chapter 4
The acid rain had stopped.
But rainwater mixed with sewage leaking from solid waste still gave off an indescribable stench.
Like the whole Lower City, it was rotten, cheap, and foul.
There was, of course, something a hundred or a thousand times cheaper than the Lower City’s environment.
Me.
This was my fourth day without a job.
No matter how strong a corporate slave’s résumé was, a four-day employment gap was enough for every company to reject her.
Legitimate or otherwise.
After the HR officer at an electronic-waste plant turned me away, I walked silently out the gate.
A woman approached from the opposite direction.
She held a tightly swaddled child in her prosthetic arms, her face glowing with maternal happiness.
The loving scene made me inexplicably sick.
Damn it.
Adults could barely cling to life in the Lower City. What was the point of bringing a new one here?
So it could grow up and slave for Xian?
Or support itself by selling organs and limbs?
I even felt a stab of resentment toward my parents for dying so early.
What had that man and woman been thinking when they decided to have Peipei and me?
If their brain interfaces had been functioning, they should have understood one of the Lower City’s fundamental truths.
Not giving birth to innocent victims was a virtue too.
Expressionless, I took out a cheap painkiller and forced down the whole dose despite its peculiar toad-like taste.
The pain in my abdomen eased.
I wandered the streets for a long time. The artificial sky had darkened again when a sugary pink hologram flared to life beside an alley.
“A night with all-original flesh: 800 credits. Bionic: 270.”
“A full holographic dream costs only 110 credits.”
“Handsome men and beautiful women available. Come have some fun~”
It was not the nightclub’s pitch that caught my attention.
It was the tiny line beneath it:
HOSTESSES WANTED.
Given the choice between moral purity and credits in my bracelet, I did not hesitate.
Five minutes later, the madam rejected me.
Apparently, even selling your body had prerequisites.
Besides drinking, singing, chatting, and sleeping with clients, the club’s hostesses earned much of their income as surrogates for powerful Lower City figures.
Without a uterus, I lacked a source of long-term revenue.
The madam had no interest in me, but she was intrigued by the mention of Peipei on my résumé.
“Your sister’s body is clean and complete. Bring her in for an interview.”
Her smile was alluring.
“She isn’t for sale,” I said coldly, then turned and walked out.
Her lilting voice followed me.
“Think about it, Ms. K. A fresh face earns at least eight thousand credits on her first night.”
Like hell.
I could sell anything of mine.
Peipei was off-limits.
Off-limits meant off-limits.