The date is 24/3/52.
It’s 8 o’ clock, and the morning commuters are exiting their homes to head to work, myself included. No one questions this act; it is performed without command. I step into my vehicle, close the door, and begin to drive.
As I make my way down the light gray side street lined with colonial housing, I look around to see my fellow men. My rear-view mirror shows a Caucasian man of indiscernible age. I have never seen this man before. I may never see him again. I am surrounded by hundreds of thousands, and yet I am alone.
I reach the end of my street and turn right onto a four-lane avenue, headed toward The City’s commercial sector. A perfectly arranged row of trees is to my left as I continued to drive east into the inner part of The City. Cars line the avenue, chunks of them disappearing on occasion. No one seems to notice this. I can only hope that such a thing never happens to me.
I suddenly become aware of the haunting quietness. I turn on the radio. The Morning Announcements are playing, a female reporter speaking.
“Mayor De Facto’s approval rating is up to twelve out of twelve. City citizens are calm and content. City population is now-”
I quickly switch off the radio, preferring the silence to the endless stream of statistics that is the Morning Announcements. I’m not entirely sure why they’re referred to as such, as the Morning Announcements abruptly become the Afternoon Announcements at noon and the Evening Announcements at five. All three are exactly the same.
I eventually reach the end of the Residential District and enter The City’s Commercial Sector. I make a few more turns and arrive at my place of work, Chalmers Co, at precisely 9 o’ clock. I am one of 75 workers. Each day I perform my duties as employee from nine in the morning until five at night. I do not know what I do at the company, only that everyone else seems to be doing it as well. I look around, surrounded by a mass of cubicles. With walls of drab gray and carpeted floors of ambiguous color, Chalmers Co. is the pinnacle of modern business. I find my cubicle and sit down, booting up my computer as I do every morning.
“Hey there!” says an excited voice.
I turn, looking upon a chubby face. I’ve seen this face and heard this voice every morning for the last eighteen years. “Good morning,” I respond quietly.
“Did you hear?” the man asks. I give a confused look. “The Mayor has zoned for expansion of the Commercial Sector,” he explains. “Westward.”
“Westward?” I question. He nods.
“By the end of the week, The City will have the largest commercial sector of anywhere in the Nation!” he exclaims.
I think for a moment. “Westward… wouldn’t that spill over into the Residential District?” The man nods once again. “Where will the people go?”
The man’s facial expression twists into one of utter confusion. I am looked at like a foreign object. He walks away.
I turn back to my computer, which has successfully turned on. I access the internet, entering the search query, “Map of Nation”. My result is brought to me instantly.
“No search results found. Did you mean
Mayor De Facto?”
I sit back in my chair, staring at the screen. A burning desire to break out of this mind-numbing routine begins to build up inside of me as it has several times before, and I fear I can’t go another day without acting upon it. I take a deep breath, and set to work. My vision darkens.
With a sudden jolt, I come to. I check the time; it is 5 o’ clock. The work day is complete, and my co-workers are packing their things in preparation for the evening commute. Briefly, I fear that I have fallen asleep on the job, but I inspect my monitor to find a full day’s worth of typing.
“See you tomorrow!” says the plump man as he passes my cubicle without waiting for a response. I gather my belongings and head for the door.
I step out into the parking lot, which is already nearly empty. The workers are all headed home or out into to the Shops. I have a different plan in mind.
I enter my vehicle and pull out of the parking lot. Rather than turning right, to head westward towards my home, I turn left. The needle of my speedometer is stable at fifty as I cruise, at all times staying five feet in front of the car behind me and five feet behind the car in front. The City is quiet as always.
As the clock hits six, traffic begins to disperse. I can tell I am nearing the edge of the Commercial Sector, as the buildings start to diminish in size. I pass several diners, car dealerships, and small shops. I realize I have never been in this part of The City. I eventually reach the end of the Commercial Sector, which transitions into a Residential District, but a Residential District very different from the one I know. The houses here are small, many are run down or abandoned, and a thin layer of smog fills the air. The avenue on which I was travelling condenses into a two-lane road. People watch as I drive past, staring.
The smog thickens as I drive and I come to the understanding that I am approaching the Industrial Zone. I have never been near the Industrial Zone; it is kept away from the other parts of The City, and is rarely mentioned other than for reports of productivity. I can see why, as even with my windows rolled up, my eyes begin to water. I keep driving.
I infer that the low-density housing here is home to the workers of the factories that make up the Industrial Zone. I suddenly feel thankful for my monotonous occupation at Chalmers Co. This part of The City seems to give off an aura of sadness. I continue to drive, eventually crossing over into the Industrial Zone itself. I am now completely alone, not another vehicle is in sight. It is 7 o’ clock, and the sun is setting. The City’s street lights have not yet been activated, but the lack of traffic makes for a simple enough time driving. Factories line the street. I am surrounded by dirty, filthy industry. I see a particularly large building that seems to be emitting a sizable portion of the smog, all from six large pipes located on the center of the roof. Long, thick wires are attached to it. I have no idea what it is for, but I can only guess that it is vital to The City’s prosperity, or else such a pollutant would surely not be tolerated.
I continue to drive, and the sun continues to set. Just as I begin to feel that Industrial Zone may never end, the structures stop abruptly. I lay off the gas pedal and roll to a stop. I am surrounded by endless grass on three sides and The City on the other. The smog, which had completely smothered me just moments ago, has now completely vanished. I attempt to open my car door to step out, but the door is jammed. I climb to the passenger side, only to discover that this door ceases to open as well. I start to panic, and an eerie sensation that I am being watched falls over me. I fight the sudden urge to return to my home, where life’s daily routine is not only safe, but seems curiously satisfying now. I refuse to give in, however, and climb back into the driver’s seat. I slam on the gas pedal.
I watch the needle on my speedometer, as it approaches seventy, then eighty, then ninety. I eventually reach over one hundred miles per hour. I need to get away. I glance in my rearview mirror as The City grows smaller in the distance. As my distance from The City grows, as does the fear inside me. I have never been so afraid, and perhaps the worst part is not knowing why. It is 8 o’ clock now. My instincts tell me to continue driving, but I feel an outside force compelling me to go back. But I can’t… I can’t go back.
I feel like I am thinking clearly for the first time in decades, yet I am more confused than ever. The emotions within me seem to be at war with one another, and I cannot tell which side I am on. The City in the background is now about the same size as the full moon in the sky. I push forward. It is 9 o’ clock. I can see nothing past what my headlights show me. I am terrified. The City is now a speck in the distance, so small that one may not notice it had he not known it was there. And as The City disappears entirely, I break free.
The fear, the longing for home, and the confusion are gone. With a swift realization, I discover that I hate The City. I hate The City, and I hate the Mayor. I hate the Residential District and the Commercial Sector and the Industrial Zone and the Morning Announcements and the Afternoon and Evening Announcements and everything else in The City and I always have. I try saying it aloud. It feels even better to say than to think. I laugh out of the sheer pleasure of defiance. I look down at the speedometer, which has fallen to eighty. I pump the brakes and begin to drive more slowly. I close my eyes, only to reopen them a few moments later.
The headlights of my vehicle light up nothing past twenty feet, then fifteen, then ten. With a horrible realization, I slam the breaks and screech to a halt.
I open my car door and step out. I look down into the darkness. The road ends abruptly, as does the ground. Looking at the location of my vehicle, I realize that I came within three feet of falling for eternity. The world simply ends. I turn around, and I see the vague outline of a structure approximately thirty feet away. Curious, I step into my car and turn it around to cast light on the edifice. It reveals itself to be not a building, but a sign. It reads:
“Welcome to SimCity.”