The rain pitter-pattered against Blake White's umbrella as she snapped out of her brief daze.

Her gaze passed through the curtain of rain, watching the people hurrying through the downpour.

Their clothing ranged from ordinary to fancy—some in suits, some dressed simply, some stylish and bright, some in tattered clothes. But under the rain, they all seemed the same: clothes soaked, hair wet, equally bedraggled.

Blake White looked around and spotted a sign for the suspended maglev tram not far away. She walked toward it.

There were a few others waiting at the stop. Blake White blended into the crowd, waiting for the tram with them.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that many people had mechanical prosthetics. The middle-aged man next to her had a mechanical hand; instead of a watch, he had a tiny display mounted on the back of it, the time flickering on the screen. On her right, a girl was blowing bubble gum—both her legs were mechanical prosthetics.

People were used to prosthetics; no one gave them a second glance.

About three minutes later, the maglev tram glided in and opened its doors.

Passengers at the stop boarded one by one, the identification device repeatedly announcing: “Facial recognition passed, payment successful... Facial recognition passed, payment successful...”

When it was Blake White's turn, she stepped forward. The device gave the same prompt: “Facial recognition passed, payment successful.”

Blake White relaxed and found an empty seat in the carriage.

The rain drummed softly against the glass window. She gazed outside, where colorful neon lights shimmered with different halos, illuminating her eyes.

Such prosperity and omnipresent high-tech projections were things the First World could never see. Blake White was dazzled by the brilliant colors, filled with longing, yet hesitant to approach.

This world was a poisonous poppy—beautiful to look at, but dangerous underneath.

Blake White glanced down at her wristband. The time was now 20:12.

Night had fallen, but Black Sea City was far from quiet. There were even more neon lights and advertising projections; the rain couldn’t douse this liveliness.

Blake White was an outsider who didn’t fit in, observing the new world. She carefully read every flickering character on the billboards, studied every passing airship and drone swarm.

The speeding maglev tram pierced the rain, cutting through massive holographic projections in midair. The colors reflected in Blake White’s eyes shifted with the changing scenery outside the window.

She murmured in her heart, “I’m here, new world.”

……

“Harbor District, Anning Street, arrived. Please take your belongings and prepare to disembark.”

Blake White opened her umbrella and stepped off the tram. The doors closed behind her, and what she saw was completely different from before.

Anning Street in the Harbor District was pitch black—no neon lights, no billboards, only residential buildings of varying heights and cheap convenience stores lit up on both sides of the street. Puddles dotted the uneven road.

Compared to the bustling area where the enforcement building was located, Anning Street in the Harbor District was much more rundown. Yet this very shabbiness gave Blake White a sense of familiarity.

The advanced technology and flashy city center constantly reminded Blake White that she was an outsider, but the backward, simple Anning Street gave her the illusion of coming home. The old neighborhood where she’d lived for years in the First World looked just like this—worn down, dim, with broken streetlights and a corner shop that stayed open late into the night.

Recalling the navigation map she’d checked earlier, she headed in the direction of home.

She had only walked a few dozen meters when a bottle suddenly smashed at Blake White’s feet. She stopped and saw a drunken old man slumped in a corner, muttering curses under his breath.

After a few words, he tilted his head back and fell asleep.

Blake White stepped over the shards of the bottle and saw the walls on both sides of the street covered in colorful graffiti.

“Cops get out of our home!” read a line of big red characters on the wall, ending with a bloody skull.

“Cops”—a derogatory term for city enforcers.

Blake White had learned the meaning of this word from some old movies.

The people of Anning Street seemed very unwelcoming to outsiders, especially enforcers. And the security on this street... looked pretty bad. The street was dirty and messy, graffiti everywhere, drunks lying around with no one to care.

The illusion of coming home vanished instantly from Blake White’s heart. The old neighborhood she lived in might have been shabby, but it was clean—garbage trucks came every morning to collect the trash.

All along the way, there were very few pedestrians on the street.

Blake White made her way through a filthy alley, trying to find her way home. Just as she was about to leave the alley, she saw a guy in a hoodie not far ahead. She was about to hurry over and ask for directions when two men suddenly darted out from around the corner, blocking her way out.

They closed in on Blake White, each pulling out a knife and snarling viciously, “This is a robbery!”

The guy in the hoodie ahead heard the word “robbery,” glanced back, and bolted—running faster than a rabbit.

Blake White: ...There’s nothing peaceful about Anning Street at all!

Chapter 6: Sea Without Light 06