Luddite Gang

“You seem to put a lot of faith in that machine, don’t you?” “Oh, don’t tell me... you’re anti-machine? A *Luddite Gang* member?”

At the implication that I couldn’t trust machines, the Rooster Comb Man looked genuinely surprised.

The Luddite-Machine Destroyers gang is a rare breed around here. It’s a coalition of extremists you usually only find around the Neo Detroit district.

These are the folks who believe machines should be smashed before Artificial Intelligence and androids steal all jobs and wipe out humanity. It’s as if they all watched the *Terminator series* together; I’ve heard more than a few robot factories have been blown up because of them.

Perhaps the thought that I, who had seemed perfectly normal until now, was actually one of those lunatics advocating for the destruction of all machines in a mechanized world, caused Shimizu’s expression to stiffen slightly.

Even for a Yakuza like him, the Luddite Gang was something to be avoided. It was like the difference between a gangster and a terrorist. No matter how much power a local thug might wield, he couldn’t help but feel a bit outmatched against crazy terrorists.

But of course, I’m no Machine Destroyer. Strictly speaking, the purifier inside this mask is a type of machine too. And I’m someone who loves the benefits of modern civilization.

“No, rather, you could say I distrust those who *make* and *manage* those machines. The higher-ups who pull the strings on all the cyberware.”

“Ah, the corporations, you mean.”

Only then did the Rooster Comb Man’s expression relax in relief. If Machine Distrust is a dangerous ideology that only terrorists might embrace, then Corporate Distrust is a basic characteristic shared by everyone in the Lower Class. It would be stranger if the Slaves at the bottom of the caste, exploited by corporations, *didn’t* hate them.

Actually, I don’t have that much animosity towards corporations. In my previous world, I used Samsung and Apple products just fine, and even now I’m just a salaried worker going to work on the company’s dime.

However, right now I have to act with a very gruff voice as if I have animosity.

“It’s a kind of safety measure. You’ve probably heard the stories about Tech Companies deliberately limiting cyberware performance to shorten repair and replacement cycles, right?” “That much is a widely known rumor. Though there’s no way to confirm if it’s true or not.” “There’s no physical evidence, but there’s plenty of circumstantial evidence. There’s no guarantee that Respiratory Cyberware won’t have such problems. If something goes wrong, it’s a big deal. And it’s not like there haven’t been such cases.” “Indeed, how can you trust those Corpos?” “So, even if it’s a bit uncomfortable, I wear a mask. That way, even if there’s a problem with my cyberware, I can still breathe without the effects of air pollution. I prioritize my own safety above all else.”

Only then did the Rooster Comb Man nod in understanding and agreement.

“I heard Asians are particularly sensitive about safety, and you’re no slouch either, even if you’re not like those *Zaibatsu* bastards.”

Look at that guy. Racism just flows out of him as naturally as breathing. This isn’t being sensitive about safety; it’s a necessity for survival.

I wanted to protest, but I held back. This is much better than being treated as a suspicious neighbor who wears a mask every day because he hasn’t received modifications for some reason, despite having money. It’s better to just remain an overly safety-conscious East Asian eccentric who wears a mask even after receiving modifications because he can’t feel safe.

In a way, it’s not entirely wrong. It’s true that I pay a lot of attention to my own well-being to survive as a mere Common Citizen in this jungle-like city.

“Anyway, you weren’t just wearing it for style, huh.” “Why would I wear such an annoying and uncomfortable mask just for style?” “That’s true, but that gas mask-like mask is so eye-catching. When I first met you, I thought you were an attention-seeker. Hahaha.”

Attention-seeker, my ass. I don’t want to hear that from anyone, especially not from a Rooster Comb Yakuza with a Luminous Carp tattooed on his arm.

The words were on the tip of my tongue, but I held them back. He hates being called “Rooster Comb,” and I don’t have time to chat anymore. I spent too much time talking with Shimizu. And it’s my first day at the new job.

“Well, I’m off to work.”

“Where to? You go to work in the morning. Did you find another job already?”

“Something like that.”

“You certainly live diligently. Is that why there are so many rich people among Asians?”

Please stop thinking that everything I do is a common trait of all Asians. Leaving the Rooster Comb Man’s prejudiced mumbling behind, I walked towards the building’s Elevator Hub.

Wiiiiiiing—.

A sharp mechanical whine echoed in my ears. It was the sound of massive elevators moving through the Elevator Hub on the 10th floor. Since they have to move so many people at once, they’re all sized more like car or cargo lifts than passenger ones.

Just then, another elephant-sized one was approaching.

Seeing the floor of the lift, surrounded by rusted glass and iron bars, rise up right in front of me, I moved naturally. At the precise moment... I stepped on.

Thud.

Successfully done. Boarding Complete.

*I should be used to it by now, but the elevator moves so fast that I always get nervous.*

The elevator ascended on its own without any buttons being pressed. But none of the passengers found it strange. They were already used to it.

Here, the Elevator Hub in the Lower Building Section (1-15F) uses a Circulating Mechanism. The elevators keep moving on their own, and people have to get on them themselves. It’s like an escalator.

However, it’s much more dangerous than an escalator. If you misstep or miss your timing, you could fall and end your life, though it seems such accidents rarely happen.

Of course, “rarely” doesn’t mean “never.” I have to be careful not to have an accident. It’s a dangerous world in many ways.

It’s not that the traditional safe elevators, where you press a button and it dings and opens, don’t exist... but they’re hard to find in these Low-Grade Large-Lower-Level Residential Facilities.

It is difficult to handle the number of people. Each floor is packed with studio apartments, and since my room is 0973, it means there are at least 73 rooms per floor, almost a hundred. Since the Lower-Level Residential Facility spans from the 2nd to the 14th floor, even if you assume one person per room, about 1300 people use this Elevator Hub.

Imagine many people crowding during rush hour. How could traditional elevators, which only move one at a time and require a button press to operate, transport everyone?

Therefore, in the Lower Levels where General Laborers gather in droves, Cargo-Sized Lifts capable of holding up to a hundred people circulate continuously through the sections, and people choose to get on them to move.

In a way, it’s Safety Discrimination against the Lower-Class People, but it was also an efficient and rational system. It’s just that getting onto a lift teeming with nearly a hundred people is tough every rush hour. My heart has pounded with fear of being pushed off and falling more times than I can count.

I don’t know why people are swarming like cockroaches. 21st century Korea had a lot of talk about issues like Declining Birth Rate and Population Decline, but to me, 22nd century Dusk City didn’t seem to need to worry about Population Decline at all. Even if dozens die every day, hundreds more come to fill their places... no wonder human lives are treated as lightly as flies.

But it’s not morning rush hour now, so it’s comfortable. There weren’t even ten people on the spacious lift.

Personnel transfer... maybe it won’t be so bad after all. I haven’t been to the new workplace yet, so I don’t know, but working evenings seems pretty good in this regard.

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Various advertisement sounds emanated from the Split Display that occupied the place where the Button Panel should have been. As I let the sounds go in one ear and out the other, I had already arrived at the Uppermost Floor of the Lower Section, the 15th floor of the building where the Monorail Platform is located. Fast, indeed.

By the way, it’s noisy around here. What’s going on?

Getting off the lift, I looked towards a chaotic part of the platform and saw a group of figures in dark blue suits setting up a perimeter.

As soon as I confirmed their appearance and uniform logos, my expression stiffened instantly.

DCPD, Dusk City Police Department.

*It’s a City Police Stop-and-Frisk!*