It’s still there

It’s 2032 and a warehouse in the almost-underwater neighborhood of Wburg still hosts a monthly gathering. Far above, the safety lights of the crosstown tube flicker every 3 minutes when a train passes through, built high and dry when the water rose and flooded the subway tunnels permanently.

The partygoers come in by the handful. Many get ferried in as far as the nearest connecting rooftop left to carefully use the makeshift catwalks that connect the remaining roofs in the area together.

Before going inside, some people stop to “smoke” and chat on a corner of the roof leading nowhere, their cigs lighting up various colours puffing out scented vapors. An old-City habit no doubt, as smoking indoors has been legal for a decade again, at least until one lobby or another decides vapor is harmful to the youth already consuming it. The coastal gales break waves on the building in front of them, an old factory, someone points out. One cig cart depleted and chucked into the grey-green sea and most head down into the space.

There is a quiet anticipation inside, whispers complimenting someone’s mods, gasps at the old-City graffiti that’s been recently detailed with colored EL paint breathing life back into a painting that’s probably 20 years old. A giant digital clock display glows on the wall, not quite there and not quite projected, counting down to midnight, those already on the partystim of their choice try to discern the reality of it all.

On one side of the room there’s a stack of nought-era speakers humming, with a small, sight-aug’d teen scattering over them plugging and unplugging while looking to the floor for a thumbs-up from their twin manning a console. On the small stage in front of the speakers, a woman with short-black hair in an Akira-inspired synth-leather dress mouths the countdown to the last few seconds to midnight. A low static comes from the speaker and she smiles and turns to the assembled glowing crowd, now silent.

“Welcome to 28 Ket, my dear retro weirdos. If you love what you hear here, please deposit some credits to the wallet link embedded in our wall. All proceeds go to keeping this show space alive and running. And now…1999”, she walks off confidently and gives the twin on the console a thumbs-up. They flash a bright grin and move their fingers along the console. Slowly, music plays through the speakers, and the crowd loses its mind entirely to dance.