0.0.01 WORLD_INITIALIZATION

If the Inryoan universe was one of games, of drinking, and of mercantilism, then Gildcay was a distillation of those pure concepts put to praxis. Nowhere was this more apparent than the Coastal District where Acht Sieben resided- further concentrating those deep-rooted cultural touchstones to the point where even a whole district seemed insufficient to contain it all, despite being overwhelmingly vast from a singular perspective. Every street was absolutely overflowing with shops and bars, the overabundance so prevalent that it spilled out into street vendors and stalls. Highrises provided floor after floor of offices and apartments, built atop indoor strip malls or grocers- every inch was taken for something, even though it all stretched on for miles. Enormous advertisements loomed above every main street, announcing new releases for popular card games, the latest First Mission movie adaptation, even HyperCo’s latest soda flavor- and even in alleyways, one could find two or three more shops and as many posters for local businesses as graffiti. There was a vibrancy and life to the City that bordered on paradise.

It was a paradise drenched in capitalism and consumerism, sure, but that was only skin-deep. Presiding over the city was a government that properly understood its purpose, that radical nutjobs might call “socialist” for having people-first policies and enforcing things like labor laws and taxation of the highest earners. The government respected its people, and the corporations feared their government- and so far, that had worked out pretty well for everyone involved.

Especially since the corps stopped trying to build a voting block, after their candidate received 34 total votes from a campaign managed by 214 people three years back.

This was apparent even at the street level, if one knew what to look for- sure, HyperCo owned entire high-rise buildings dedicated purely to office space, warehouses, and production, but even they made room for chain restaurants and attached parks open to the public. The corps got a little extra advertising and a nice statue of their CEO, and the people got a nice place to relax and enjoy events. What little presence this afforded was quickly drowned out by the countless smaller, independent shops sprawling out in every direction around such places, blanketing entire city blocks in a way even the most extravagant corporate HQ simply couldn’t do. In just a short walk, one could pass an entire Splashball field, a small bookstore that did vintage card grading on the side, two specialty drink shops, a two-floor video game store with its own Virtual Idol mascot, and seven other places with their own unique twists, at least two of which bearing signage that gave no hint at all to what lay inside.

Simply put, there was too much of everything, in the best way possible. That was, of course, except for one critical thing. Every rose had its thorns, and the City too obeyed what seemed to be a universal constant- the one flaw of Paradise. Then again, that too may have been a question of perspective.

It was easy enough to overlook in the bustling crowds, but impossible to miss once you knew it was there. A terse, frustrated expression here, a swishing skirt there. A bit of wobble in one’s step, or a subtle bouncing in place when stopped. A bare midriff a bit rounder than expected, or repeated glances at every sign around. Crossed legs and a nervous laugh, or a hurried dash into a nearby alleyway. Occasionally, even a girl who seemed far too relaxed about her very visible situation, the swell of her lower abdomen obvious to everyone as she tried to ignore it. The specific scenes changed block by block, but the root cause was always the same- and there wasn’t a single street in the City that didn’t feature it to some level or degree.

To put it simply, there weren’t enough restrooms. The same laws that provided a universal basic income also placed zoning restrictions on public restrooms, something that would have sounded absurd if it wasn’t already so normal. Those laws weren’t the reason for the lack of facilities- if anything, they were ironically in place to make access more consistent overall. Having to hold it was a normal part of culture, and it had been arguably since the dawn of time.

Rozalyn couldn’t explain why that was the case any better than anyone else on the street, though there were theories. Some said it was just a law of the universe that hadn’t been fully figured out yet. Others claimed it was the will of the Goddess, guiding her flock to patience… or penance, or something like that. Still others said that there was no real reason, that tradition and social pressures from ancient times just held so much sway that it affected everyone subconsciously. Rozalyn didn’t really care which it was- she just put up with it as much as anyone else, accepting things for what they were.

In truth, Rozalyn didn’t have strong opinions about any of this- in essence, it was the equivalent of mental packing peanuts. Empty and meaningless, but a great way to bury something more important in a safe way. It was a package she was in no hurry to unwrap- it was better to leave whatever was inside right where it was. After all, things were the way they were, regardless of reason- it didn’t matter why the world was they way it was, all that mattered was the ability to make the most of it.

The more things changed…