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You're listening to Chrono Trigger OST - Secret Of The Forest
The so cherished love of a city is but a melancholic reflection of those who inhabit it, as long as they do carelessly and with freedom, in the form of a freedom who incarcerates the boundaries and makes the big eye go blind against anarchism.
And the love for competition follows the line of engagement for oneself superb behaviour and dotes, and dunes of knowledges, paper instead of grains of sand, that's what competing is, is for the love of it, what you had from birth, what you got from the exterior, and what you've searched yourself to get into. If anything this is the legend of an accordion whose player got lost in the sea, searching for a better live outside of this city and region.
This city, connected through a boat who arrives in the off-shore metallic empowerment manifestation of the city procedure, an hangar lacks width from this monstrous bridge of metal, of metal beams soldered with titanium and rematched with silver mouldings, all of it rusted by the ravenous sea who hits mercilessly against the structure. And who won here is the protagonist a burglar, a common hand thief, whose skills for the deception where that of a chameleon, enough to rob the information he needed about the security by faking a limp, where the security held him and lead him through the installation in search of the medic hallway where he can get a chair at least to move, and he examined graciously how everything worked.
How did their weapons looked? How many brigades there are, those were the racks and how many beds there were done that day? 152 men, at least here in the bridge, he got out by pure luck with a walking cane that he planned to drop as fast as he could.
That lovely town, held it's time in the fog surrounding it, exploding in sunlight and the warmth of the spring, was proud and shine in their competitiveness in all sorts, a healthy one, one of change of phase and of collaboration in desire to surpass the others, even if the others were the records of the last month. This of course took the city into a constant state of legacy and discovery, one of enthalpic skyscrapers and hellholes, one that changed where the record of highest building came along. And it all started going down.
Not literally but, metaphorically, the ceilings quickly began to be pillarized and the rooftops began to grow towards the sky, the sky that was limitless and untouchable, the rooftops who became wider, taller, profound in nature, week after week a new edification was started and week after month was one finished, this natural progressive stacking was in the same ordeal as a lake turns into a dry batch or an ocean into a desert, how the roofs became new ground and the ground was used as base for new houses, and what was below there it stayed, privated of this warmth and this beauty.
There the men were born white and grew sad grey, no one knew the sun, some of them began to work their own way into the earth but they were quickly stopped by the force of nature who sundered and flooded the first riot, riot that caused a revolt, only half of the base is now usable, and the other half is now known as The Sewage, the people with no purpose go there to fish, and only to fish is their purpose, to be there and wither with the ciements.
Meanwhile the rest is empty, underwater is sulfurous and venomous, the water bites as a stingray stings, it's their nature, and the nature of the above ones, those who construct the most, you would be surprised to hear, it's rudimentary, it's barebones what would construct as a normal house, it's pillars over pillars over relieves and over those there's an a wooden scaffold that is being revested with cement and stones from the neighbouring countries. It's a monolith of what a derived can produce, or about what the animosity for customs and antics could end with.
Behind the city lovely design for parkour artist and graffiters lies a subhuman culture of search, of craving, everyone does but those who lay in the levels 3-9 are the real culture of the city, one who just gets in may enter the level 2 and that's the farthest you could get as a tourist, for reaching higher levels there are secret places, breaches, hidden in the darkest corners, rat holes where you have to crawl upwards more than 50 ft in order to see the base of the next level, it's a hellscape to see the bases of these places, yes, but it's an ordeal only for those who desire to be in it.
After all the city stands, and the people who start to adventure at this place stand too, everyone who doesn't return with their designated boat is called missing, and due to that a new wave of adventurers arised to explore too, the security got worse and now the mystic of what lies between levels is barely documentalized, all there is known is the top of it, bya satellite, and the second level due to it being the only accessible place legally.
Those who enter these rat holes never return from the labyrinthic rhythm of the city, those who claim to return, never are seen again or recognized, the neon lights the people and the production in these places, they are, well, extravagant, survivorist, they are born and they are found dead in the same spot, and that's the nature of it.
And nothing can stop it from being that way. Not because of anything the city is called free and anarchist. People do what people want, and they want to rot.
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