Sky City

The image onscreen was displayed to graphical perfection; polygons upwards of one billion moved a moonlit world in smooth synchronization. The player’s eyes watered and glistened, unnoticed. He was at home in his modest apartment in Sky City, the Tokyo Superstructure.

This isn’t your life. Nothing will come of it.

The player’s onscreen counterpart reloaded the weapon. He was fighting for Russia, his home country. Switzerland had acquired enough non-neutralist subscribers to initiate a significant onslaught. The campaign had been going for three weeks, and there wasn’t much time for anything but the war. The player had just been made captain. But of course none of it was real.

Is this the extent of your ambition? Is this how it’s going to be?

His troops needed to cross a small stream to reach the Swiss base. The player spoke the command and the soldiers began to dart silently down the bank.

Remember when you were young, and hadn’t submitted yourself to emptiness? Look at yourself now. You’ve turned onto a worthless sluggard.

The icy water flowed downhill with natural physics, and refracted in the gloom flawlessly. The troops waded slowly across, making as little noise as possible.

Listen to me! You know this isn’t right!

There was an explosion. The water shot up with fatal force and deafening sound, reacting violently with all in sight. Millions of particles filled the air with a shimmering dusk before crashing to the ground. The Swiss had planted mines on the creek bed. The respawn menu popped up as Darko’s body was washed down the stream with all the others.

You disgust me! It’s not for you! Any of you! Giving your lives to the networks and fighting imaginary battles while you all secretly weep inside at the dreams you unendingly defer!

Darko’s inner cynic was really laying it on thick tonight. Sometimes it got stronger in the dark and with a headset on.

Ten years of waiting has brought you to the Rubicon of your life. Something has to change now.

Alright, thought the real Darko. It’ll happen tonight.

He hardly believed himself. He had thought the same words so many times before, and he had always come back to his monotonous job and his little apartment. No one would have missed him if he just stayed there for the rest of his meaningless life.

“I’ve got to get out of this building!” said Darko aloud as he took his headset off. You were aloud to do things like that when you lived alone. “I want to walk in the street and see a car up close.”

He rubbed his eyes and checked the time. 1:35 AM. He had been logged in for five hours. Time flies when you’re wasting it.

Darko almost always kept the lights off, and tonight was a perfect example of the dim twilight that came through the windows from the city far below. Darko fumbled from his room into the kitchen and flipped on the switch.

“High dynamic range lighting,” he muttered, squinting in the brightness. “It never leaves me alone.”

What a loser I am, thought Darko, his eyes still closed. The light hurts my eyes and I blame the lighting engine. I’ve really got to get out of here.

Once his eyes had adjusted, he noticed his reflection in the microwave door. The brown eyes and oily black hair were to be expected, but Darko saw something different in his face that didn’t belong there. The slight look of displeasure would not go away no matter how he contorted his face. It was the burden of many fruitless yesterdays, and it was haunting as death. Darko then made a risky promise to himself. He would be rid of that face before the night’s end.

“Goodbye.” Darko may have been the fist person in history to talk to his microwave. “I’m tired of you. We won’t see each other again.”

And with that brief parting he picked up his backpack and exited the apartment.


Sky City is a vast and brooding place; the curvature of the hallway is slight, and there are numerous elevator ports on each floor. Darko’s apartment happened to be perfectly flanked by two of these ports. Ever since he had moved here—to this prison in the sky—he had gone out the door to his right and walked the twenty meters to the elevator. Darko had never used the other one, and only assumed it was there because of the two signs adjacent to his door. Elevator left, elevator right.

Tonight he turned left.

Darko smiled and almost laughed aloud at the unexpected exhilaration this simple change of paths brought. He met no one in the hallway, and soon came upon the elevator he had imagined.

It took only a few seconds after pressing the button for a compartment to appear. Most of Sky City was asleep.

As he stepped into the elevator, Darko couldn’t help but wonder what was waiting for him at the bottom.

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Masuyo Sato was waiting patiently on the ground floor at 1:38 AM. The only reason he was still there was because he hadn’t yet thought of a reason to leave. He was a rugged, Japanese man of at least fifty years. His unusual clothes and stern demeanor always warranted staring from passersby, and tonight was perfect example of his persistence in standing starkly in the midst of the boisterous lobby, full of its garish assortment of plastic plants and plastic people.

Much of the crowd was leaving. The parties had drawn to a close, and the people were retreating either back to their rooms or back to the streets. They were all going to sleep, Masuyo thought. Masuyo wasn’t going to sleep that night. He could outlast them all.

Masuyo wasn’t crazy. He wasn’t even a drug addict of any kind. Masuyo lived for himself. That’s why Masuyo was so drawn to the dark-haired Russian stepping out of the northwest elevator room. The restless eyes were hard to miss.

Keeping low in the crowds, Masuyo made his way toward the elevator, maintaining visual contact with the Russian. Up close it was easier to detect his unrest. He was walking slowly in the direction of the south exit and was caught off guard when Masuyo popped out in front of him.

“What brings you down, stranger?” said Masuyo in his typical creepish voice. He didn’t receive an answer for some time. The dark-haired Russian was looking him over in amazement, apparently contemplating his answer, and then—

“This place… this building brings me down.” His voice was quiet, but storming. “I haven’t been outside or talked to anyone offline in months, and my life has slowly dissolved into a future that never quite comes.”

Perfect, thought Masuyo. A torn dreamer. Tonight I’ll show him what he’s missing. He did his best to put in a friendly smile before speaking.

“You’re not tired, are you?”

“No.”

“Let’s go outside.”

{c}------------------------------------


This guy reminds me of one of those creepy war veterans, thought Darko as he followed the old man out into the street.

Tokyo at ground level was overflowing with people and noises and advertisements. The world loomed over Darko for the first time since he’d last been outside. Looking up, he could just make out his apartment window. From down here it looked as if it were a high ground of safety from the flooded world, but Darko knew better.

“Come on!” yelled Masuyo. He was already several paces down the sidewalk to Darko’s right. “Not time to stand around.”

“Now wait a minute,” said Darko in indignant tones. “Where exactly am I supposed to be following you?”

“Cafe. Just twelve blocks. You hungry?”

Now that he mentioned it, Darko was very hungry, but more than his desire for food, he was hungry for accomplishment. He would rather return to his apartment with a fulfillment of his person than a fulfillment of his stomach, and he wasn’t sure that stuffing his face with this old madman was the best use of his time.

Oh well. I guess I have to start somewhere. Darko jogged to catch up to Masuyo, who had never stopped walking.

Over the next twelve blocks Darko learned that Masuyo was not a crazy war veteran. What he was, in fact, remained unknown throughout their entire street side conversation. Born into a Japanese family in Hagi, he left his home at eighteen and spent the next thirty-five years traveling through various parts of Eurasia. Masuyo had done it all, and he was happy with his life. Darko listened with interest as Masuyo told stories of climbing in the Alps, camping the black forest, and working as a magician in Norway. He was never looking for anything; he just knew what he wanted, and felt no need to stop before he got it.

Darko, in turn, told Masuyo all about leaving his family in Russia and coming to Tokyo. He told him about how he couldn’t get his life together and about how he missed his sister and how he still couldn’t decide whether he was able or useless. As he spoke, Darko couldn’t help felling jealous of Masuyo’s substantial life.

Then, amidst the unnatural city silence, light rain began to fall, making swirls of light in the sky. Puddles formed, and the vehicles in the street started their wipers. Darko could feel small spatters under his feet. He looked down. If only he could treat his life the same way his friend could. All was cold and soggy.

At last, Masuyo stopped walking. He turned to Darko and said, “I think you have the wrong idea.” He was about to give Darko some kind of advice. “You shouldn’t put your life under such constant pressure that you have no time to do anything but worry and protect yourself from disappointment.” He smiled. “You should care about it so much that every moment you spend doing something that isn’t you feels like a cattle prod in the face.”

This is why Darko had set out that night.

“Let’s go inside.”

They had arrived at the Sidelight Cafe. The inside was bright and loud, but at this point Darko was starving, not to mention damp. They went inside and sat down, and a loaf of bread was placed on their table. Masuyo watched placidly as Darko ate.

“No…NO! That wasn’t the agreement!” A heated voice was coming from a few tables behind them. “Yes it was! Yes it WAS!” yelled another, livid. “We beat you by ten points!”

The dispute was catching attention now, and Darko turned around to see. He’d heard arguments like this before, and could sense a fight.

It sounded like one of the men started to say, “Pay up!” but an elbow collided with the back of his head. Darko quickly grabbed the bread and left as the place plunged into a skirmish. Masuyo followed.

Back out on the street, they walked back towards the tower. It was almost three o’clock. The city was somewhat empty and peaceful.

On a street corner, while waiting for the light, Darko saw a pack of birds fluttering near the ground. He still had some of the bread from the Sidelight Cafe. It was fun for him to watch the birds flock to the food when he threw it on the ground, and he enjoyed the sight until he heard the voice.

“You there!” The voice was deep and distorted; its owner wore a dark suit and mask. It was a Tokyo Enforcer. “Were those your provisions?” He was advancing fast.

“What, the bread?” Darko was nervous, having very little exposure to the authorities in Sky City.

“Pace your hands atop your head! Remain silent!” The Enforcer shoved Darko into a light post, bound his hands, and the recording began.

Any struggle or signs of struggle will warrant further prosecution. Remain calm. You will be taken to local facilities. Remain silent. Any struggle or signs of struggle…

“I don’t understand! Why am I being arrested?” Darko began to panic. Masuyo stood by, watching.

“No citizen may offer provisions to wildlife unless licensed or permitted by authorities,” the Enforcer droned robotically. “Animal Care Act 2006… Stand back citizen!”

Masuyo had furtively moved closer. He caught Darko’s eye, and smiled as he whispered, “Right in the face, nah? Good luck.”

And he walked the other way down the street, leaving Darko to contemplate his choices and their consequences.