The days rolled by peacefully, seasons turning over one after another.
Things in the lower city were slowly getting better.
The big gangs wouldn’t tolerate small-timers running wild on their turf, and cracked down hard on anyone who tried.
The fragile balance between factions was slowly turning into something like mutually beneficial cooperation.
Everything was fine—until the unthinkable happened.
War, for the first time in a long while, swept across the entire galaxy.
The Confederacy of Independent Systems broke away from the Republic, and the first galactic war in several hundred years began.
People started calling it the Clone Wars.
Some vague memories flickered through my head, but I couldn’t pin anything solid down.
The only conclusion I could draw was that I’d landed right in the middle of the movies.
What that meant for my life, though, I had absolutely no idea.
A far bigger event for me was my eighth birthday.
That day, Mama and I walked all through the Upper City.
Turned out she’d been saving up specifically to show me the sights up there—life without all the stink and filth of home.
My dear mama, she stayed a ray of light in that grim world.
Even with her line of work, she’d stayed clean, untouched.
According to the whispers among the girls, most of her clients came to her not for sex, but just to talk, to feel supported.
Everything felt simpler, kinder, in her company.
She was the soul of our whole establishment.
Everyone knew about her dream: someday breaking free of Low City’s chains and flying off to some other planet.
Settling in a real city, working a normal job, sending me off to school.
The Boss, whatever it might cost his own business, actively backed her and helped her train as a nurse.
Her friends secretly set aside a little from their own pay each month, saving up to cover her rent somewhere.
Even I—a sentient they’d invested serious money in—would be let go, on the condition I paid it all back over ten years, with a small amount of interest.
Mama’s love was the thing that kept me human, kept me from turning into just another monster—and Low City already had plenty of those.
I was a child, and with her, I could still find joy in life in that grim place.
More and more often, I could feel some kind of darkness gathering in my chest.
It demanded destruction, ruin.
But every time, Mama’s kind eyes rose up in front of me, and the darkness crawled back down into the depths of my being.
And today, it was like Mama had sensed I was staring into that abyss again, and decided we should walk the Upper City together.
As a gift, the Boss got us passes into that little slice of paradise.
Forged, of course.
It was nothing like Low City.
Instead of grim concrete high-rises bristling with exposed wires and scrap metal, there were tidy three-story houses in white and sandy tones.
Manicured lawns, cozy cafés, a huge park, and a sandy bay wrapped around an enormous lake.
None of it should have been able to exist right next to the lower city, and yet, there it was.
The same people who ran wild and threw money around like it meant nothing behaved with perfect politeness up here.
Private security patrols walked every corner.
Everyone smiled and greeted each other. Enjoying the story? Read on at g.com.
No cursing, no stink, everything quiet and calm.
In the center of town stood an enormous marble building, gleaming almost literally in the sunlight.
Beautiful golden ornaments and statues decorated the park spread out in front of the planet’s central government hall.
That was where the chambers of the Head of the Planetary Trade Council and our planet’s Senator were located—husband and wife, as it happened.
Their only son ran the Upper City.
Down in the lower city, the going rumor was that between the three of them, they’d stolen enough to buy up a handful of planets outright.
For the first time in this life, I got to try ice cream again.
We sat in a lovely little summer café with a gorgeous view of the city.
Though when I saw the bill, I felt sick—that much money could have kept us fed for a month back home.
But even that couldn’t ruin the outing.
I felt good.
My soul, quite literally, got to rest, shaking off everything that had been weighing it down.
That day became one of the best I’d spent in this world.
To close out our walk, we watched the sunset sitting in the park, surrounded by centuries-old trees, listening to birdsong.
Unfortunately, all good things have a way of ending.
After that, it was back to training, hauling junk off old battle sites, the same cycle all over again.
I’d grown close with the other boys by then—even though I was a couple years younger, my results had impressed them.
Sometimes we got into mischief together, or just goofed around.
We lived like ordinary kids, and it felt so good.
No need to rush, no worrying about money or other people’s expectations—the world, in moments like that, felt free and beautiful, as long as I could forget which city I actually lived in.
The contrast between the lower and upper cities was terrifying.
Every sense of fairness in me screamed that it shouldn’t be like this.
But there was nothing I could do about it.
Routine kept ticking along, broken up by small events here and there—until the first explosion happened.
One of our establishments was wiped clean off the map.
Thankfully, most of the staff and guests made it into the bunker in time.
Walking past that place afterward, I could still feel it—the pain and screams of the living beings who’d been there, the stench of burnt flesh, and the sick joy of whoever had set it off.
The Boss was furious.
He tore through the entire lower city, throwing every spare resource he had into the investigation, and eventually tracked down the people responsible.
But by the time his men caught up with them, they were already dead—and above their bodies, written in blood, was a single message: I thirst for vengeance.
Severed heads lined up in front of the entrance terrified everyone who saw them.
We had killers, thieves, rapists—but nothing like this kind of maniac.
Fear gripped Low City.
The situation that had seemed to be improving started sliding back toward the abyss.
Every reserve went toward guarding our establishments and hunting down whoever was responsible.
Right up until a squad of our fighters vanished—not ordinary thugs this time, but our soldiers, well-trained and well-equipped.
It took three days to find their bodies, mutilated by some unknown weapon.
Something had literally sliced them apart.
Charred wound edges and bodies cut clean in half—that was all we found.
And another message: The game has begun.
Word spread across the holonet: anyone who cooperated with or belonged to the Shadow Front would be executed.
Right after that, three gangs closely tied to us were wiped out to the last man.
Career criminals, not green rookies.
All of them killed, no survivors.
A series of explosions, then soldiers in black armor stormed in.
According to witnesses, the screams and sounds of the fighting didn’t last long—it was over in a matter of minutes.
The black-armored soldiers walked out with blood glistening on them and vanished into the courtyards of the lower city.
More of our people were killed by that same unknown weapon.
Charred wound edges, bodies split in half, severed limbs—something about it was on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn’t place it.
The merchants who worked with us, supplying food and drink for our high-end clients, were gunned down not far from the planet, just as they were preparing to jump to hyperspace.
Whoever this was made it crystal clear their words matched their actions.
That same evening, a joint venture with the Chemists was blown up too.
They reportedly launched their own investigation—until a few of their underground labs got destroyed, which cooled their enthusiasm considerably.
Someone was tightening a noose around our necks, slow but inevitable.
We were losing not just allies, but our own buildings and staff.
Every structure and business was being methodically wiped out, block by block, in a perfect circle.
And our brothel sat right at the center of that circle.
Week after week, month after month, we lived like we were under siege, never knowing where the next blow would land.
Despite everything the Boss tried, we couldn’t find the enemy.
Anyone we did manage to track down was either already dead, or blew themselves up, taking our soldiers with them.
No leads, no evidence, nothing but uncertainty.
I couldn’t tell you exactly when it happened, but at some point, fear moved into our house.
Ugly, sticky, nearly panicked fear of something unstoppable crept into everyone’s mind and wouldn’t let go.
Every soldier was on high alert, grabbing anyone remotely suspicious, digging in every possible direction.
But we still had nothing.
Eventually, we got a lead.
One of the suicide bombers had left a face intact enough to identify—a member of the Headless Jester.
But it got us almost nowhere.
Nobody knew anything real about them; every informant just shrugged or flat-out refused to cooperate with us.
That very visible demonstration of what happened to our allies had scared everyone straight.
For nearly a month, everything went quiet.
Then a storm of horror and despair like nothing we’d ever seen came crashing down on us.