employee had tried it, but that led to one of the most brutal beatings by a Security Force member in history.

  Used rations covered the ground as the workers were unable to even wait to get home to eat. They discarded junk wherever they felt like it. The people of the lower level were used to the filth. It was more than just the food wrappers that led to the trash. Many of the people were addicted to a street drug—Dyno. A quick glance around showed the used packets mixed in with the food. If Amita took in the people around her, she was sure there were people high on it now.

  It made life go by faster and made the user happy, though it also had many side effects, none of them good. Many people died from
it. She’d lost track of the number who’d used and passed away while working at the factory.

  “It’s freezing,” Samantha said.

  It was the middle of winter. Though the one good thing about being on the street level—they didn’t get snow. It wasn't as cold either.

  “Stop being a baby,” Amita teased.

  “I am not a baby. It’s colder than normal.”

  “If you say so.”

  They walked up the steps to their places. Samantha and Amita worked next to each other on the assembly line, two of many cogs in the machine of Mara Corp.

  At her station, Amita went through the motions like she did every day. She hadn’t missed a day of work since she started ten years ago. Getting the job was supposed to be great—her step up in the world.

  It sure hadn’t worked out that way. None of them had realized how crappy this job was. Looking back, Amita should have guessed. She’d seen the line of people walking to work as she grew up. Back then, Amita thought they appeared happy, but she had been young and naïve.

  Samantha did a similar job next to her as Michael, their boss, watched. He was a tall man without any mods, although he did live on the second level. That made him more important than anyone on the street level. Michael leered at Amita. He always did. Amita feared he might take it too far. He hadn’t yet, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t.

  Many of the supervisors did here. Was just a matter of time in her mind before Michael crossed a line. Michael was slightly under six feet tall with light brown hair, and if you asked Amita, he was not attractive. But that didn’t mean he didn’t think so. He came into work every day with his hair done perfectly. It didn’t stay that way. Not with him working in a factory.

  “Amita,” he purred. “You need to pick up the pace.”

  Amita nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  He hovered over her, lingering. Amita held her breath and didn’t look at him. The last thing she wanted to do was make him think she liked him there or that Amita wanted him to touch her. He made her skin crawl. Everything about him disgusted Amita.

  “Very good.”

  He remained there a moment longer and went over to Samantha.

  This was part of Amita’s day, every day. She hated it. This wasn’t the way things were supposed to be. Not the way she wanted to spend the rest of her life. The factory was dingy and worn on the inside and out. Being on the street level, that was to be expected. It was loud inside with the machinery going. The stamping of metal clanged through the building. Soon it would make her deaf. The concrete floor was relativity clean, but only because many of the workers were forced to clean it as punishment.

  The grind of working here was too much. It was that way for most people. The average worker only lasted a little longer than Amita had been here already. They burned out and went to living on the streets, unable to continue. Once there, their life was short.

  Amita didn’t want that either. There was no way out. This was all there was for her, all she would ever know. The factory and her tiny apartment. Nothing else.

  2

  She has to Help

  About the only thing Amita could say about her dinky apartment was that it was better than the streets. She went through her morning routine, cleaning her hair and brushing it. It took longer than Amita cared to admit because of its length. She knew she should cut it. Would make it easier for her. Most of the others at the factory had short hair. Amita was stubborn.

  No matter how much she would have loved to dry it, Amita couldn’t. She’d be here for twice as long. Amita walked over to her closet in the tiny studio apartment that she shared with rodents and other vermin. Finding a place without an added guest was impossible.

  Amita had grown used to the rats and cockroaches. From her closet, Amita picked out her uniform for this day of the week. The workers were forced to wear the same thing to work every day, a jumpsuit that clung to their bodies so it wouldn’t get stuck in the equipment. It was a dull gray and patched together. Amita was not even sure what day it was. They all blurred together. Doing the same thing over and over. Never anything different.

  Once ready, Amita departed her apartment to go through it all again. Another twelve hours slaving at work with repugnant Michael. Amita wasn’t sure how much more she could take.

  The walk to work was no different than any other. Samantha joined Amita halfway, like she did every day since her apartment was closer than Amita’s.

  Amita turned to her. “I’m so sick of this.”

  Sam hung her head. “Me too. Not like we have a choice.”

  Amita groaned since her friend was right. What choice did they have? Work at the factory or live on the streets. That was it. Everyone here worked for Mara Corp in some way or form. Whether directly like Amita, or indirectly.

  A large TV screen flashed above the streets as they walked, it was connected to the structure, but almost appeared to be floating. Keres Mara was on it, smiling at the peons beneath. “Detroit is our future,” she said. The speakers blared down from the screen. Like she was a god figure towering over them. Her blond hair glowed in the sunlight that Amita would never see. Her blue eyes glinted down. “We are building the world of tomorrow.”

  “Doesn’t feel like it,” Amita said.

  “Hush,” Samantha said. “You don’t know who will hear you.”

  Amita never thought about it, but Sam could be right. Mara Corp very well could be listening. Though part of Amita didn’t care. So what if they heard? What would they do? Remove Amita? Kill her? That wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Amita was already dead, not living at all. None of them were. The people here were just meat on the assembly line for those above them, quite literally above them. Amita looked up past the screen. The second level was so close yet so far away. She’d never get there. Never in a million years.

  The sleazeball stood behind Amita again. Amita gritted her teeth and did her best not to look at Michael. It wasn’t easy, with how she hated her life. How Amita wanted to move on. To be rid of this place. Of the Mara Corp. Of it all.

  A realization hit her. Amita was near the breaking point that so many others had talked about. The one Amita said wasn’t possible for her to reach, but here she was, on the verge of crossing it.

  At that moment, Michael breathed deeply on her neck. He was looking down at her, staring at her breasts. It took all she had not to punch him in the balls, to kick him as hard as she could.

  “Amita, you really need to work faster.”

  Amita inhaled deeply, hoping to calm herself and keep her from making a mistake. As much as Amita hated it, she needed to stay at this miserable job in this hellhole. For a moment, Amita pictured herself losing control and letting her anger get the best of her.

  “Yes, sir,” Amita said. Her voice was raspy and harsh, and he heard it.

  “What was that?” Michael asked. “I don’t like your tone.”

  “I said, ‘yes, sir.’”

  “Better.” He was inches from her. Amita swore she could feel him touching her.

  Ignoring him, Amita glanced at Samantha, and she mouthed, “I’m sorry.”

  It would be Sam’s turn next. Every day. Every single day.

  Drained and ready to give up, Amita walked back to her place after work. She just didn’t see the point of continuing to work for so little pay that she couldn’t afford to eat or live in a place that wasn’t filled with rodents and insects.

  Amita rounded the corner that took her toward her place. Off to the left was her shining hope. The elevator that led to the next level. For a brief moment, Amita contemplated actually trying to go to it and get to the next level.

  She got as far as taking a step toward it but stopped when she heard a commotion ahead of her. A group of people had formed a circle and were cheering something on.

  “Ahh!” a person screamed.

  The group was beating someone up—Amita was able to see him through small gaps in the horde. For once, she wanted to see a Security F
orce member, but none were in sight. Of course, they weren’t. They were never around when one was actually needed.

  Running to the group, Amita skirted the edge to see what was going on. Being so short, Amita couldn’t see a thing. She pushed her way through. In the center was a man Amita had never seen before. He was kneeling, and his face was bruised. He bled from his nose and mouth. One of his arms had been modified and perhaps more of his body.

  It was tough to say for sure. She hadn’t seen too many of the people who had stuff done to make them better, to improve themselves.

  “You don’t belong here,” a person said.

  The man gulped. Beneath the fresh bruises was a chiseled face, one that might have been cute if not for the blood. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. It was a surprise they'd got him, but even a mod didn’t stand a chance against a large group of people.

  Making out his words was tough. Clearly, he was terrified. He didn’t belong, and everyone including him knew it.

  “Why are you here?” another asked.

  “A dare,” the man managed to get out.

  One of the group kicked him from behind. The man screamed in agony. It hurt him more than she’d thought it would. The mods were considered to be immune to pain. That obviously wasn’t the case.

  “Stop,” Amita blurted out.

  She pushed and shoved to the center of the circle and helped the man back up to his knees. The kick had left him on all fours.

  “Why should we?”

  “He’s a person,” Amita declared.

  Most looked away and sneered. To them, he was trash and the one making their lives hell. “No, he’s not. Look at him. He’s got mods.”