With his body wreathed in shadow, Damian casually made his way down into the garbage-filled alley below. Now surrounded by old, graffiti-filled walls, Damian looked to his left and right. He saw lights in either direction, and the chaotic sounds of an active nightlife were all around him.
"Guess there's not much difference," he muttered, before taking a left and moving towards what looked like a busy street. Along the way, he inspected the graffiti around him and nodded appreciatively. "Not bad… I guess misery truly does begets art."
With every step he took, he forced the anxiety about the situation at home further into the recesses of his mind, and allowed himself to feel curiosity and excitement at the prospects of this new world instead. Even if it looked like a turd now, with his knowledge and resources, he could turn it into something far better… under his benevolent leadership, of course.
Eventually, he stepped out of the shadowy alley, and into a crowded, dimly lit street. His designer boots splashed through filthy puddles, but their advanced material caused the dirt to slide right off.
With his hands casually stuck into his pockets, he looked at his surroundings, still hidden by shadows. His eyes reflected the pulsing neon lights that flickered across cracked pavement and buildings scarred by decades of neglect.
Towering, but dilapidated structures loomed overhead, their upper levels shimmering with vibrant holographic advertisements promising pleasures and escape, while their lower levels decayed under rusting scaffolds and broken windows patched haphazardly with plastic sheets.
The street was alive, packed with a diverse crowd that surged around street vendors selling dubious street food, cybernetic augmentations, and questionable pharmaceuticals openly from brightly-lit stalls. Curious, Damian mingled into the crowd, and started wandering to get an idea of where he'd ended up.
He came across street-level clubs and bars that spilled raucous laughter, bass-heavy music, and fights into the streets, with neon signs shining harsh, coloured lights on everything.
As he moved through streets, he noted the mixture of desperation and determination on the faces around him. A young woman brushed past him, her right arm entirely mechanical, its polished chrome marred by battle damage. Nearby, a group of men with glowing ocular implants watched the street carefully, clearly gang enforcers marking their territory.
"What does Nadine's information say about these implants, Nova?" Damian asked the AI curiously.
"With many humans incapable of wielding myst, they've taken to using other methods of protecting themselves against those that can," Nova's emotionless voice explained. "The implants are relatively sophisticated, but nothing noteworthy. They are simple mechanical and technological constructs."
Damian nodded thoughtfully as he weaved through the crowd as no more than a patch of shadow.
'Replacing body parts isn't unheard of among Eldkin, but it's usually only done out of necessity,' he thought to himself. 'Even if you turn the replacement into a catalyst, it can't actually be strengthened through myst, like flesh and blood can, but I guess that wouldn't matter to these people, anyway.'
He addressed Nova again: "Right, Mom told me about that. This is one of the worlds where some Eldkin ended up during the Cooperative's early years, correct?"
"Yes, Damian," Nova answered indifferently. "Although most Eldkin are unaware of Xelthari's involvement in the Eldkin's early years, they know that there was a time of chaos during the Cooperative's forming, when many Eldkin took stream-capable ships to set out on their own."
"Suicidal, but… I guess things must have been pretty bad back then," Damian acknowledged calmly.
Nova continued without acknowledging his remark: "According to the data, some Eldkin must have ended up on Earth, and mingled with the native humans. Eldkin genetic material has rapidly propagated throughout the human population since then, making many of them incapable of wielding myst without a catalyst."
Damian nodded, continuing to walk as he glanced at the far cleaner-looking inner city skyline in the distance. "So, I guess it's a safe assumption to say most of the ones that can still wield myst normally live in the nice part of town?"
"It would," Nova responded mechanically. "Although it is a relatively new situation. The data says that the existence of myst only became public knowledge about a hundred years ago. After many years of unrest, this society has essentially divided into two classes, as well as a third, very minor class."
"The ones capable of wielding myst naturally, meaning they are pure humans without any Eldkin blood, call themselves the highborn, and others gutterborn," she explained. "Then, the third class consists of those gutterborn who were lucky enough to get their hands on one of the few catalysts that the original Eldkin took with them."
While Nova explained some of the situation on this world, Damian continued moving through the crowds. One hand rested casually in his pocket, while the other played with a small locket around his neck. His neck was on a swivel, as he attempted to take in as much information as he could.
The government's mismanagement was clear, as trash overflowed from bins, and gathered in piles at street corners, where children played games amid broken bottles and discarded cyberwar.
Yet, despite the obvious decay, a fierce vitality thrived. Damian's eyes lingered on seemingly simple people painting impressive murals depicting rebellion, hope, and defiance against oppressive highborn corporations.
"This third class are called synths, and can wield myst like highborn, but they're looked down upon when it's discovered they're using a catalyst," Nova continued in Damian's mind. "Most of them choose to remain in the gutterborn districts, where they can rule like kings as prominent gang members or corrupt police."
Suddenly, Damian felt the movement of myst nearby, causing him to glance in that direction curiously. He immediately noticed an unassuming, weak-looking man, grinding the heel of his feet into the back of a far larger one with an expression of bored sadism. 3On his wrist rested a catalyst armband.
"It's almost worse there than in Eryndor," Damian chuckled to himself, indifferent to the scene as he moved on. "Luna would hate it…"
Unfortunately, that thought gave him a bout of homesickness, causing him to grip the locket a little tighter, before quickly shaking it off.
"Are there no true Eldkin left?" Damian asked curiously.
"Unknown at this time, according to Captain Nadine's data," Nova responded in her indifferent tone. "They are suspected to exist, but have not been found yet. They are likely low in number, and refuse to announce themself for fear of prosecution by the highborn."
'Fair enough,' Damian muttered to himself. 'Without enough catalysts, they'd stand no chance…'