Denivan felt his mood beginning to dip. He rushed through the streets of City-H. Despite its size, despite its great population density, despite the hundreds of millions of souls who called it home, the streets were free of litter or graffiti. Every corner of the city glistened.
Ahead of him the streetlight changed and the foot traffic came to a stop. Even though he felt desperate for another hit he refused to J-walk… He couldn’t. He joined a crowd of people who were also waiting for the light to change… There was no traffic, but none of them took advantage of the open street either.
“You alright?” A person asked.
Denivan saw a well-dressed man staring down at him.
“I need to clean something.” Denivan twitched. “Do you have any litter?”
The man frowned. “I’m not gonna litter.”
The light changed. The crowd moved. Denivan dashed forward.
The back allies were pristine.
The front stoops of every building were bereft of even the smallest scrap of refuse.
There were no weeds sprouting from the sidewalks, nor was there any accumulation of leaves or twigs in the gutters… Other junkies had seen to that.
“Hey bud! Looking to clean?”
The voice came from one of the shadiest back allies. Denivan knew the slang…
“I’d be eager to help.” He replied, walking toward the figure.
The mysterious man wore a cheap latex mask that made him resemble a hawk. He was tall, and his body was wrapped in a cloak. As Denivan approached, the man held up a hand.
“That’s close enough.” The figure hissed.
Denivan stopped.
“Do you have payment?” The man asked.
Denivan reached into his pocket and extracted a small crystalline cube that was semi-transparent and roughly an inch to a side. He held it forward.
“I’m unchipped.” The hawk-man said. “I’m not gonna let them turn me into a junkie.” He shook his head. “If you’ve got something, show me.”
Denivan gripped the cube in his hand. Unseen nanobots in the environment began to coalesce around him, reacting to his neural implant, causing a small hologram to appear in midair that displayed his bank balance.
“Hmmm… Only 32 FEDs.” The man said, clearly disappointed. “I’d’ve thought someone as desperate as you would’ve had more.”
“I’m sorry… I’ve been working a lot lately.” Denivan begged. “Please, I just need to clean.”
The man extended a hand, which was covered in an antique external computer that had been crudely fitted into his palm. Denivan willed 22 FEDs to be transferred to the man’s account. Within a second the man’s computer made a ‘DING’. The man inspected his computer with a frown.
“Just 22?” He asked.
“Please… I need some to survive.” Denivan begged. In truth he planned to use his last 10 FEDs to buy more clean.
“I suppose that’ll be enough.” The man said. He extended a hand from his cloak and knocked over a nearby trashcan. He turned and kicked over a second can, then walked forward and toppled a third. Denivan watched with growing anticipation until the contents of roughly a dozen trashcans littered the back alley.
“All yours.” The man said. He turned and disappeared into the shadows.
Denivan rushed forward and began picking up the trash. As soon as he threw away the first piece, his neural implant responded by flooding his brain with dopamine. He closed his eyes and shivered. The feeling quickly abated, but there was plenty more to clean… Enough to keep him happy for the rest of the day.