Rivals

The light falls thick like it has its own viscosity. A bewildering feeling to say the least. Thinking back as far as I can remember. The light has always seemed thick. Maybe it’s just the way the Dregs seem to chock the breath out of you.

Days in the Dregs makes for a curdled milkshake. More like a fungus to clarify. I have lived in the Dregs as long as I can remember.

My mother died when I was just old enough to start work in the wire court. A place where technophiles go to trade in or trade up.

We still don’t know the true cause of the Surge. A world wide catastrophe that caused man to be cut away from the interface and infrastructure of the social web of the 3299 A.D. era.

In 3870 A.D. a man named Jesuwah Whorks harnessed an aerial nano system by his BELIEF that someone had touched his shoulderand whispered, (pray.)

It’s a funny word he heard. Pray. Man has put paper in the past. Most words we have now are handed down through our governor. It’s not even human though. It’s one of our Heirlooms from a lost technology. We call it the governor because it literally governs our economy. It keeps us in our stalls eating our oats so we can keep eating oats in our stall. Like a Cosmic comedy made possible by Conglmeco. So, pray isn’t a word that was used in that time. Let alone now of all days.

We hear words like “our concern” and “your safety.”

Another day dawns on us in the Dregs, but our light in the Dregs are made of small wins and substantial losses. Today is a different day. Not unlike all the rest, but different in its own rite.

Today is the day I was given my meta badge. A license to choose my religion. Like the old democratic way of voting. Although this is more of the Governor’s way of kee of unlit candles. And the candles burning for the Blessed or those in dim glow of the Necrows.

Being part of the Dregs is like not belonging anywhere. And the allow anyone with a meta-badge in the temple colosseum, so will undoubtedly go. It’s better then eating oats.

It was a very busy day in the wire court today. A older man had been looking for an old relic from his youth. He said it had been very popular once back before the factions had taken the worlds attention.

I wouldn’t know what to pay attention to if I was bitten by it. I just wake and head to the wire court for another day of joyful mundanity.

Being able to choose a faction has always been an enigmatic rite of passage to me. How can my faction be any better then the other? To be a Blessed wouldn’t be bad. But it wouldn’t be much of a difference to me.

I heard long ago that the blessed had just as many in their following( if not more.) However, the Necrows do more then ridicule the Blessed.

I know of many Necrows being culled by the Governor for doing horrible things in the name of some dark ritual. Though,I don’t know from my own dealings. Just the whisper of a whisper. Or the half-mentioned tale of blessed saving Necrows only to have Necrows play with their holy body’s with their necromancy and strange aerobots.

I live just around the spill way. It’s a place where the old things lost in the spills of the Dregs seem to flow. That’s my house. But it works for me unlike others of common ilk.

Being a worker at the wire court also grants me the ability to find matches to the lost and found of the Dregs. I have made some great discoveries in my time here.

I have been collecting my finds. With a good hoarding at this point.

I even rebuilt a zephyr windlord. I restored it from hardly anything that washed up. It looked like a metal set of owl wings, without the owl. Now it’s a one of a kind companion. Zephyr is what the generations of past would call a personal drone. But he is more like a limb for me.

I have also been collecting a rare type mineral that washes down through the drains for the Dregs. Like smooth stones. Condensed materials of technology and waste. I call them vapid stones. I call them that for their lack of purpose.

The nervous feeling never overwhelmed me before. Then again I’ve never been to the Great Temple Colosseum. I have always imagined what it’s like in there.

Darkness creeps up on many here in the Dregs, but not in me. Not Demi Wearburn

But have been here as long as I can remember. And what would be the Dregs with out your old pal Demi of the Dregs.

The crowd surges forward and backward. A whole breathing organism that has no way to communicate with one another. A sad sight if you ask me.

I find most things sad, though. Being brought up in this place will make a dog eat it’s young.

I knew this family once. They lived in this street actually. If you could call being here on this street living.

Anyway, the old man of the family tried convince the other family members to let him sell their children.

“ you can just have another one.” He said eagerly.

And the family listened. They believed that he was right.

They had started a skin trade. The father, proud of himself for thinking outside of the box patted himself on the back.

Until the day the Cullen arrived at the home of the family.

To be culled isn’t like that of death. It’s to be retired. They implant your brain with a new wave. Some omega wave or gamma psyphonics.

It just mean that you are the same as the vegetation you will harvest.