Welcome to Coreline.
A city stacked on top of itself, layer after layer, stretching in every direction, swallowing the horizon like a beast that never stops growing. It never sleeps. It only flickers, burns, and chokes on its own smog-filled air.
Progress here is built with concrete and blood.
The sky is a lie, at least for most of Coreline's population. A patchwork of platforms, suspended streets, and shiny ad signs glow in the distance, the closest thing to stars they'll ever experience.
Above it all, the so-called Great Nexus gleams, a district above the city where the rich breathe clean air and gaze down like gods. Their weaknesses, long compromised by high-tech bioelectronic upgrades, these beings, close to gods, are called Protogens. They walk among the elite, a glimpse into a future the rest of the city will never reach.
Below, in the other districts, the rest of Coreline resembles a maze of apartments, rusted pipes belching steam, and endless alleys. The further down you go, the more dangerous and broken it becomes. Dreams linger in the most rundown places of better housing, better payment, or simply making it through another day.
Down here, life isn't cheap. It's owed.
You work. You owe. Or you disappear.
The streets pulse with the hum of electric billboards, their flickering glow painting ghostly figures on the cracked pavement. Holo-ads promise a brighter future through CoreCo innovation, but even their voices sound tired, skipping and glitching like they know the truth.
People move through the streets like ghosts, heads down, shoulders hunched, navigating around potholes and puddles of something you don't want to step in. Some drag themselves home from shifts that drained the last bit of their soul. Others linger in the alleys, sharp-eyed, waiting for the next sucker to fall into their game.
It's a destructive economy that feeds on itself, a machine built to crush and consume.
It's the kind of city where you keep your creds close in your pocket and your back even closer to the wall.
The government, long privatized, led by the CorelinePTC, has been completely corrupt for decades.
But somewhere in the city...
Someone was in deep trouble.
Digging his hand deep into his pocket, he clenched a cigarette.
He wanted to stop, but the urge was too strong to let go so easily, especially now.
Shaking, he lit it. Soaked.
Click. Click. Fwoosh.
It started burning after a few attempts.
The first inhale stung his throat, but the familiar burn steadied his trembling hands just enough to keep moving forward.
He turned toward a nearby trash can.
"I'll leave it here for now.
Too dangerous to take it with me... it's not of much use since that damn file was missing on it..."
In anger, he threw a small plastic object at the opposite wall.
Crack.
The plastic bounced off, breaking apart in the dim light, leaving behind a small trail of shattered pieces.
It now perfectly matched the dull surroundings that consisted of the erratic flickering of lights, a foggy view accompanied by the cold gray paint of the walls that stares down your soul.
The misty air seemed to swallow the sound, leaving only the faint hum of the distant city.
The clattering echoes of people talking, laughing, screaming, and phones ringing merged together.
Far in the background, trains rushed by, adding to the suffocating soundscape.
Voices, muffled but clear enough to make out snippets, mingled with the rhythm of the sector.
"Anyway, I think I'm good for now... I have to be. For them."
He took a final deep puff from the cigarette, trying to shake off the unease creeping up his spine. The weight of it lingered, gnawing at him.
His head sank low as he eyed a picture in his pocket depicting a happy family. The photo was soaked in mud and dirt, just like his clothes.
His gaze shifted back to the cigarette. Its ember burned dangerously close to his fingers.
He flicked the butt onto the ground, where at least five others already lay, then stomped it out with his heel.
The silence around him now felt more suffocating than before.
suddenly he hear boots cracking on the floor coming closer...
"What was that? I need to keep going... quick."
His thoughts turned to his family.
"The tracker's broken. There's no way they'll..."
He turned a corner and froze.
A long, metallic barrel of a gun was pointed directly at him.
His breath caught in his throat. Time seemed to freeze.
His mind raced, but his body was paralyzed.
He smelled the faint, dying scent of the cigarette still on the ground, barely giving off any smoke.
A shadowy outline of a person pressed the gun against his forehead. He could feel the cold metal and rusted edge of the barrel before a strange, yet familiar voice whispered:
"The Syndicate above all."
BANG.
The sound of a gunshot pierced through the air.