3. Silent Fireworks
The moment I closed and locked the door, the outside humidity enveloped my body all at once.
This city was already humid by nature, but today it felt especially oppressive.
Looking up at the sky, I saw fireworks rising across the city.
Most of them were patterned after deep-sea creatures, and they made almost no sound—no explosions. Likely because so many people were concerned about noise pollution.
At that moment, another memory flickered back.
On humid days like this, these silent fireworks were always set off.
In this abnormally hot and humid climate—almost as if Mars had turned tropical—these fireworks were launched incessantly in an attempt to combat the moisture.
The idea was to evaporate the humidity with the heat of the fireworks, but absurdly, it felt like they were only making the air damper.
At the very least, the humidity in my mind was definitely rising.
To think they'd deliberately choose deep-sea creature patterns.
The mayor of this city must be quite the spiteful character. I had no memory of what kind of humanoid robot the mayor of Tropical Night City was, but I couldn't shake that feeling.
In any case, the reason this city's nights were so bright was largely due to these fireworks. Reducing humidity while increasing brightness—what a futile, frustrating effort.
I passed through the corridor, entered the elevator, and headed to the first floor. My apartment was in a 125-story building, and it took a whole three seconds to descend. When choosing a place to live, I had wanted a lower floor, but economic constraints led to this. A common story.
Another memory resurfaced.
I wasn't exactly wealthy. I lived a life where I had no choice but to reside on a high floor.
Trapped in the elevator for those three seconds, my mounting frustration was slightly alleviated when the doors opened, and I burst out like a sprinter at the starting line.
Stepping through the apartment's entrance and finally outside, the humidity seemed to amplify even further.
A few stray goldfish approached, seeking food. I waved them off mercilessly with both hands.
Their food was memories. If I, with my already depleted memory reserves, fed them, I'd be left with nothing.
"Go ask someone with more memories to spare!"
With that, the stray goldfish swam away, their plump faces brimming with dissatisfaction.
It seemed my words got through to them clearly.
They might even be sharper than the tropical fish I kept at home. Being strays, after all.
To survive in the wild, you have to keep your mind running at full capacity. Paradoxically, it's those in primitive environments who develop higher intelligence.
I thought of the carefree faces of my pet tropical fish at home and couldn't help but shake my head with a sigh.
The endless fireworks, regardless of altitude, enveloped the entire city—the vast boulevard facing my high-rise apartment.
As their light and heat stimulated my body's sensors, I stepped into the city.