6 h 36 AM

Out of his home sweet home, Clark is facing the street he and his barbaric door destroying housemate Jano lives in, inside this small yet comfortable cabin Troposville would consider a house, a whole mortgage already paid, surprisingly enough. The only expenses are internet, heat, electricity and the fuel for Clark’s car.

It’s important to note that Clark rarely uses his vehicles, the fossil occurrences of him leaving the city being the only exceptions. Atmos installed a competent Tramway system that spans throughout the whole city of Troposville, in itself encompassing the country of Atmos like a circle. 

Still, Clark has quite the road ahead to get to his tramway, and so he dashes with the speed of a lightning bolt. He knows that tramway only stays at his stop for a brief moment. The terrifying image of his library director getting angry again turns his stomach upside-down. The risk of arriving later than he should be is a risk Clark will graciously refuse.

Troposville is a poor city inside of one of the richest countries in the world.

We could end the details there.

Degeneracy, theft, vandalism, criminals with multiple felonies, abuse of power, the whole bar of chocolate.

Troposville is not a tourist attraction, nor is it the city Atmoscians recommends for exploration. It is, ironically, the first thing newcomers to the country are introduced to, for the roads that lead to the other cities are a part of the Troposville conglomeration. The nearly-destituted city serves as a barrier to the country and the four other cities, where wealthy families spend their lightyears observing the rest of Atmos.

Clark arrives in the nick of time for his tramway, 6 h 42 AM. Even though Clark was running like his life was on the line, he visibly has a ton of stamina left. He’s certainly less stressed now that he knows he’ll only be late by five minutes (anymore then that would be passable for the death penalty).

The tramway is a good access point to the other barriers and historical landmarks, such as the library of Vil de Ville itself. It opens its doors to the public, officially, at 7 AM.

Even if poor, the city had a strange idea, five years ago, to transform an old decrepit film library into a…well, LIBRARY library, although pacted with multimedia operations out the wazoo. The “Vil de Ville” name was kept from the original establishment to quiet the populace’s frustrations. There’s still a movie theater in the building, preserved very well compared to hundreds of film tapes burned by the government. The rest was demolished, morphed in a grandiose reservoir of history, where innocent art and texts of high importance are mishmashed together in the same space.

This is where Clark spends his time, working as a simple librarian.

This is also where resides documents on mutations of the last decade. Obviously classified, this is a subject Clark has been begging to prove his specialty for a while. These nightmares are too recurrent for him to not at least indulge his morbid curiosity. Is the sadistic poetry of his dreams interconnected with the phenomena?

The director will never grant him access to these files if he keeps arriving late.

The tramway begins his route and Clark sits down with over fifty other people in this long vehicle with five wagons. Each wagon of one tramway packs about a dozen people (if the goal is to remain comfortable).

This does mean however that many citizens prefer the usage of their car. The automobile will get them to their destination with less restrictions and less people to butt heads within a collective act of non-consent.

Clark Deschaines especially is an impeccable driver. The idea of driving makes him cringe. He would rather butt heads in that non-consent act with others in a tiny wagon.

He feels more secure, more in control.

In his pockets, he can feel the vibration of his cellphone, a round shaped device with a keyboard hidden in the back. He goes to grab it, but not before being distracted by the Tramway’s television that abruptly opens.

“Hello hello, friendly Atmos people, to this special edition of Sphère de Ville! With this beautiful 18 degrees weather to cap the morning, just a tad frisky, we are sure our amazing sun will take back the skies with a solid 22 degrees this afternoon!”

A young lady in the same age gap as Clark, with her glam rock style haircut and big round glasses, proudly wears her work suit and a microphone she grips with both hands.

The citizens in the Tramway are all glued to the screen.

“Oh my goodness! It’s Musika from the news station!”

“Woah! She looks sweet!”

“Yeah, it’s unbelievable how cute she looks in that suit!”

You can guess that these glazers are men, throwing compliments left and right like a baseball pitch that should probably be banned for fair play.

Musika, a big smile drawing her lips, throws a suggestive wink to the camera (ok to be fair that’s kinda adorable), as if she knew a bunch of weirdos stuck in a tramway together would spread praise at her presence.

It’s all men just screaming about how they are bewitched by this pearl of the media sphere. The two women forced to assist this mediocre spectacle are indifferent, instead having a shy and impressed look in the direction of the young Deschaines.

Clark really, but like, REALLY struggles to keep his cool. He would rather hide his face blushing red then to join these goons in celebrating someone they will never have access to.

People from Troposville only date people from Troposville. An imposed social rule very few we’re able to defect from. 

Then, Musika suddenly takes a more drastic personality and replaces her glasses with her middle finger. This might seem like a minute detail, but the people in the wagon can feel the shift of energy instantly, their eyes still glued to the screen.

Clark’s train of thought is shaken by the next works coming out of her mouth.

“Ladies and gentlemen, be very cautious! The number of anomalies and mutations has yet again increased, especially in, you wouldn’t believe it I swear to god, Troposville!”, she says with a sarcastic tone. “Twenty-six new mutations in the space of two months… Twenty-six!” When saying the number out loud for the second time, Musika slams her work desk. We can feel anger in the way she acts and speaks. As a wannabe theater kid growing up, Clark detects a certain level of acting behind her facade, numb to the political ploys the media plays all the time.

“I want you to keep this number in your head and that we ask ourselves, together, what do the people in Troposville eat and drink? Please explain, for we’ll take anything that can explain why 86,13% of those mutations happen, by some miracle, in this city!”

The ambiance, once rose and flattering, now tastes bitter and sour. 

At the same time, we hear police cars in the distance. 

It is already 6 h 50 AM.

“All this to inform you that, once more, everyone who leaves Troposville to other cities in the country will be subjected to a probationary exam before entry. Remember to show your passport with your residential code when approaching the barriers. Anyone who tries to pass through illegally will receive a big ol’ fine, as well as jail time up to a month. You have been warned.”

The people bewitched by Musika, now free from the spell, begin to complain.

“It’s the bastards from Exosville! They keep spawning propaganda to our face to rinse themselves from the issue, the fuckers!”

“How in the heck am I gonna see my daughter in Stratosville now!?”

“They’re really gonna drain us ‘till we’re dry. We’re gonna be the government’s paintball target for the rest of the summer now.”

All the talking and useless complaining gives Clark nausea. The government always put in place restrictions on Troposville well before he reached adulthood. It’s nothing new. What is infuriating is that this is every week. Every week, there are new mutations coming out. Every week, new laws are forced upon the city. And every week, nothing changes.

More empty news is what Clark believes. If the only salvation would be to leave this city, a part of him would leave Troposville in a heartbeat. 

Unfortunately, this is the hill Clark decided to die on…

6 h 53 AM.

Clark arrives in a short bit to his workplace, where he’ll be able to occupy his mind with more than somber news. If anything, Musika is right about the weather. It sure is sunny today.