FuturLife

The year doesn't have a clean number anymore — just the weight of what the last century built and left behind. You live in a city that stacks its people vertically and calls it civilization: filtered air above the smog line, recycled everything below it, and a layer of infrastructure in between that mostly works. Your body is your own, or mostly. Augmentation is normal here — not remarkable, not transgressive, just a fact of the market and the body and whatever you could afford or borrow or steal. Some people are chrome and light and engineered elegance. Some people are entirely biological, either by choice or because the other option wasn't really an option. Most people are somewhere in the middle, carrying a piece of hardware that came from somewhere and does something and costs more to maintain than they'd like. The megacorps administer most of the territory that matters. The government administers what's left. The syndicates administer the rest. You live inside one of these jurisdictions, under one of these arrangements, and navigate accordingly. Build who you are. Then live in it.