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I think my first attempt at writing here, so if you read this, give me some criticism. The setting is ripped off of Blendercat's story, but I'm going for a different plot and a darker, grittier, more cyberpunk-ish story. So, here we go. Geronimo!
100 years ago, it finally happened. The cataclysm. The earth was inhospitable for human life. The waters were choked by pollution and a deadly cocktail of chemicals; plants were dying out, and animals with them. The air became choked with poisons, raising the temperature until the icecaps melted and flooded most of the coasts. All of humanity, ten billion strong, was dying. And then there was The Fleet. A thousand gleaming airships, each the size of a small city, constructed in secret across the world. Our only chance of survival. Us, the select few, the chosen, were sent up on our islands of stallium, the lightweight, strong metal that made this all possible. It powered the engines that kept us flying, made farming up here possible, made our air breathable. It seemed like a miracle.
The thing about miracles, of course, is that they're impossible. Down on the surface, everyone who couldn't make it onto The Fleet died, fighting over scraps and choking on their air.
Even up here it isn't perfect, and we're barely scraping by, though you'd never notice in the uppers. The elite among the elite live in the lap of luxury up on the top of the ships, in cities of crystal spires and silvery clouds. Below the deck is the subs, communities at least twice the size that cling to the bottom, keeping the machinery working, food on the table, everything that needs to be done done so we don't fall out of the sky. Despite their efforts, the lives wasted in the dangerous work, we can't maintain this. There's only so much stallium in the world, so many times an engine can be repaired before we have to let it go and sink down a little deeper into the clouds. The subs, by and large, know this, and are angry. Any wrong move could be the wind that breaks the wing, sending them into open revolt. How much longer can we last?
If I’m right, we’re in terrible danger. The key to everything is Emerald. It’s behind the conspiracies, the secrets, the
From there, the letter was blank.
100 years ago, it finally happened. The cataclysm. The earth was inhospitable for human life. The waters were choked by pollution and a deadly cocktail of chemicals; plants were dying out, and animals with them. The air became choked with poisons, raising the temperature until the icecaps melted and flooded most of the coasts. All of humanity, ten billion strong, was dying. And then there was The Fleet. A thousand gleaming airships, each the size of a small city, constructed in secret across the world. Our only chance of survival. Us, the select few, the chosen, were sent up on our islands of stallium, the lightweight, strong metal that made this all possible. It powered the engines that kept us flying, made farming up here possible, made our air breathable. It seemed like a miracle.
The thing about miracles, of course, is that they're impossible. Down on the surface, everyone who couldn't make it onto The Fleet died, fighting over scraps and choking on their air.
Even up here it isn't perfect, and we're barely scraping by, though you'd never notice in the uppers. The elite among the elite live in the lap of luxury up on the top of the ships, in cities of crystal spires and silvery clouds. Below the deck is the subs, communities at least twice the size that cling to the bottom, keeping the machinery working, food on the table, everything that needs to be done done so we don't fall out of the sky. Despite their efforts, the lives wasted in the dangerous work, we can't maintain this. There's only so much stallium in the world, so many times an engine can be repaired before we have to let it go and sink down a little deeper into the clouds. The subs, by and large, know this, and are angry. Any wrong move could be the wind that breaks the wing, sending them into open revolt. How much longer can we last?
If I’m right, we’re in terrible danger. The key to everything is Emerald. It’s behind the conspiracies, the secrets, the
From there, the letter was blank.
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