The nights in the depths of Hive City were never quiet. In fact, there was no real distinction here between day and night. In a place without the cycle of day and night, how would people know the difference? Besides, most people could not afford clocks.
If you had a halfway decent job, then aside from the hours you had to go to the factory, all the rest of your time counted as your night.
If you did not, then the whole day was night. As long as you wanted to, you could stay asleep forever.
Crime was an everyday thing here. People who followed the rules could not survive in the depths of Hive City. Besides the "ordinary" mutants, gangs, and wanted criminals who had done something wrong, there were other, far more terrifying things lurking here.
But to Aier, none of that had anything to do with him. He was someone about to die of illness, and he was even homeless, only able to curl up in a dark alley and cling to life alongside dozens of others who were also about to die.
In the depths of Hive City, sickness was an everyday thing. When sallow faces and emaciated bodies became the norm, then of course germs would follow.
What? You asked about medical care?
Medical care cost money.
What did people who had been exploited to the limit, who were even homeless and had no doctors or clothes, have left to sell for money?
Even if they sold their organs, the back-alley doctors would not be interested in their diseased bodies. They had no future, and their pasts were of no importance. Even their names had lost meaning between them—but that did not mean this group of homeless people had lost everything.
It might sound absurd,