The wagon was exceptionally empty – only nine people were inside. Usually, when Ferrick traveled by tram, the wagons were so crowded that he had to wait for the next line of transport. Fortunately for him, it was only a few minutes past ten in the morning. Most residents were probably at work, earning a meager minimum wage.
Silence prevailed, broken only by the hum of the damaged engine. The passengers sat quietly, staring at their shoes or the dirty windows, as if avoiding acknowledging each other. In the corner sat a man in a patched-up coat, his hands resting on a suitcase that looked as exhausted as he did. Next to him, a young woman held a child in her arms, trying to hide her fatigue behind the wrinkles on her face. In front of them stood an elderly man who wouldn't stop coughing, pressing a handkerchief to his mouth. Across the vehicle, far from Ferrick, sat a woman with her face hidden behind an upside-down book, and beside her, two young men whispered to each other, ignoring the rest of the passengers.
From the inside, the tram looked no better than it did from the outside. It was dirty, cramped, and unappealing. Shades of gray dominated, with light brown stains scattered throughout. The lights didn't work, so without a flashlight or good memory, it was difficult to recognize the layout of the seats. The only thing that functioned flawlessly was the loudspeaker. It informed passengers which station the tram was approaching. Sometimes, it also reminded them of the date, upcoming national holidays, or delivered the most important news from the previous day.
Ferrick sat in the first available seat near the door and began to think deeply about what the doctor had told him. He wasn't worried about his lungs, but the thought of being transferred to the Disposable Level terrified him. The anarchy and poverty that ruled there poisoned his thoughts. He feared change, which only made him more anxious. As far back as he could remember, he had lived on the lower level. He knew no other world. Besides, leaving the city was impossible, so he had never even considered such an option. The only knowledge he had of other parts of the world came from the radio and loudspeakers.
The ruling party, the True Democratic Party (TDP), spoke of the growing threats beyond the country's borders. Most nations were now waging war over the planet's last remaining resources. The government called it the Final War because whoever won it would gain total control over the world and dominate the others. The country Ferrick lived in – Caldoria – was also involved. From what he knew, the TDP had completely dominated northern Africa, allowing Caldoria to position itself among the world's greatest powers. Unfortunately, most of the resources were sent to the Upper Level. People at the bottom could only dream of them, but despite that, they still celebrated Caldoria's victories.
- Donald!? - someone suddenly shouted.
Ferrick looked up and saw a bald man with darker skin. His entire face was covered in freckles.
- Donald, is that really you? It's been so many years! How long has it been? Six, maybe ten years?
- I'm sorry, you must have mistaken me for someone else - Ferrick stated.
- You don't remember me? It's me, Garlos. We used to work together cleaning rubble in the Holpego district. You carried the heavier stones, and I took the lighter ones because of my back pain.
After thinking for a moment, Ferrick indeed remembered him. A scrawny boy with back problems. They used to talk often, but after changing jobs, they had completely lost contact.
- You're right. You completely slipped my mind. I'm really sorry, Garlos, but I've had a lot on my plate lately. How have you been? - Ferrick asked.
- Nothing new. My back pain keeps reminding me of itself as I get older, so I followed in your footsteps and changed jobs too. Now I sell used furniture in one of the smaller stores. It's not exactly a well-paying job, but at least it covers the rent. And what about you? Anything new? How's Elena? - Garlos asked, sitting down next to Ferrick.
- She's gone - he replied.
- Oh... I'm so sorry.
- It's alright. It happened seven years ago. She had pancreatic cancer. There was nothing we could do. Luckily, they didn't transfer her to the Disposable Level. She died in my arms.
Ferrick suddenly started coughing violently. These ailments had been troubling him for a long time, which was why he had finally decided to see a doctor. Unfortunately for him, nothing was prescribed, though he had really hoped for something.
- Are you alright? - Garlos asked, concerned.
- Yes, I've just had lung problems for a while now. I had a doctor's appointment today, but I didn't learn anything new. That's why I'm on the tram at this hour.
- I'm on my way to work. On Mondays, my shop doesn't open until eleven-thirty in the morning. You're still working at that lightbulb factory?
- Yeah. Nothing has changed.
Suddenly, a soft voice came from the loudspeaker, announcing that the tram was approaching a station in the Ungre district. Ferrick stood up and looked at the bald man sitting next to him.
- This is my stop. It was nice seeing you again - he said with a slight smile.
- Visit me sometime. I'm currently living in the Buffra district, in the Under the Stars complex. Fourth floor, room number seven. Will you remember?
- Of course. When I have some free time, I'll drop by.
The tram screeched to a stop, and the doors next to Ferrick suddenly opened. As he stepped out, he waved goodbye to Garlos and left the old machine, stepping straight into his poor neighborhood. Ferrick coughed again, though this time more lightly. When he finished, he straightened up and headed toward his home.