It's an unfortunate matter of fact that 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇'𝐒 𝐂𝐘𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘 is a profound &. all-encompassing iceberg; streets lined from building to building in beautiful eye-catching neon lights are merely a tableau of capitalistic boom, obscuring a vast panorama of corruption spread outward from the root.
Skyscrapers of the megalopolis looming amidst the grid-embedded sky's horizon. Insectoid-legged vehicles soaring down the expressways. Vivid cyan, orange, yellow, fuchsia primarily take up the urban view⸻in between those hues: navy blue &. mint green to fill the synthetic dreamspace.
Right here, in the Deep Web district, Addisons can be found standing at every turn. Bright &. beaming grins lying in wait to prey upon the average passerby. Expensive products on display wherever glances—billboards, signposts, bus stops, windows. Presented in flashy formats: Flashy GIFs and WebMs. Short-form videos. Annoying audio clips. Fancy eye-catching transition effects programmed in CSS &. Javascript that start to play as one briskly walks past. You name it, it's there.
Never a dull moment; never a place for the eyes to simply stop &. rest. At least⸻not here.
Not in 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 of the city. ❝Here❞ is precisely where dreams aren't even offered the space to conjure; swallowed whole by ever-shifting algorithms.
It's technically early afternoon hours, as solely indicated by the digital clock forever looming above in the grid-cast sky drenched in eternal night. Scamley Sanguigni finds himself making a nonchalant egress from a virtual bakery, 𝐃𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐁𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒. In one hand, a warm &. flaky croissant stuffed with chocolate mousse; in between each thin pastry layer is sweet, satisfying metadata to quickly replenish his energy. A quick &. easy transaction. Of course⸻he offered the workers there quite the fat tip in cold, hard Dark Dollars in overly-generous recompense for their service. He has an upstanding reputation to uphold, after all.
As the underboss continues to make his rounds throughout the lively city lights—something catches him off guard. Scamley pauses in place. Antennae twitch, unsettled, as a fresh signal assaults his bulbous receptors. Base of his nose crinkles in a sneer; he can't pinpoint what it is. Something feels off, as the radiating wavelength grows stronger by the passing second. Enough to make his temples pulse in agitation.
Taking another bite of his croissant to self-soothe before he witnesses the thorn-prick to his senses but a mere moment later: the sight of a Darkner evidently not from around here. Antennae perk up in abrupt bewilderment;
( ... Who, in the ANGEL-given fuck-of-a-shit, is that? )
Despite the other being a bright golden hue, enough to outshine the cool color palette of the realm around them both? Scamley's uncanny-valley alarm goes off⸻as indicated via the specific sound signature of this frequency that gives off only a hint of the Light World's resonance⸻purely in the manner that it hums in perfect harmony. &. yet it's distinctly not the signal of a natural born Lightner in the flesh; he can still hear the subtle crashing of water's tides reverberating beneath it: the same sound that he picks up from every other Darkner he comes across.
It's needless to say: this guy sticks out like a sore thumb.
When Scamley peers through holographic scanlines v-scrolling down the slope of his visage ad infinitum, he can spot the newcomer approaching from the opposing end of the cerulean blue pavement as if he's got nary a worry in the Universe to carry with him.
Frankly? ⸻ Scamley finds it naïve; so much so, to where his right antennae begins to curl back in annoyance. He wouldn't care, if it weren't for one super tiny, insignificant, delicate detail⸻
⸻No one here is genuinely happy.
Consider it an ironic twist of fate at the hands of a cybernetic Monarch who so-says she desires to compel precisely that, happiness.
( In fact, the only ones who ❝rightfully❞ walk with pep in their step are, unsurprisingly, the Addisons: being the least oppressed motherfuckers of all, the useless capitalistic shills that they are. )
Both Scamley's expression &. his body language soften into a nonchalant contrapposto, with an amicable smirk. He needs to learn more about this—this ... for sake of brevity, this half-Darkner. In spite of his own immediate displeasure, there's a chance the other could either bolster or hinder the end goal of the Syndicate's business, depending on what this guy's purpose for even being here could possibly be.
❛How's it going, pal?❜ He calls out to the other, while feigning a charming smile of pearly stark-whites; it's what Scamley does best, of course. ❛Nice afternoon today, isn't it?❜
Depending on the outcome, he'll make sure to report back to his father in the evening hours.
