Neon pooled across the street as if the light had weight, settling into the seams of spotless pavement. The buildings above rose in smooth columns of glass and steel, surfaces so clean they looked manufactured yesterday. Trees lined the boulevard in flawless symmetry, leaves a vivid, artificial green that never yellowed, never fell. Even the air felt curated—cool, filtered, almost sweet.
For a second, the world looked fixed.
He moved through it without matching it.
Baggy cargos brushed against his sneakers, worn Jordans scuffed at the edges, paint chipped along the soles. His reflection stretched thin beneath him as he walked, shoes interrupting the mirrored perfection with every step. He didn't adjust his pace for it. Didn't look down.
A pair of wired earphones hung against his neck. The cable caught the light as it swayed. People passed in silence, their interfaces buried beneath skin and bone, eyes flickering faintly with whatever they were watching inside their own heads. A few glanced at the wires. One woman's gaze lingered a beat too long — not rude, just confused, the way someone looks at a payphone.
He didn't care.
The news found him without being asked. A translucent screen bloomed at eye level, responsive to thought, and headlines scrolled in silence.
The clip ran automatically. A spray-painted mech, battered and defiant, trading blows with a sterile white corporate frame. Sparks. Smoke. A skyline swallowed whole. Then the feed cut to static like someone had pulled a plug.
He watched it twice.
A notification blinked over the static.
Anime girl profile picture. Neon hair.
yo wya u coming tonight?
The corner of his mouth lifted. He killed the screen with a thought and kept walking.
Ahead, the dome's curvature caught the light — its surface faintly shimmering, a soap bubble the size of a city block. The exit looked like a transit terminal: transparent panels arching overhead, security drones tracing slow, bored loops through the filtered air.
He passed beneath the threshold without slowing.
The change wasn't immediate. It crept in.
The trees thinned first. Leaves dulled. The air lost its sterilized softness. Concrete began to show beneath peeling surface layers. The polished symmetry gave way to patched repairs and exposed piping.
By the time he reached the outer ledge, the illusion had completely worn off.
Below stretched the real city.
Buildings leaned into one another. Neon signs flickered inconsistently over graffiti-tagged walls. Market stalls crowded the streets, tarps sagging under the weight of dust. Steam hissed from fractured vents. Smoke layered the skyline in uneven bands.
He smiled.
This part didn't pretend.
From his pocket, he pulled a compact mask and fitted it over his mouth and nose. The filter activated with a soft hiss.
Then he stepped forward.
The ground vanished.
Wind tore upward as he fell. Above him, the floating district drifted in quiet perfection, suspended within its artificial ozone shell—a pristine bubble in a choking atmosphere.
Halfway down, he shrugged off his backpack and swung it forward. The pack unfolded midair, hinges snapping into place as panels split apart revealing a compact board grav fins wiring into life as it extended. He tossed it beneath his feet.
Too hard.
"Oh—shit!—"
The board dipped beyond reach. His stomach lurched as gravity claimed him harder, faster. For a second, the space between the island and ground stretched impossibly wide.
He lunged, fingertips grazing the edge, dragging the hoverboard back beneath him. Both feet slammed down just as the anti-grav field flared on.
The board bucked violently, tilting sideways toward open air.
He corrected, knees bending, balance snapping into place.
Below, floating buses threaded between suspended rail-lines, engines humming as they drifted through polluted sky. He angled the board and dove between them, wind roaring past as the cleaner world above disappeared entirely behind smoke and steel.
Now he was grinning.
Because down there—
that was home.