A short narrative glimpse into the life of an average Ladder-tier citizen in Neo-Europa, 2084.
☀️ Morning: Wake, Connect, Perform
Joran van Pelsk wakes to the soft chime of his apartment pod easing out of Circadian Lock. It smells faintly of synth-citrus and filtered plastic. He blinks—then again, slower this time—as the retinal startup prompt asks for consent.
>> Connect to Spinal Gate interface? Yes. Always yes. The world stutters into clarity as the Spinal Gate boots his Veil overlay. Notifications bloom in his periphery: performance scores, civic mood, calorie credits. Someone in the block failed to pay memory tax again.
He glides from his bed to the hygiene slab, letting the system scan his vitals. A minor spike in cortisol. The pod suggests a calming scent patch—extra cost. He declines. His job requires edge.
🏙️ Commute Through the Hive
Joran lives in Ring Sector 7—mid-tier housing block 14A. It’s high enough to avoid the stairwell gangs, low enough that his elevator only half-functions. On odd-numbered days, he climbs four floors by foot.
The corridor flickers with subtle ads—Veil-personalized and legally mandated. His civic loyalty rating lets him bypass most of them. Still, he catches a glitchy Chapel Node replay: a god with mirrored eyes and too many hands. He averts his gaze.
Transit is quick. The maglev accepts his presence automatically—his Spinal Gate pings approval. A woman nearby is not so lucky. Her Gate hesitates. The door closes without her.
💼 Work: Performance, Compliance, Presentation
Joran works at Serhugh Light Systems, on a contract rotation. Today, his role is "Memory Context Analyst." He receives packets of anonymized memory and sorts them by resonance metrics. His job is to predict emotional backlash before product release.
The memories are clean, mostly. Childhood arguments, first crushes, sudden grief. One slips through: a stairwell soaked in blood and static. He flags it and tries not to feel too much.
His supervisor is a polite avatar called Mr. Wint. It smiles too often. It knows too much.
🧃 Break: Sim-Nutrition and Civic Chat
Lunch is optional. Nutrient slush can be absorbed through the dermal band on his neck. But he chooses to eat at the Civic Commons anyway. It earns visibility points.
He sits near colleagues—nobody speaks unless they're required to. The Commons streams filtered Council debates: nobles speaking in perfect cadence, wearing symbols he’ll never afford. Julia Clutine, again, issuing a graceful warning to a rogue district.
Someone near him whispers something anti-Codenberg. Risky. Joran pretends not to hear. His Gate blinks.
🌆 Evening: Rehearsed Freedom
After work, Joran takes a detour through the Veil. His avatar is simpler than most—clean suit, hollow eyes. He enters a Veil café where people pretend to be old poets. He listens. He doesn’t speak.
Later, he takes the stairwell to his apartment again. A boy on the second landing watches him. Just watches. Joran gives him a token—worth one hour of filtered Veil access. A ritual act. A ward against future trouble.
🌙 Night: Loop and Forget
Back in his pod, the lights dim. The system asks if he wants to archive today’s memory.
He hesitates. Today was ordinary. But even the ordinary can be used against you.
He selects partial retain. The system hums.
His dreams will not be his own. They rarely are.
Neo-Europa does not sleep. Only its sensors dim.