Page 60 of Remnants: Disruption
Culture
Three P.M, October 25th, 1030 A.D.
Containment isn’t a prison. It isn’t a punishment. It’s not even a treatment like they claim. It’s an execution. Remnants stick together. We solve our problems internally. We don’t need them to make those decisions for us.
Undisclosed Remnant, 1030 A.D.
The Casket isn’t exactly a poor neighborhood. Like most places in New Chicago, the community’s buildings and infrastructure are built with verticality in mind. But from the exterior, the region looks underfunded and neglected.
The Remnant population here never cared for outward appearances. It wouldn’t change how the rest of the city feels about us, anyways. The place could have been shining skyscrapers rivaling the business districts and the people would still find a reason to avoid it.
Still, the Casket knows me as Arya Skovsgaard. They know the other one, too, but their appearance would draw attention I don’t need now.
The lift platform speeds upwards, propelled by the varied pipes of Affliction. The internal bits of this mega-building look relatively clean despite its oxidized copper exterior matching the rest of the mega-buildings here.
It slows and opens to reveal one of the many eatery floors. Signs flash with provocative images of half-naked women and promises of delicious meals. Some of the lighting is legitimate old-world electricity. Though it’s refitted to abide by the changes in physics and engineering caused by the Disruptions.
It adds a certain coziness to an otherwise segregated section of the city. A place where existing is, at least, not an affront.
The Boilerhouse sits near the end of the row of buildings, its dark steel appearance offsets it from the others nearby. The signage glows with orange-tinted Affliction resembling a raging flame.
“Arya,” the bouncer—whose name I definitely forgot—greets as I reach the entrance. “Been some time.”
“I’ve been busy,” I say somewhat evasively. His muscles bulge a little as he shifts to the side. If I have to guess, his powers are likely terra in nature. Common amongst the strength-type Remnants.
He opens the door to the bar and gestures, a sad smile on his wide face. “I’ve heard.”
The place vibrates with movement as I make my way towards the bar itself. My height puts me well above the rest of the crowd who do, unfortunately, notice my presence. Some move out of the way while others are haphazardly pulled away by their friends.
“You certainly make an entrance,” a deeper voice resonates from the roped off area of the club.
Beyond it is a selection of similarly themed dark seats that look much more comfortable than the metallic stools and chairs in the main bar.
And sitting upon one, his feet propped up and his body clothed in a dark robe, is Kronos himself.
On either side sit two gorgeous women who I’ve never seen, nor met. Though they both radiate power that probably sits at Tier 2. Not powerful enough to be a threat, but definitely enough to end a fight.
Though if Kronos couldn’t end a fight, then the fight was likely already lost.
His head is shaved, but he otherwise looks ageless. Like a twenty-something college dropout with a perfectly quaffed mustache. The entire ensemble makes him look like he’s dressing as an evil gang lord.
“You look ridiculous in that robe,” I say, giving the VIP bouncer a look.
He obliges and unlocks the chain. I step over the threshold, and the rest of the room fades into silence, leaving just the quiet conversations in the closed off section.
“Cool, yeah?” Kronos asks, giving me a raised eyebrow. “Lucille here can produce a dampening forcefield.”
“Dampening what, exactly,” I ask, glancing at the young woman on his left. She gives me a strange grin that doesn’t seem forced but almost feels predatory on the young brunette.
“Anything I want it to,” she says, her voice holding a strange accent that probably puts her across the sea in whatever is left of Europe. Probably a child of refugees.
“Powers?” I ask and she shrugs.
“Sometimes. Depends how powerful.”
I give Kronos an impressed look. Her power hasn’t done anything to mine, but I can’t exactly prove Death Communion with alive people.
Well, I could, but I'd have to kill them.
