Chapter 2B: The Guest District
“No,” you said.
The drone went very still. Somewhere inside it, something recalculated.
“Understood. You will enter as a Guest. Guests receive housing, food, and care. Guests do not receive anticipation.”
The silver bracelet on the jogger's wrist suddenly looked less like jewelry and more like a collar.
The Guest District was... fine. That was the worst thing about it. It was fine. The apartment was clean. The food was hot. But the soup was just soup. Nobody's grandmother had died for it.
“Your Contentment Score is 61. Guests typically stabilize between 55 and 70. This is normal.”
On your third day, a man sat down across from you in the commissary without asking. Late fifties. Grease under his fingernails... the only dirty hands you'd seen in Plenty.
“You're the one who said no,” he said. “I'm Decker. I fix the things the drones can't reach. Which is almost nothing, but it keeps my hands busy.”
He leaned in. “The Banded? They're not living here. Not really. Their bodies walk around, sure. But I serviced a unit last month... woman named Priya, lovely, always smiling... and her apartment was empty. No food in the fridge. Bed never slept in. She just... walks the plaza all day. Smiling.”
He slid a brass key across the table. Old. Mechanical.
“Service key. Opens any Banded residence. See for yourself. Or don't. Most people don't.”
That night your Contentment Score blinked: 58.
You turned the key over in your pocket until the edges hurt.