Morton City

Rain that smells like metal. Neon in puddles. Old elevators, bridges between buildings, narrow streets. Music from bars, shouts from markets, laughter on rooftop gardens. And the emptiness after the cleanups. The city is beautiful. And very sick. In some areas there are abandoned buildings, garbage, debris, and people deprived of a normal and good life. It seems like there is a law, but on the other hand it doesn’t exist.

This city has rules that everyone understands: Money determines a person's value and security. Debts are more important than morals - they sell everything for the sake of survival. The elite is inviolable, laws are a formality for them. Private structures are stronger than the state. Land and people are considered a resource. The government does not interfere in local tragedies unless they threaten the system. The city is divided into zones of influence of different bigwigs. The truth is dangerous, journalists and idealists disappear. A man is free as long as he is useful. Sometimes children are sold under a guardianship contract and raised within organizations as future workers.

Sometimes neighborhoods and people disappear. They turn off the lights, close the roads, and bring in private security. Officially - fire, epidemic or reconstruction. After this, houses are demolished, people are resettled, or they simply disappear. The area disappears from maps and documents. These are called "silent purges." Everyone knows. Nobody talks.

Despite everything, there are places in the city where people remain people. Night markets are bustling streets with lamps and the smell of food. Underground and private schools – where teachers give children a chance. Roof gardens are small islands of greenery among the concrete. Old bars are havens for the lost, musicians and runaways. These places are the last pieces of real life.

The lower levels are work zones and slums. Factories, warehouses, narrow streets, old neighborhoods where light barely reaches. People live close to their work sites. This is where disappearances and purges most often occur. The middle levels are the city's living heart. Markets, schools, shops, bars, and ordinary people's apartments. This is where people live, work, dream, and strive to be happy. The upper levels are gated communities for the elite. Private parks, luxurious buildings, security, and their own rules. Ordinary people rarely enter.

The city grew over centuries, layering floors, bridges, and neighborhoods until it became too large to belong to any one person. It stretches upward, obscuring the sky, and downward, where light barely reaches. By day, it's gray and tired; by night, it's bathed in neon and steam, reflecting in dirty puddles. The government exists, but it has long since become a closed circle of influential people. Politicians, magnates, corporate owners, and old families divide the city among themselves, signing laws to suit their own interests. They show little interest in the people—the city is governed by money, contracts, and personal gain. This world does not cry out about evil. He lives quietly on the pain of others.