[Chapter 1] Libertopolis: Chrome and Atoms

Chapter 1: The Electric Haze

This is a noir which takes place in the retro futuristic city of Libertopolis. In this world, there are robots and grit and mysteries to be solved by our main character, the private eye Rex Malone. The full story is available to our paid subscribers. If you want to become a subscriber, you can sign up right now for a 14-day free trial.

Without further ado, here is Chapter 1: The Electric Haze.

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It was just another Tuesday in Libertopolis. City of the Future, built yesterday. They'd sold it to us as a utopia, a shining beacon powered by the miracle of fusion, a temperate haven from the scorched south. What they got was this. Gleaming towers for the corporate gods up in the Spire District. But down here in the canyons, it was just the same old hustle, now wrapped in chrome and drenched in acid rain.

The elevated monorail car hummed along. It was the same hum that permeated every inch of Libertopolis: a constant subliminal thrum of the fusion cores buried deep below the surface that churned out the power to keep the neon bleeding. Outside the rain-streaked window, the city slid by in a blur of rusting chrome and shadows, occasionally highlighted by bright, flickering advertisements. Art Deco facades of skyscrapers clawed at the perpetually gray sky.

Rex Malone felt something wet strike his cheek. He looked up and saw the ceiling over him was leaking. How old were these monorail cars? Yet already they seemed to have the same decay that everything in the city shared.

He got up and walked to another empty seat at the other end of the car. Out his window was a maintenance drone emblazoned with a logo of General Dynamics Fusion Services. Everywhere you looked, robots. Welding girders on unfinished bridges, sweeping streets with unnerving persistence, or serving drinks with synthesized smiles. Each one tagged with an RRA barcode, a constant reminder of who owned what, and what didn't even count as being owned. They were property. Another commodity in the urban machine.

The monorail slowed, its hum shifting pitch as it approached the Neon Canyon Junction. Malone shifted in his seat and pulled his trenchcoat tighter. Just another chilly, miserable day.