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As you meander through Bellemek, the sodden neon glow of streets strewn with refuse and waste, the lambent flicker of dim diode lighting, the dew of artificial rain condensation slick against a warped sheen of plastic sheeting and strands of fibretronic textiles, holographic advertising dancing upon rising pillars of photoluminescent mist; ghost-light that seems to almost reconfigure reality, you see the machines embedded in all the people and surroundings. You think at times it almost seems as if it is the machines that have decided to gather and move and meet, transact and haggle; to argue and act and pretend to love, having moved the flesh around only as a means of conveyance, or as bystanding spectators. No-one around you seems to take much notice, or afford even the slightest attention to you.
A part of you thinks - there is no need to be here. You already have almost everything you need - and you are very far from home... If you died here, would anyone notice or care? The hackers appear very lost in themselves, and their own virtual worlds. You also look around with some concern at the insalubrious and filthy surroundings, in a state of utter ruin and disrepair. Bellemek prides and treasures its independence from the Isonomy, but if this is the cost - you are unsure as to whether the sacrifice and the sundering was worth it.
