Chapter 1: Kaelo

  August 13, 2029

  Kaelo was fourteen, but he had been logged as sixteen in the virtual registries of the United West African Republic so child labour filters could be bypassed. He worked below ground at Level 42, the subterranean gut where the city’s energy was regulated. Automated units were barred from the sector; their titanium frames were too susceptible to electromagnetic surges, and their scarcity made them too expensive to risk. In Level 42, human labor was the only thing cheap enough to burn.

  “Three years ago, no one imagined that the city of Lagos—now Port City—would be spearheading a project to generate total power for the nation,” the radio broadcaster droned, the voice smooth and heavy with propaganda. “After decades of standing on equal grounds with global powers following the war for independence, the African Union continues to develop at an unprecedented rate...”

  "Who says it’s a good thing, though?" Ahmed asked, speaking as if he were personally arguing with the radio.

  Ahmed was seventeen, tall and muscular, with a demeanor that made him seem ten years older. It was easy to place his Hausa accent—a remnant of the old Nigeria before it became the capital of the Republic.

  "They claim this development is for the people," Ahmed continued, wiping grease from a heavy wrench. "But the system is flawed. It’s the same old cycle the Europeans used. Wealth stays at the top, while the poor—like me and you, my friend—stay at the bottom."

  He let out a dry laugh and nudged Kaelo’s shoulder. Kaelo didn’t reply; he didn't even flinch. He remained hunched over a junction box, his eyes fixed on the vibrating copper wires. Ahmed was used to the silence. Kaelo didn’t talk much during a shift; he worked with a cold, mechanical intensity that was almost unsettling.

  Outside work, Kaelo was a friendlier guy with a calm demeanor, but in here, he was a different person: focused and calculated. His fingers were nimble, moving with a deftness that once prompted Ahmed to tell him he’d make a fortune as a pickpocket and never get caught.

  Kaelo was well aware of that. But I’ve got a promise to keep, he muttered to himself.

  "What’d you say, Oga?" Ahmed asked.

  "It was nothing," Kaelo replied, a small smile returning to his face as the alarm rang. The night shift was over.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  "Now we get to experience the beautiful, scorching sunlight," Ahmed said sarcastically.

  "I'm more likely to enjoy my bed," Kaelo replied with a laugh.

  After twelve hours of staring at the grid, they headed for the elevator. A few minutes later, they had retrieved their belongings and stepped out into the humid air of the surface. They were heading in different directions: Ahmed to the Island to clean for a wealthy client, and Kaelo back home to his mother.

  They waved goodbye, a silent agreement passing between them. They both knew they’d be back here in twelve hours, risking their lives for wages that barely touched the bare minimum.

  Kaelo and Ahmed walked away from each other, but after a few meters, Kaelo stopped and turned. He watched Ahmed until he disappeared into a cab. Only then did he breathe a sigh of relief. He wouldn’t be taking a cab; it cost money he couldn’t spare. He pulled out his phone—a model from six years ago—and started his music. Afrobeats filled his ears. That was the one thing that had never left Lagos during its transition to Port City; it was the rhythmic pulse that kept the city’s heart beating.

  His pace quickened into a jog. He felt amazing despite the impure air and the grim sights he passed: addicts slumped in doorways and underage girls passed out on the sidewalks. They were ghosts of the night, each with a story for every man who passed by. His mother had been one of them once, until she got pregnant and walked away from that life. Her peers had told her to get rid of the "mistake"—abortions were no longer criminalized, after all—but she had refused. She wanted to give life a chance. Kaelo believed she never regretted that choice, no matter what she screamed when the alcohol took over.

  She had lost her job three months ago, leaving fourteen-year-old Kaelo as the sole provider. He never complained. He took the weight on his shoulders as a given. All we have is each other, he thought.

  Kaelo was running now, clutching a bag of groceries he’d picked up at a corner store. The ingredients were meager, but they would have to last a week. He’d make it work. He always did.

  He took one last right and reached their front door. The lights were off, but he could hear the distant, hollow chatter of the TV. He turned the knob and stepped inside. The familiar, stinging scent of cheap alcohol greeted him. He sighed. She was drunk again. He placed the food on the table and locked the door, moving through a script he had memorized over the last three years.

  He paused his music. That was when the silence hit him.

  Something was remarkably amiss. His mother hadn't called out a greeting. His chest tightened. He walked into the bathroom and stopped dead in his tracks.

  She lay on the floor. She reeked of drink, but she wasn't moving. Kaelo knelt, his hands turning ice-cold as they began to tremble. He managed to press his fingers against her neck to check for a pulse.

  Nothing.

  His head began to spin. He knew exactly what the stillness meant, but his mind clawed against the reality of it. It felt unreal, a glitch in the world, until something warm touched his left arm. It was a single tear.

  That drop released the torrent. Kaelo collapsed, crying profusely on the floor of the cramped bathroom. Surrounded by the stench of alcohol and an unflushed toilet, he felt like filth. He wanted to yell, to scream why, but he knew the city wouldn't answer. There was nothing he could do to change the circuit. He lay there in the dark and prayed to die.