solid metal door behind me. It clunked shut with a sharp thud, various locking mechanisms slotting into place. Striding out into the lush, wood-paneled, carpeted corridor outside, I headed to the elevator that would take me down to street level.
W 72 nd was a perpetual nightmare and was no different that morning. City sounds hit my ears; horns tooting, distant protestors yelling, eco-friendly vehicles skidding by and traipsing vagrants echoing their vitriol around the tall housing blocks. I wished I had the time to shout along with them, it might have helped me that day.
The Dakota still had the look of some sort of grand residence, but only because of a thick electric fence around its perimeter, plus a number of other high-security measures that had been implemented to protect its period magnificence. Many other prewar apartment buildings in the vicinity could easily be misplaced as dosshouses, crack dens, makeshift 24/7s or simply an opportunity for one of the city’s numerous graffiti artists .
I wanted to call Francesca and ask to borrow her driver but there was no time. I would brave an automated, bulky yellow hover-cab. I just hoped it didn’t stink of piss. I loaded my Cab GPS app and called for one, seeing on the screen that I was in a queue. I contemplated my boss’s car again but then, I watched as the queue gradually decreased and bumped me up the ladder.
I realized my impatience had something to do with the fact I was leaving behind my natural habitat. I was nervous. As much as I despised the city sometimes, it was my world. My dominion. I knew it like nowhere else. Ignorance is bliss? I wondered what might await me in England. The country my aunt had spent her whole life living in was also the place my parents had left decades ago ‒ and they never talked about it. I was going in blind. It had to be civilized, right? They would surely have cabs, trains and perhaps even bicycles? Shut the fuck up, Seraph , I told myself. My mind was racing with thoughts. Truth was, I had not left NYC in over 20 years and nowhere else existed, to me. I decided I would have to change my outlook, and, quick. I was a tourist all of a sudden, not just a grieving relative, but an explorer venturing to another continent. The possibilities that awaited me made my mouth twitch. Funeral and grieving, aside, I contemplated a way I could make the trip worthwhile in other ways…
Stood on the sidewalk on the corner of Central Park West, I eventually got a cab and keyed my destination into the cabbie computer. Heading across town, I watched unkempt tower blocks pass by – structures that had deteriorated with the battering elements of frequent storms, dust and pollution. I cringed (as I always did) at the sight of the 60ft concrete wall that surrounded the entire city. If it was built to prevent flood damage, I was Mary fucking Poppins. Many parks, streets, houses and public buildings were crudely swept out of the way to make way for the terrible Manhattan Dam, as it had become known. In reality it was just another barrier to escape. Its actual purpose was to enable greater population control – and surveillance. So many flooded the city in the wake of 2023’s tragedy and the place exploded into a hotbed for crime. New York had become Officium’s main sphere of business and was now their HQ, from which they felt they could run the world.
T hrough the colossal iron gates of the U-Card checkpoint on Manhattan Bridge, and across to Brooklyn, there were some sorry sights to see out of the window. Busloads of citizens were transported out to New Jersey to continue their lives of drudgery in the various factories and power stations struggling to keep the city alive. With families and marriage a thing of the past, few really cared about putting down roots, and dozens upon dozens of hobos still slept on the sidewalks – those who lay their hat wherever they found themselves come nightfall.
At the gigantic, automated reception of the
W 72 nd was a perpetual nightmare and was no different that morning. City sounds hit my ears; horns tooting, distant protestors yelling, eco-friendly vehicles skidding by and traipsing vagrants echoing their vitriol around the tall housing blocks. I wished I had the time to shout along with them, it might have helped me that day.
The Dakota still had the look of some sort of grand residence, but only because of a thick electric fence around its perimeter, plus a number of other high-security measures that had been implemented to protect its period magnificence. Many other prewar apartment buildings in the vicinity could easily be misplaced as dosshouses, crack dens, makeshift 24/7s or simply an opportunity for one of the city’s numerous graffiti artists .
I wanted to call Francesca and ask to borrow her driver but there was no time. I would brave an automated, bulky yellow hover-cab. I just hoped it didn’t stink of piss. I loaded my Cab GPS app and called for one, seeing on the screen that I was in a queue. I contemplated my boss’s car again but then, I watched as the queue gradually decreased and bumped me up the ladder.
I realized my impatience had something to do with the fact I was leaving behind my natural habitat. I was nervous. As much as I despised the city sometimes, it was my world. My dominion. I knew it like nowhere else. Ignorance is bliss? I wondered what might await me in England. The country my aunt had spent her whole life living in was also the place my parents had left decades ago ‒ and they never talked about it. I was going in blind. It had to be civilized, right? They would surely have cabs, trains and perhaps even bicycles? Shut the fuck up, Seraph , I told myself. My mind was racing with thoughts. Truth was, I had not left NYC in over 20 years and nowhere else existed, to me. I decided I would have to change my outlook, and, quick. I was a tourist all of a sudden, not just a grieving relative, but an explorer venturing to another continent. The possibilities that awaited me made my mouth twitch. Funeral and grieving, aside, I contemplated a way I could make the trip worthwhile in other ways…
Stood on the sidewalk on the corner of Central Park West, I eventually got a cab and keyed my destination into the cabbie computer. Heading across town, I watched unkempt tower blocks pass by – structures that had deteriorated with the battering elements of frequent storms, dust and pollution. I cringed (as I always did) at the sight of the 60ft concrete wall that surrounded the entire city. If it was built to prevent flood damage, I was Mary fucking Poppins. Many parks, streets, houses and public buildings were crudely swept out of the way to make way for the terrible Manhattan Dam, as it had become known. In reality it was just another barrier to escape. Its actual purpose was to enable greater population control – and surveillance. So many flooded the city in the wake of 2023’s tragedy and the place exploded into a hotbed for crime. New York had become Officium’s main sphere of business and was now their HQ, from which they felt they could run the world.
T hrough the colossal iron gates of the U-Card checkpoint on Manhattan Bridge, and across to Brooklyn, there were some sorry sights to see out of the window. Busloads of citizens were transported out to New Jersey to continue their lives of drudgery in the various factories and power stations struggling to keep the city alive. With families and marriage a thing of the past, few really cared about putting down roots, and dozens upon dozens of hobos still slept on the sidewalks – those who lay their hat wherever they found themselves come nightfall.
At the gigantic, automated reception of the
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