Editing Fruit of the Vine:Josephus

==A Visit to the Locus Itertion IX, called the Ninth Hill, by The Historian==

My first impression upon entering Locus Itertion IX by way of the massive Id Gate was one of profound Deja vu. Having spent much of my time in Rome of old--before the eighth and ninth hills disappeared, mind--I found the sights greatly reminiscent of the old city. The simple yet elegant togas adorning the rich as their servants bore them along in litters, the magnificent columns that rose to dizzying heights holding aloft statues and images of gods; it was so like Rome.

Yet, much more had changed than had remained the same, I noted sadly. No longer were the palanquins of the rich carried by bare chested slaves from the south, the hot sun glistening seductively on their exotic, ebony skin. No, now the rich were carried by simulacrums of man; metal machines that never grew tired, never required food or pay. But they didn’t sweat, either; didn’t have the stars of far off countries reflected in their homesick eyes. Progress cannot be attained without the loss of something else.

The streets, likewise, were different. Gone were the earthy, stone roads that made Rome and empire. Now the famous Vias were smooth metal, each road a different type. Via Aurum is the road that leads from the Id Gate to the heart of the Chancel and is paved entirely of gold. Via Meshuga twists in a winding, chaotic fashion through the Courts district and is paved with Uranium. This helps one to navigate easier—all one must do is identify the alloy of the road they’re on—but it is a trifle disconcerting walking on radioactive metal, I will tell you. 

I digress—I was comparing old Rome to Locus IX. The buildings, likewise, had changed, though the basic architecture was the same. Taller, these were, and constructed of metals like the roads. The images adorning their giant, arched entrances or the cavernous halls were gods and heroes unfamiliar to me; no doubt the Powers of IX throughout antiquity, as well as some of their grander, more memorable champions.

The people were much the same. Oh, many had a glowing, cybernetic eye, or a silver arm, or data ports trailing from their scalp like the tiny braids the Egyptians favored, but their demeanor was the same. The peasants were every bit as dirty, as destitute; only the arenas ever cheered their countenance, but I will come to that soon enough. The merchants, the middle class, were still there. How could they not be? Rome was one of the first places that class ever existed. Still their eyes held the hunger, the desperation, to ascend, to scale the social latter to the higher strata, if somewhat stronger than I remembered.

And the nobles? Vainglorious, pompous, strutting peacocks… as is proper. But these elite seemed to take it to extremes—their palanquins adorned with mirrors, their slaves constantly reapplying makeup and straightening their togas. Any peasant that happened to accidentally lock eyes with a noble was forced to immediately kiss the feet of the offended noble’s slave, then shave a lock of their head as penance and obeisance. Truly quite ridiculous, though I cannot tell whether this stems from the influence of the Power of Vanity or Litigation. Perhaps it is both.

Another aspect of old Rome I found amplified here was the cacophony of voices that barraged me as I strolled through the town. Hawkers crying their talismans or foods; slaves heralding their masters, clearing the crowd; even street performers singing or acting plays I’ve never seen before. It was with much gratitude that I bought a pair of ear plugs from a street vendor on the Via Vocis. 




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