EDM and others
Funny thing, life. Even after the so-called “End” of the world, after the pollution of the air and land and sea reached such levels that the atmosphere itself became toxic, life went on. Stranger and more varied than before. And, as violent and futile as it had ever been, so did civilisation… of a sort.
Humanity had been cleaved in two. The most numerous were the pitiful, grovelling underclass of Crawlers. Natural selection had bred a human with tough callused skin, to resist acid rain and ultraviolet radiation, and a digestive system that rivalled a starving hyena’s. With basic air and water purification, a Crawler could lead a physically demanding, but comfortable life in the service of the Smog Lords.
The Smog Lords were few, compared to those they ruled. They’d been the few humans rich or daring enough to volunteer for a highly experimental procedure, and become Cyborgs. But as the years had passed, and the memories of the old world blew away like toxic dust, they became Gods and Kings. Practically immortal from the moment of their rebirth, some were merely crumbling bones held together by artificial muscles and carbon fiber skin. Other retained more of their flesh, breathing and feeding on the toxins themselves, patching their wounds from the occasional assassination attempt or violent coup with whatever augmentations they could manage.
Two of them surveyed their domain. Part of a city of part of a country that was once Canada was now a highly profitable Water Mine. Beneath the surface were unpolluted streams that had flowed undisturbed for millions of years. One of them retrieved a bottle from his personal cabinet; Alaska, 2089. An unspeakably rare vintage from what had remained of the Northern Ice Caps.
“…Happened again, huh?” Their champagne flutes knocked with a delicate ‘ting’. “What was it this time?”
“Fuckin’… I dunno, mang. Someone found a stash of cans I’d been keeping on lockdown… ” There was a sharp, sucking inhale. Only one of the two old companions still needed to breathe. “Y’know, in case the algae crop didn’t come in… for a fuckin’ emergency. And then word got out that I was hoarding shit and next thing I know everyone’s loading their life savings into their guns…”
The first nodded. Bullets were as good as cold hard cash. Back in the day, he’d suggested bottlecaps for the new currency, for… personal reasons. Something he couldn’t quite recall. But at least ammo didn’t have Pepsi-to-Coke exchange rates.
“You know you’re always welcome here.” He took the empty champagne flute and set it on the table, along with his own. He hadn’t had a drink in decades, but it was the gesture that counts. “…Do you really have to smoke indoors, though, Skrills?”
The younger Smog Lord laughed, his eyes crinkling into a smile, his mouth invisible behind his ever-present filter-feeder. “I’m trying to cut back.”
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This is… perf…