Sky City: The Rise of an Orphan
R. D. Hale
Author Bio
R.D. Hale is an author with no formal qualifications to speak of, hailing from somewhere in the UK. Little is known about him other than titbits, rumours and hear’say. Some say he is a menace to society, a ghost who has crept into the corporate machine with the intention of bringing down the establishment. Others say he is just an idiot from a council estate and his achievement is somewhat akin to a monkey on a typewriter randomly mashing out the full works of Shakespeare. One thing is for certain though, he has made a statement which cannot be ignored and his words are going to make a difference to this wretched ‘civilisation’ we have created!
Description
My name is Arturo Basilides. I am an orphan living in the slums of Medio City – the capital of a nation ravaged by a war which was won by extremists. Offered a choice between slavery and disenfranchisement, we exist in an underclass so disconnected we effectively inhabit a different era. Daily life involves scavenging, theft and substance abuse with a bunch of misfits who are somehow still in one piece after years of abandonment. I am a natural born fighter and although I despise warfare, I must witness the downfall of those bastard elites whilst fulfilling my romantic intentions with the forever unattainable girl of my dreams.
Sky City is a sci-fi action adventure with light elements of fantasy. It is set in a near future alternative reality where science is indistinguishable from magic and oppression is near-inescapable. Technology has created a newer, ‘superior’ form of human and genetically engineered monstrosities are as terrifying as anything encountered in your nightmares. The underclass have been underestimated and as they fight back the boundary between freedom fighter and terrorist becomes increasingly blurred. Meanwhile, the drug-induced haze of a traumatised mind places a question mark over the meaning of reality.
‘Sky City: The Rise of an Orphan interweaves heavy social issues and philosophy without ever sounding pedantic, milking the sci-fi genre for all its worth. The slum dog’s efforts to maintain their humanity in such a heartless age, when everything is going against them is so palpable. The 99% versus 1% theme focuses our minds on where society might be heading and forces us to look at things how they are, if we wish them to be truly different.’ Dean C. Moore – Author of Renaissance 2.0
R.D. Hale is an author with no formal qualifications to speak of, hailing from somewhere in the UK. Little is known about him other than titbits, rumours and hear’say. Some say he is a menace to society, a ghost who has crept into the corporate machine with the intention of bringing down the establishment. Others say he is just an idiot from a council estate and his achievement is somewhat akin to a monkey on a typewriter randomly mashing out the full works of Shakespeare. One thing is for certain though, he has made a statement which cannot be ignored and his words are going to make a difference to this wretched ‘civilisation’ we have created!
Description
My name is Arturo Basilides. I am an orphan living in the slums of Medio City – the capital of a nation ravaged by a war which was won by extremists. Offered a choice between slavery and disenfranchisement, we exist in an underclass so disconnected we effectively inhabit a different era. Daily life involves scavenging, theft and substance abuse with a bunch of misfits who are somehow still in one piece after years of abandonment. I am a natural born fighter and although I despise warfare, I must witness the downfall of those bastard elites whilst fulfilling my romantic intentions with the forever unattainable girl of my dreams.
Sky City is a sci-fi action adventure with light elements of fantasy. It is set in a near future alternative reality where science is indistinguishable from magic and oppression is near-inescapable. Technology has created a newer, ‘superior’ form of human and genetically engineered monstrosities are as terrifying as anything encountered in your nightmares. The underclass have been underestimated and as they fight back the boundary between freedom fighter and terrorist becomes increasingly blurred. Meanwhile, the drug-induced haze of a traumatised mind places a question mark over the meaning of reality.
‘Sky City: The Rise of an Orphan interweaves heavy social issues and philosophy without ever sounding pedantic, milking the sci-fi genre for all its worth. The slum dog’s efforts to maintain their humanity in such a heartless age, when everything is going against them is so palpable. The 99% versus 1% theme focuses our minds on where society might be heading and forces us to look at things how they are, if we wish them to be truly different.’ Dean C. Moore – Author of Renaissance 2.0
Book excerpt
My never -ending quest to avoid starvation has somehow led to climbing a drainpipe with a rucksack hanging from my shoulders. Halfway up, I lock my fingers tight to heave my body and my knee rises until a support bracket provides a toe-hold.
‘Bloody hell, this is higher than I thought,’ I wheeze, before thrusting onwards and upwards, driven by the fear of a crippling fall.
At last, I struggle onto the tarmac roofing and I gasp for breath as I pull my trailing leg up. Loosened moss falls into the lane where three passing kids stop and point as I stand atop this housing block. Anxious they could draw attention, I scurry past a maintenance cabin to face a taller building with a window left ajar.
As the rising sun penetrates the haze that lingers above Medio city, I place a hand over my brow. The sight of boxes and bags confirms the rumoured stash lies within a murky room.
‘Perfect,’ I mutter, but then I am unsteadied by a breeze and I wobble my arms, dangerously close to the edge.
Stepping back, I take an inch-perfect run up and I propel from the eave to soar through the air… My palms burn as I grasp the roofledge, but my toes to cushion the impact against this high-reaching wall. As always, my grip holds steady and I shimmy until my foot finds the window sill. ‘Whoa!’
Dangling one-handed, I pry the creaking window fully open. A downward glance confirms these brats are still watching, but I proceed to breach this thieves’ den by swinging through the window frame. My soles meet the floorboards as gently as a feline’s paws and I approach the piles of ill-gotten gains to open a bulging sack. Its contents seem to glow as though I have uncovered a pot of gold.
On top of this merchandise is a multipurpose watch, so I roll my sleeve up to wrap the straps around my wrist. The crystal face glints in the light as I fix the watch in place and I cram my rucksack with their stolen goods. The sound of shuffling feet draws my gaze to the slightly open door and I knock something over with my out-swinging hand. ‘Shit!’
A sleepy voice croaks, ‘Who’s that, up already?’
These jittery legs explode into action and with no time to attach my escape rope, I fling myself from the window sill to soar through the air.
My rucksack plummets to the ground as my hands meet the original roof and I crash against the wall. With my biceps almost bursting, I haul my torso onto the ledge and peer down in frustration. A few storeys below me, those scamps are scrambling for scattered contraband in the depths of the alley. Damn it!
That same voice yells, ‘Hey stop, you little bastard!’
‘You’ll never catch me!’ I roar, clambering up to the roof to sprint from the unlikely possibility of pursuit. My momentum cannot be halted as a treacherous gap emerges, so I just say, ‘To hell with it.’
I am either carried by a burst of adrenaline or a fortunate gust of wind, but I make the jump across. My ankles jar against corrugated iron and I roll over twice, before getting back to my feet to hurry on. Leaping between these unstable roofs, I reach a two storey building and I drop onto muddy ground at the foot of Auster Hill.
A giddy smile warms my face, but it is too early for complacency so I glance back to check if the early riser was agile enough to give chase. As I fail to watch where I am going, a clattering impact gives me a shockingly cold soaking. Regaining my balance, I realise I have knocked a water container from a ragged woman’s arms.
‘Sorry!’ I yell, turning a corner which has a lopsided street sign hanging on one screw. Patches of damp clothing cling to my goose-bumped flesh as I slow to walk home through an area which is rightfully known as the badlands.
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Author Website
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