SotF - 1.1.2 - Portland
Shadows of the Forge, and "intuitive rust" story
This is part of a series. For all “Shadows of the Forge” chapters, go here:
Portland
Iona pushed open the creaky door and stepped out into the rain, her work bag lofted across a shoulder. She closed the door, harder than intended, but resisted the urge to turn around and gauge Ezra’s reaction. But Ezra just hit the gas and she heard the converted biodiesel engine noisily groan. Her gaze lingered on the old tan Volvo as it jerked then slowly puttered away. Iona hoped for some last reassurance, but Ezra never looked back.
Iona stood there for a moment, alone and wet in the petulant rain, feeling small and insignificant amidst the towering skyscrapers and the ceaseless flow of technology-driven life. The colossal structure of ForgeStone’s headquarters building stretched out before her, its gleaming, obsidian facade adorned with pulsing, neon-blue circuitry patterns. The building's sharp, geometric angles seemed to defy gravity, reaching towards the overcast sky like a monolithic spire. Along the building, a dozen elevators attached to the exterior glided quickly up and down the facade.
To her left, a row of once-trendy Pearl Street boutiques and artisanal shops lay vacant, their windows dark and shuttered. Holographic "For Lease" signs flickered weakly above the doorways. In their place, sleek virtual reality arcades and bioaugmentation clinics had sprung up, doors adorned with glowing, interactive displays showcasing the latest ForgeStone innovations.
On her right, a group of protesters huddled beneath a makeshift shelter crafted from the cardboard delivery boxes they had scavenged, their tattered clothing marking them as members of the city's growing underclass. They held aloft signs decrying ForgeStone's expanding influence and the widening gap between the tech elite and the rest of society. Their chants, amplified by cheap, malfunctioning voice modulators, echoed down the street.
As she turned to make her way the ten yards between her and the ForgeStone headquarters, a delivery drone suddenly whirred past, its proximity sensors barely registering her presence. Startled, Iona stumbled backward, her bag slipping from her shoulder and spilling its contents onto the rain-slicked sidewalk.
Iona cursed under her breath, kneeling to gather her scattered belongings. Her tablet, its screen now cracked from the impact, lay in a puddle, its display flickering and distorted. As she reached for it, a group of ForgeStone employees walked by, their eyes fixed on the augmented reality overlays projected through their glasses. They stepped around her without a second glance, their conversations about project deadlines and tech innovations fading into the background.
Iona felt a surge of frustration as she collected her items, stuffing them haphazardly into her bag. She had hoped that her first day at ForgeStone would be a chance to make a good impression, to prove that she belonged among the brightest minds in the industry. Instead, she found herself alone and overlooked, just another anonymous face in the crowd.
As she approached the towering ForgeStone headquarters, Iona couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. The building loomed above her, its sleek, angular design a stark contrast to the aging, weather-worn structures that surrounded it. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the challenges that lay ahead.
As Iona stepped into the ForgeStone lobby, she was struck by the sheer scale and grandeur of the space. The vaulted ceiling soared above her, its surface a seamless blend of organic curves and hi-tech materials. Luminescent, bio-engineered vines cascaded down the walls, their soft glow pulsing in rhythm with the ebb and flow of data streams.
In the center of the lobby, a towering holographic display dominated the space, its shifting, three-dimensional images showcasing ForgeStone's latest breakthroughs in artificial intelligence, nano-biotech, virtual reality, and cybernetic augmentation. Employees and visitors alike paused to marvel at the display, their faces bathed in the ethereal, ever-changing light.
Underfoot, the floor was a marvel of advanced materials science, its surface a self-cleaning, energy-harvesting mosaic that converted footsteps into usable power. As Iona made her way across the lobby, she couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at the sheer technological prowess on display.
At the far end, a bank of transparent elevators launched upward to the upper stories of the tech complex.
As Iona approached the reception area, she found herself in a sprawling, open space that seemed to blend cutting-edge technology with a cold, bureaucratic atmosphere. The area was divided into several sections, each one dedicated to a specific purpose – visitor check-in, employee badges, and security screenings.
The walls were lined with holographic displays, their surfaces flickering with a constant stream of data and corporate propaganda. Images of ForgeStone's latest innovations and success stories danced across the screens, interspersed with stern reminders about the importance of security and confidentiality.
In the center of the space, a large, circular desk dominated the floor, its polished, black surface emblazoned with the ForgeStone logo. Several receptionists, each one clad in the same crisp, white uniform, sat behind the desk. Wearing identical matte-black augmented reality visors, Iona couldn’t see their eyes.
She joined the end of a long line of visitors, each one waiting their turn to approach the desk. The line moved with a mechanical efficiency, the receptionists processing each person with speed and precision, made nauseating by their slick and practiced dialogue.
As she waited, Iona couldn't help but notice the tense, anxious energy that permeated the space. The visitors around her shifted uncomfortably, their eyes darting towards the holographic displays and the impassive faces of the receptionists. It was clear that everyone here understood the power and influence that ForgeStone wielded, and the importance of making a good impression.
After what felt like an eternity, Iona finally reached the front of the line. She stepped forward, her heart pounding in her chest as she faced the stern-looking receptionist.
The woman's eyes, obscured by her augmented reality visor, seemed to bore into Iona's soul as she spoke, her voice flat and efficient. "Name and purpose of visit?"
Iona swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. "Iona Weaver, reporting for my first day as an apprentice," she managed, her voice sounding much smaller than she wanted, insignificant in the vast, impersonal space of the reception area.
The receptionist made a quick series of gestures with her fingers, holographic displays materializing in the air before her. She swiped through screens and menus with practiced ease, her movements precise and mechanical.
After the barest moment, the receptionist looked up, her expression unreadable behind the black visor. "National identification card," she demanded, holding out a hand expectantly.
Iona fumbled in her bag, cutting one of her fingers against the cracked surface of her tablet as she searched for her identification. She handed over the card, watching as the receptionist inserted it into a sleek, chrome reader that seemed to materialize from within the desk itself.
The reader hummed softly, its surface pulsing with a faint, blue light as it processed Iona's information. Then an arm came up from the desk, with a camera on the end. “Hold still, please,” monotoned the receptionist. A blue light shined in her eye. A moment later, a soft chime emanated from the device, and the receptionist retrieved the card, handing it back to Iona with a curt nod.
As the receptionist handed back her Identification card, Iona noticed a small, metallic object alongside it. She picked it up, examining it closely.
"Your ForgeStone badge," the receptionist explained, her voice flat and emotionless. "Keep it on you at all times. It will grant you access to the areas you are authorized to enter."
Iona took the badge and her Identification card from the receptionist, examining the strange, iridescent object with curiosity. She turned it over in her hand, noting the ForgeStone logo etched into its surface and the small, circular indent on the back.
"You are required on the 37th floor," said the receptionist, her tone suggesting that this was all the information Iona would receive. "Next."
Iona slipped the badge into her pocket and made her way towards the elevators.
You can explore the rest of Shadows of the Forge here: