Here is another snippet from my upcoming series, Moderation Online. If you missed last month's snippet, check it out here.
***
CITY OF NEW EATON, Middle Rind
Kendall Barnes walked the streets of the Middle Rind with a giant knife and fork in his back pocket.
He emerged from a dirty alley into an avenue of cereal box and soda bottle skyscrapers lit up on every floor.
Rivers of people moved up and down the sidewalks. Walking alongside them were anthropomorphic candy bars, boxed dinners, doughnuts, and other processed foods, each with bright packaging and droopy eyes, adding artificial color to the area.
The humans smiled as they walked in half-struts, half-waddles, mumbling to themselves and licking their lips. Many were overweight and obese.
The foods (called Gourmans) were at least one to two feet taller than the humans and, with the exception of a few wide ones, were mostly skinny and lean. Some mingled with the humans, laughing and cracking jokes; others looked serious and as if they were on their way to somewhere important.
Enormous, three-story tall LED screens on every building streamed glitzy commercials fighting to catch the attention of the crowd.
In the street, traffic zipped by, each car and hovercycle leaving a trail of sparkling, colorful light behind it.
Kendall took in the busy street and snapped his fingers in a jazzy rhythm. He inhaled, taking in every delicious smell of his city, then he exhaled, smiling.
“Gonna be a good night.”
He had chosen his long white t-shirt, jean shorts, and green basketball shoes specifically for tonight. Under his shirt, he wore a smooth, golden chain that his friend, a french fry, had given him. He was determined to be the coolest-dressed black guy at the Festival of the Harvest.
Kendall skipped into the street and joined the flow of people. A TV dinner blimp floated overhead, casting an elongated shadow over everything below. A female voice echoed from a megaphone on the blimp’s bridge.
“Attention citizens: The Festival of the Harvest will begin shortly. Nonpareil Square will be closed to traffic for the rest of the evening. You may have also noticed pipes along the street . . .”
Kendall looked to his left and saw a line of green metal pipes rising up from a sewer grate. They ran parallel to the street and extended for several blocks to Nonpareil Square, where searchlights crisscrossed the dusk sky and music played from loudspeakers on the high-rises.
“Please be mindful of the pipes,” the voice said as the blimp finished crossing and the street brightened again.
Kendall had never seen the pipes before, and he wondered what they were for. As he walked past, he heard a strange bubbling sound coming from them.
An ad flashed on one of the screens and pulled him from his thoughts. A curvy blonde in a striped bathing suit appeared on the huge display. She smiled, ran her fingers through her hair, threw her head back, and laughed as bubbles rose around her. Green text scrolled across the screen: NUTRIZEEN. UNLOCK THE TRUE YOU.
Kendall swallowed and looked down at his stomach. He probably weighed three times as much as the woman on the screen. In New Eaton, being skinny was rare, but desired.
He rubbed his belly and said, “Heh heh. One of these days, I'm going to shed this negative six-pack.”
He had heard of people getting Nutrizeen injections that changed their lives completely. Their weight just fell off, leaving behind firm, fit, god-like bodies. The injections were invitation-only, and the Triumvirate claimed that they were still testing their effectiveness. Humans often talked about what they would do with brand new, athletic and fit bodies; it was a common topic around bars. Kendall himself often daydreamed about all the things he could do if he got an injection. In his mind’s eye, he saw himself with chiseled abs and thighs strong enough to crush a small watermelon. He saw himself on the beaches of Cola Bay, diving into the waves and swimming a mile without getting tired, then retiring to a beach house where he’d sit on the balcony with a drink in his hand and watch the sun sink into the clouds . . .
Three jets burst across the sky toward Nonpareil Square, shattering his fantasy with the thunderous roars of their engines.
Kendall put his hands over his ears and looked up at the huge, lumbering jail-ship shaped like a bag of chips that followed the jets. Then he joined everyone on the street as they cheered.
“There they are,” Kendall said, pumping his fists. “I'm ready to rock this festival, you best believe!”
He quickened his pace toward Nonpareil Square, and could feel the rest of the crowd doing the same.
***
Food City is Book 1 in the Moderation Online series, a new LitRPG series. Click here to grab your copy.
As always, if you’d like to support me, check out my Patreon page.
