The ramp from the garage spilled us out not onto a sun-drenched street, but into a canyon. A deep, multi-leveled chasm of molded permacrete and reinforced plasteel, where the sky was a thin, smog-hazed ribbon of dull blue far above. The sudden shift from the enclosed, humming garage to this overwhelming vertical sprawl was a sensory detonation to me.
Sound hit me first. It was a low, pervasive roar, not the chaotic cacophony of honking and shouting I remembered from my old life, but a unified, mechanical drone, like a beehive the size of a planet. It was the sound of a million electric engines, the whir of mag-lev public transports on elevated tracks, and the thrum of immense climate control units fighting a losing battle against the industrial miasma.
Then came the smell. It was a complex, layered odor. Underneath the expected notes of exhaust and ozone was a strange, almost sweet chemical tang—the scent of the air scrubbers working overtime. It was cut through with the greasy, enticing aroma of street food vendors whose carts were wedged into any available alcove, and the faint, ever-present undertone of humanity, of too many bodies living in too close a proximity.
But it was the sight that truly stole the breath from my lungs. Cathy merged into a traffic flow that was nothing short of miraculous. The road itself was a wide, six-lane artery, but it was stacked. I craned my neck to see through the windshield, my jaw going slack. Above us, another identical road carried traffic in the opposite direction. And above that, another. The city wasn't just wide; it was deep, a tiered wedding cake of infrastructure.
The buildings were the true monsters. They didn't just scrape the sky; they gutted it. Spires of chrome and black glass soared hundreds of stories, their peaks vanishing into the brownish haze. Their surfaces were not static. They were living skin, covered in sprawling, pulsating neon advertisements and light-based holograms that danced and shimmered with impossible clarity.
A gigantic, semi-transparent woman in a sleek bodysuit, easily fifty stories tall, winked and blew a kiss before dissolving into the logo for a brand of synth-coffee. Next to it, a cascading waterfall of Kanji characters, glowing electric blue, advertised a new VR immersion suite. The light from these displays reflected off the windows of opposing towers, creating a dizzying, endless feedback loop of information and advertisement. It was beautiful and horrifying, a visual assault that was impossible to ignore.
"Pretty intense, huh?" Cathy said, her voice pulling me from my stupor. Her hands were relaxed on the wheel, a clearly showing her familiarity with this madness. "You get used to it… Mostly."
"I don't think you can ever get used to this," I breathed, my face practically pressed against the cool glass of the window. 'It's... everything I ever saw in fictions usually, but here…it' real. And quite denser as well...'
The traffic, despite its terrifying speed and proximity, was flawlessly orderly. There were no sudden lane changes, no honking, no road rage. Every vehicle, from our boxy van to the sleek, teardrop-shaped personal cars that zipped past us, was connected. I watched as our van and the cars around us moved as a single, coordinated entity, adjusting speed and spacing with machinelike precision. The AI coordination was absolute, making human error intentionally engineered out of the equation. It was efficient, and it was utterly terrifying in its perfection.
Amidst the steel and neon, I began to notice the deliberate, desperate attempts at humanity. On a terrace jutting out from the 50th floor of a residential tower, I saw the flash of green—a synthetic turf soccer field, with tiny figures running around. Another building featured a multi-level climbing wall bolted to its side. Parks, little more than postage stamps of vibrant green, were wedged between monolithic structures, each one crowded with people seeking a gasp of non-recycled air.
"It's not all bad," Cathy said, following my gaze to one such park. "They try… The green spaces, the public courts. It's expensive, but they try. Outdoor time is... valued." She said the last word with a weight that implied it was a luxury good, because it is, I searched that before.
We drove on, descending through the stacked levels via a wide, spiraling off-ramp that offered breathtaking, nausea-inducing views of the city's depths. The higher levels were cleaner, brighter. The further we descended, the darker, grimier, and more industrial it became. The ads here were for cheaper, more visceral things: stim-packs, discounted nutrient paste, and lurid enticements for brothels that promised "cleanliness and discretion."
Finally, we reached the civic sector. The architecture changed, becoming more brutalist and imposing. The glittering neon was replaced by the stark, official glow of government sigils and the flashing lights of emergency vehicles. We pulled up in front of a severe, grey building that looked like a bunker. A simple, laser-etched sign read: Genomic Management & Reproductive Directive - Sector 7.
Cathy found a parking spot in a nearby automated rotary structure. "I'll parked the car for a bit," she said, her voice soft. "You head in firs, I am sure they will be waiting for you, just ask for help if you need something…"
"Sure,". I nodded, my throat suddenly dry.
The comfort of the van, of her presence, was a warm bubble I didn't want to leave. Stepping out was like diving into cold water. The civic air felt different—sterile and charged with authority. I know why I felt this way, it was Old Sael habits and refusal to be here at any capacity. Then again, to me all of this discomfort had to be shoved down, I am here to get things done, so, it had to be done. The entrance was a pair of sliding glass doors that hissed open silently. Inside, the air was cold and smelled of antiseptic and ozone. The lobby was vast, echoing, and sparsely populated.
There's a few men inside, some looking nervous, others with the hollow-eyed resignation of repeat visitors, sat on hard benches. Their faces were etched with a shared anxiety. Digital kiosks lined one wall, their screens displaying a simple interface. I approached one. A pleasant, gender-neutral AI voice guided me.
"Please state your name and the nature of your visit."
"Sael Hardcox. I'm here to... finalize paperwork for a mandated duty extension. Donation completion..." The words felt clumsy and alien in my mouth.
"Scanning," the voice chimed. A thin red laser swept over my face from a discreet aperture. "Identity confirmed. Sael Hardcox. Appointment with Case Manager Reis is logged. Please proceed to elevator bank C, floor 12. Room 1204."
The A.I was quick and precise, I shrugged and head to the elevator, ride was silent and tense, that my palm felt a bit clammy. The doors opened onto a hallway of blinding white. The doors were unmarked save for numbers. 1204. I took a deep breath and knocked.
"Enter." The voice was unmistakable. Clipped, professional, devoid of warmth.
I opened the door to a room that was the physical embodiment of Mrs. Reis's personality. Spartan, Efficient, and Cold. She got very simplistic interior, A metal desk, two chairs, a large viewscreen on the wall currently displaying a rotating double-helix DNA sequence. And behind the desk, she sat there, working.
Mrs. Reis looked up from her data-slate. Her black hair was pulled back into a severe bun so tight it looked painful. Her eyes, a flinty grey, assessed me in a single, sweeping glance that felt more invasive than any, body scanner. She wore an impeccably tailored grey suit that did nothing to soften her sharp edges. If anything, it amplified them. She was handsome in a way that was utterly intimidating.
"Mr. Hardcox," she said, not as a greeting, but a statement of fact. "You are punctual…. An impressive improvement." She gestured to the chair opposite her. "Please, Sit down."
"Thank you,". I did as I was told, it felt like a schoolboy in the principal's office.
"I have reviewed the form you have filled for a donation session. And since the initial analysis of your previous sample is promising… with it being Viable, healthy and motile count is within acceptable parameters.". She spoke to me objectively.
"Voluntary donation will qualifies you for the standard three-month extension on your primary mandated duty. Do you understand the terms, so far?".
"I... I think so. Three months before I have to... proceed with the next phase.". I stuttered like a little shit; it annoyed me that I reacted this way.
"Correct." She tapped her slate and slid it across the desk toward me. "This is the formal acknowledgment of your successful donation and the conditional extension. It also authorizes the reinstated subsidies to all Hardcox household accounts… Please read it. and if you want to proceed... Then sign it below,"
My eyes scanned the dense legalese. It was all there. The million-dollar fine, the five-year prison term, the three-month countdown now officially begun. At the bottom was a figure. A payment for services rendered. It wasn't much, but it was meant to incentivize people to donate their sperms, and made the process much more palatable. I picked up the stylus, and signed it, there is not much to think anyway.
"Excellent," Mrs. Reis said, retrieving the slate. Her fingers, I noticed, were long and precise. She made a note on her screen.
"Your file is updated. Hardcox family subsidies will be reapply on all of the accounts in an hour...". She said as she approved my now updated files.
She didn't look up from her slate. "Compliance requires no thanks, Mr. Hardcox. It is simply your duty. Up next is full and detailed medical checkup and in-depth consultation, before we begin your Sperm donation process… This card will navigate you to the medical wing, you may leave now, Mr. Hardcox".
I stood up, my legs feeling slightly weak. "Thank you, Miss Reis."
The door hissed shut behind me, sealing her back into her sterile world of data and deadlines. I stood in the bright, silent hallway, the reality of my situation crashing down. With a single simple gesture from me, our family subsidies were restored, just like that. I wondered how long had that subsidies were froze.
'Just jack off into a bottle… is it that hard? Damn this kid…'. The entire family were suffering, yet the old Sael doesn't even give a flying fuck.
'Now that I think about it and got a careful look… Mrs. Reis aren't really the villain, she's just a government worker… and she is a very good one…'. I thought as I pushed the elevator button and ride it down.
'Not to mention, she's kinda hot…'. Now that I was able to think about the woman, calmly I find her utter coldness, her severe, unattainable beauty, her total control over the situation... it was inexplicably, perversely arousing. The way her suit jacket pulled across her shoulders, the sharp line of her jaw, the dismissive authority in her voice—it sparked a defiant, hungry fire in my gut. I wanted to shatter that composure. I wanted to see a crack in that perfect, professional facade.
'Heh, am I about to find out that I am an 'S'?'. I can help but chuckled at myself.