The city was a living organism. Every street was a vein, everyone that walks them, a blood cell. Money was the liquid that swirled around to help the place grow, it was the lifeblood of this place, but unsuspecting parasites filled every corner and seemed to thrive on claiming their spoils.
Street gangs, dealers, pimps, shippers, victims, law enforcement, politicians, landlords. They all had a way of siphoning what they could, their own personal stash. The small timers gave theirs to the big timers. Anyone that walked the tightrope between life and death, freedom and incarceration - they all reached deep into the pockets of whoever they could, even if the prize was meager.
Jareth Rasch leaned on a handrail and stared out into the distance; or as far as the opposing buildings would allow. All he could do was watch helplessly as the blinking lights came too and fro, ships coming from off-world, and the ones leaving, the transporters that went around and round, and far below he could even see the street speeders; ships for the fearful, they couldn't go high, but most could go fast. After a shallow and quick exhale he pushed against the handrail and stood up straight, as he started to rummage through his pockets which were filled with receipts and scrap bits of paper that he occasionally scrawled his thoughts on.
What a day. He thought to himself. It started when he woke up to a kick in the ribs.
"You can't sleep here!" An angry Doshan shouted, his green skin almost turning blue the second time he had to raise his voice at Jereth. No patience for someone who had just woken up from a terrible dream.
The doorway of his small eatery was the only suitable place to crash out, so he could get out of the night rains. Jareth was tired, but not just from the lack of sleep, he was just tired of the city in general. He always had an idea of getting off this world, and to somewhere that would be more accommodating; fairer, cheaper, easier. Such a place was just out of reach. Jareth realised that to travel, he needed money, to have enough to leave, he needed to save, but with the price of it all, how could he do that? Everything was expensive; the small flat, the crap food, the time-wasting entertainment units. His home drove him stir-crazy, but if he wanted to get out of it for a few hours a week, it would cost a lot more. Every time he reached a point where he could see his dreams become a reality, something urgently needed payment.
He finally saved the most he ever had in his life, 3,456 FSTs, it wasn't life-changing, but Jareth knew he would soon be able to book passage away. Then, he lost his job; the entire sector was downsized and he was one of the unlucky ones, who weren't useful enough to be kept.
The rent still needed paying, food still needed buying, and pretty soon, the money dwindled. Then it started.
"I just lost my job, but I'm looking for a new one. I have five interviews lined up, I'll pay you back." It was no use.
That's the problem with automated landlords. They're good at fixing problems, tackling issues, they could be called at anytime, day or night. That's how they sold them to everyone, and they all lapped it up. Little did they know, that they were buying a con. They were introduced because they couldn't be reasoned with, and had no problem chucking a tenant and locking up, regardless of whether or not your belongings were still in there.
Now, the only thing to do was to stalk the streets of the city and wait for it to go to sleep so Jareth could do the same.
Jareth enjoyed the upper tiers of the city, as opposed to lower levels, it seemed the closer to the ground you got, the less safe you were, or maybe that was just an illusion. From his place near the top, he could see the sky, which helped to stave off the feelings of claustrophobia, unlike the ground floor, where the stars vanished before the lights of the buildings; not that he would be able to see them, anyone, beneath the web of catwalks, balconies, and rooftop gardens.
His blood ran cold, as he walked through one of the smaller parks he would often sit in. There was someone standing still, staring into the distance; they were a shadowy figure, devoid of any defining characteristic. Jareth stood still and observed out of view. Movement. He turned to see another, and another beyond them. All of these people, standing alone, but all together. Nobody was talking, they were all just waiting, for what, he couldn't say.
A light in the sky forced one of them to look up, followed by another, and soon they were all watching the distant dot grow as it descended upon the park. A ship landed, followed by two more. They weren't huge, just large transport vessels that could comfortably sit four people. None of the people moved, they remained still as the occupants stepped out of their vehicles.
From his vantage point, he could see them clearly in the lights of the vehicles; the ones who got out were plainly dressed, wearing dark colours, and they all seemed to wear faces of contempt. Soon, a few of the strangers standing around gather before them, and there was talking going on that Jareth was unable to hear.
One of them stopped and turned around. Jareth dodged behind the foliage he was standing behind, but it was too late.
"You there, come forward into the light." One of them called out, in a voice that seemed too compassionate to be a threat.
