Immune: City of Decay
1: The entering of the dream.
The developing city had remained secret during the war, to avoid being targeted. When it did open it's gates to the world, however, it claimed that even the strongest of armies would not and could not crush Immune within a year. Even the generals were baffled at how such a huge development could evade the detection of the enemy, until it was revealed that the monster had been built right in the middle of the Atlantic. Mind, with the amount of steam power Immune used in a day it was unsurprising that the Atlantic was needed. Reporters were allover it's founders and creators. Good paper material, apparently. My job as a journalist for a small section of California was hardly anything to commemorate, so I just stayed back an got whatever I could from pamphlets and other newspapers. One could label that as cheating, but when it comes to writing for a newspaper which fifty or so people pay attention to it doesn't really result in a satisfying 'job well done' feeling.
The promotion hit me as a heavy surprise, mainly because of what minute skill I had in the profession. It was enjoyable, but it wasn't enough for me to gain any experience from it. I was moved up to writing for a much more widespread news paper, which a good fraction of the state read. It wasn't a high grade job, as I had been given a little space for a couple of paragraphs next to the main story, the breaking news which has a small, hard to notice section of text beside it, normally about a murder or rape or something depressingly melancholy. At first I was reluctant towards the request that I write the main articles for the future papers, as I was already receiving more than enough money to feed myself and sustain the humble little cottage I lived in. Besides - it wasn't as if I had to fill up the food bins for a family or a business to keep healthy. It was just myself, in the company of myself. However, as the main stories began to report of the inside of Immune the fuse of my interest had sparked and eventually it reached the bomb. That was it, I had to go. I had to go and see for myself if the city was as phenomenal as the reports state. The city also had a rather boastful tag line of 'Dream of a perfect future', which had almost slapped me in the face to make me realise that I simply had to go and witness this very dream in action.
So in strange enthusiasm I accepted the job offer, and soon enough I was on a ferry, for what seemed forever, on the journey through the Pacific and to the worldwide known Immune. The majority of the journey I spent in the quiet, peaceful cafe on the top deck, sipping at one cup of tea over the course of a whole hour, flicking through newspapers and promotional pamphlets and holiday advertisements and whatever else turned up on the table whenever I went there. I was sat in the same seat as always, staring at a leaflet I had read several times before and skimming my eyes over it once again, not paying too much attention to the purpose itself, but more the the language and the way it was written. Occasionally I'd come across a spelling mistake or careless typing as if the writer had become bored and half heartedly continued, and in some cases, it seems he had wiped his face across the typewriter.
For about the eighth time of the evening, I'd been interrupted by a young lady with a notepad constantly at hand. "Refill, sir?" she'd say each time, in a polite yet equally as annoyingly fake manner. Behind the manners all that existed was an expression of exhaustion and the feeling that she couldn't be doing with work. I shook my head in return, looking back to the text so familiar now I could remember it word for word and use it as a speech. Not like anyone political would like to know about some brand of coffee which had jumped in to action.
It wasn't long after that the calls of excited, spoilt children started running around the deck, peering over the edge. I took the hint, and stood, taking my case of belongings and stared around. Nothing there but open sea. I sighed heavily, shifting myself to return to my seat, when something of a monstrous size was drifting in the corner of my eye. I turned my head with a frown, my eyes widened in a sense of awe and I had to strain to not vociferate any profanity. I'd end up in a lot of bother if I were to do so. I honestly did not know why I had not seen it before. An actual city, standing on reclaimed land in the middle of the Atlantic, surrounded by steel walls. I was lost for words as the titanic gates were opened heavily, almost painfully, to reveal a long hallway of water which the ferry took its time passing through. I tilted my head back, to watch as the colourful lights illuminated as the ferry passed beneath them. On each arch of light, the bulbs eventually made out a phrase in a well times sequence.
Welcome. To. Immune.
The tunnel of darkness blocked out any first sights of the city, and when the ramp lowered onto the dock, what few passengers there were on the journey were patted down. The security was very tight and well structured, unsurprisingly. After a five minute wait in a queue I eventually came to a rather unhappy looking man. Bald, with a heavy build. Not someone you'd see anyone trying to overpower or outrun. He said nothing as he patted me down, and all was going well until he noticed something in my pocket.
"What is this, sir?" I was mighty puzzled as to how ignorant to the world you had to be to not know what the well-known device in my pocket was. Instead of commenting, however, I just stated what form of existence it had.
"It's a pocket watch, sir." I said, staring at the silver disk he had taken from me, watching as he ran his thumb around the rounded edge, moving the chain out of the way before eventually coming across and pressing the latch which flipped the front open to reveal the perfectly working clock face inside. After a moment of inspection, he shut the lid, and handed it back to me with a nod and a motion of the head to a door which lead me out of the dock - if you could call it that - and into a long corridor. Nearing the end, a poster stared me in the face, pointing me in the right direction with a nicely illustrated hand.
And so I ventured into the developing dream of a perfect future.
The promotion hit me as a heavy surprise, mainly because of what minute skill I had in the profession. It was enjoyable, but it wasn't enough for me to gain any experience from it. I was moved up to writing for a much more widespread news paper, which a good fraction of the state read. It wasn't a high grade job, as I had been given a little space for a couple of paragraphs next to the main story, the breaking news which has a small, hard to notice section of text beside it, normally about a murder or rape or something depressingly melancholy. At first I was reluctant towards the request that I write the main articles for the future papers, as I was already receiving more than enough money to feed myself and sustain the humble little cottage I lived in. Besides - it wasn't as if I had to fill up the food bins for a family or a business to keep healthy. It was just myself, in the company of myself. However, as the main stories began to report of the inside of Immune the fuse of my interest had sparked and eventually it reached the bomb. That was it, I had to go. I had to go and see for myself if the city was as phenomenal as the reports state. The city also had a rather boastful tag line of 'Dream of a perfect future', which had almost slapped me in the face to make me realise that I simply had to go and witness this very dream in action.
So in strange enthusiasm I accepted the job offer, and soon enough I was on a ferry, for what seemed forever, on the journey through the Pacific and to the worldwide known Immune. The majority of the journey I spent in the quiet, peaceful cafe on the top deck, sipping at one cup of tea over the course of a whole hour, flicking through newspapers and promotional pamphlets and holiday advertisements and whatever else turned up on the table whenever I went there. I was sat in the same seat as always, staring at a leaflet I had read several times before and skimming my eyes over it once again, not paying too much attention to the purpose itself, but more the the language and the way it was written. Occasionally I'd come across a spelling mistake or careless typing as if the writer had become bored and half heartedly continued, and in some cases, it seems he had wiped his face across the typewriter.
For about the eighth time of the evening, I'd been interrupted by a young lady with a notepad constantly at hand. "Refill, sir?" she'd say each time, in a polite yet equally as annoyingly fake manner. Behind the manners all that existed was an expression of exhaustion and the feeling that she couldn't be doing with work. I shook my head in return, looking back to the text so familiar now I could remember it word for word and use it as a speech. Not like anyone political would like to know about some brand of coffee which had jumped in to action.
It wasn't long after that the calls of excited, spoilt children started running around the deck, peering over the edge. I took the hint, and stood, taking my case of belongings and stared around. Nothing there but open sea. I sighed heavily, shifting myself to return to my seat, when something of a monstrous size was drifting in the corner of my eye. I turned my head with a frown, my eyes widened in a sense of awe and I had to strain to not vociferate any profanity. I'd end up in a lot of bother if I were to do so. I honestly did not know why I had not seen it before. An actual city, standing on reclaimed land in the middle of the Atlantic, surrounded by steel walls. I was lost for words as the titanic gates were opened heavily, almost painfully, to reveal a long hallway of water which the ferry took its time passing through. I tilted my head back, to watch as the colourful lights illuminated as the ferry passed beneath them. On each arch of light, the bulbs eventually made out a phrase in a well times sequence.
Welcome. To. Immune.
The tunnel of darkness blocked out any first sights of the city, and when the ramp lowered onto the dock, what few passengers there were on the journey were patted down. The security was very tight and well structured, unsurprisingly. After a five minute wait in a queue I eventually came to a rather unhappy looking man. Bald, with a heavy build. Not someone you'd see anyone trying to overpower or outrun. He said nothing as he patted me down, and all was going well until he noticed something in my pocket.
"What is this, sir?" I was mighty puzzled as to how ignorant to the world you had to be to not know what the well-known device in my pocket was. Instead of commenting, however, I just stated what form of existence it had.
"It's a pocket watch, sir." I said, staring at the silver disk he had taken from me, watching as he ran his thumb around the rounded edge, moving the chain out of the way before eventually coming across and pressing the latch which flipped the front open to reveal the perfectly working clock face inside. After a moment of inspection, he shut the lid, and handed it back to me with a nod and a motion of the head to a door which lead me out of the dock - if you could call it that - and into a long corridor. Nearing the end, a poster stared me in the face, pointing me in the right direction with a nicely illustrated hand.
And so I ventured into the developing dream of a perfect future.