I then reached my hand out to hold onto his, it was firm and cold, cold as in the night wind blowing through your bare flesh. I can feel a material preventing me from passing through him, just like a normal hand with their flesh does, there is something there holding onto me and letting me hold onto him, but at the same time, it does necessarily not feel real, it was surreal, the word is surreal. Winds were circulati
>It has an underground city
>Guess what, lower city people are infected with a smell that distinguised them from upper people
>That smell is stigma
>Lower city people can't get a job
>The government make them work a factory line, they have no choice so they're treated like animals
>Ppl fail trying to pull uprisings
>FMC being the Mary Sue, pull out a Karl Marx book
>Convince people to unionize