METANOIA [01.00]
Prelude
What was once the heart of their community had become a field of rotting corpses, a waste no scavenger of flesh would pick clean, for its bodies were of concrete and its bones of rusted steel.
The cadaver John stood within had once been an apartment complex. Never a place of grandeur or any great hope, yet still a refuge and home for dozens of souls.
Now it was a grave twice over.
First, for those it took with itself into the ground over a decade before—the opening line in a tragedy of neglect written by the fickle winds of fortune.
And again that day, for the poor bastard laid out on the rubble who could no longer wait to be buried there with them.
John wanted to look away. The scene before him was not one of a final, gentle peace. Yet… his eyes were stuck.
It was his obligation to bear witness. His penance for having done nothing more.
The woman behind the bar poured three glasses. In each went the same pungent liquid of a clear, caramel brown over a single block of ice too flawed in form to impart the intended sense of class.
A man with dirty blond hair took one drink for himself and raised it. “To another young life, lost before his prime.”
The woman readily joined him and the clink of glass summoned the third mourner, John, out of his malaise just long enough to pay honors in languid reverence.
As the other two imbibed, he peered at the contents before setting it down untouched and fading from the conscious world once more. His behavior invited looks of pity, but the man and woman had already exhausted their consolations that night and so lingered stiffly in the memorial silence. Their expectations of the gathering had not been high, but it proved more difficult than they anticipated to see such dull eyes where there had once been such a bright spark.
Eventually those dull eyes settled on the dim, color-warped TV that hung off-kilter on the wall. John’s mind never quite registered the content of the changing images even as he sat fixated.
The man, however, had something to say: “They never actually show the City, do they?” He gave his friend a quick tap on the shoulder. “Hey… that offer still stands if you want it.”
John slowly breathed in. The bartender furrowed her brow in suspicion.
The man continued. “I know it sucks to say, but there’s nothing left for you here. Come to Joule—start fresh.”
“You’re not serious, are you?” the woman asked.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“There’s nothing there but corrupt trillionaires playing king—nothing but trouble, anyway.”
“Clearly, you’ve never been there,” the man dismissed. “There are wonders in that place you could only dream of.”
She shook her head. “They can only afford those ‘wonders’ by sucking us dry.”
The man grumbled under his breath. “We were like this before they spent a penny…”
“There’s something wrong about that place,” she assured. “Give it five years and all their shiny toys are gonna break down, too.”
The man said nothing more on the matter, though his deep grimace showed there was plenty more he could.
Nothing they argued was new to John. The young city was either a hedonistic cancer on society or the hope of humanity. Most believed the former.
He took his glass and swirled it about, watching the flow of the dark liquid around the clouded ice. He finally took a small sip and savored the nostalgia of the overpriced swill. The other two took notice.
“Everything about that place is excessive,” he declared. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re already bankrupt and are just pretending as long as they can.”
The bartender wanted to nod in agreement… but she could see in his eyes that he wasn’t speaking in caution.
John downed his whole drink, then looked at the man offering a promise too good to be true. In the end, what more could he lose? “Might be nice to pretend for a while.”
The man grinned.
The bartender opened her mouth to speak, but the words stopped in her throat. She looked away, clutching at the breast of her shirt as a glint of light betrayed the damp of her ringed eyes. Though her concern was genuine, it wasn’t for John’s wellbeing that she held back tears.
Was the world she called home really so unbearable to so many?
As if to answer, the power cut out and left them to the dark.
It was so brilliant, John worried he might go blind.
An archipelago of glass and steel nestled within an evergreen sea. Upon dozens of white-stone islands, immaculate skyscrapers gleamed in the sun as they grasped at the heavens, each more grand than the last. Not content to merely rise to glory, they made war with gravity. Impossible overhangs, extreme angles, grand bridges dozens of stories high and hundreds of feet long. Upon the city’s most prominent surfaces were the beginnings of great murals. Imposing sculptures stood watch from its heights. Elegant patterns trimmed its edges. Lush plant life filled its seams and hung from its walls. The souls traveling its meandering pathways smiled and laughed. The air was so fresh, so full of energy. One could almost hear the city itself breathe in steady rhythm.
And at the heart of it all was its greatest achievement: a tower that had seized all the world’s titles and humbled every competitor—all before it was even complete.
John took a bite of the best sandwich he had ever had and relaxed into the most comfortable bench to ever grace a sidewalk as he leaned back to stare in awe. This new world was so far beyond the one he knew, yet even he could see this was just the start. The most defiant projects still waited for their final touches, and many new ones were still being planned.
The job offered by that taller, blond man—John’s old college pal, Ed—was thus: to build the tools the city needed to realize their ambitions, to bring the edge of what was possible within reach… and then, perhaps, to stretch beyond.
“They’re insane. This whole place,” John declared.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” Ed was the very picture of the starry-eyed young businessman: hopelessly drunk on the wine of reckless optimism.
John laughed. Then he snatched that cup and drank deep.
All those years stuck in school, hearing about all the controversies from the sidelines, hearing nothing but jealousy dripping off their tongues. Then after he graduated, when he let “cooler heads” caution him into the “responsible path.” Enough of that.
There was lost time to make up for, but his fire was lit. If the job sounded difficult, that meant there were plenty more opportunities to prove himself.
And prove himself he did.
By that same time the next year, he had already completed his first project with the company to resounding success. Great work brought great rewards. As Ed predicted to him from the outset, the glory for singular engineering achievements belonged to John’s fellows, yet they all pointed to him when asked how it all came together. And, to John’s greater surprise, the company well understood what that was worth.
A raise, stock options, and a hefty bonus got him a lavish apartment with all the creature comforts he could want and more. Nearly every weekend became an adventure—usually following one of Ed’s plots. Bold concerts, stately dinner parties, spontaneous trips with new friends, or simply traipsing around the city to delight in its novelties which grew in number by the day.
He met some nice women. Had a good time. Suffered a couple heartbreaks. Broke a few more. Nothing ever stuck, but he was in no rush.
It was a good life, and he enjoyed it… for a time. Yet, somewhere along the line he was beset with a worry he could not put to words.
At the start of his fifth year in the city, his bosses announced the next big project… and John felt nothing. No interest, no excitement, not even a critique. It was a good plan—objectively measured—but that was all. Quite frankly, it felt too small to him for such fanfare. His coworkers clearly believed otherwise, as they applauded and took to their work with all the same vigor as ever.
John reasoned that he had expected too much, too soon. Or maybe he was just getting older and could no longer run on unbridled passion. He compensated with reasoned discipline. He needn’t let his fickle flame hold back the fellows who relied on him.
Ed received a promotion with the new project, and their nights out on the town became rare. Within a couple of months, John stopped going out entirely—save to wander the city alone and listlessly gaze at the sights. His upscale apartment started to bore him and the excessive cost of it began to offend. He downsized to a cheaper place and sold off all the junk that was just taking space. His hours he spent in the office increased week by week, even while his paycheck did not—nor was such devotion ever asked for.
Every day he felt himself slow down just a bit more, and so every day he reminded himself: he was one of the most fortunate people in the world; his work was something to be proud of; he was content and the high he had been running on those first four years was unsustainable, anyway. All of it was undeniably true.
Why, then, did he feel held back again by a heavy premonition?
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