Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 2020complete | Page 635

something about it. After long minutes of walking over cracked concrete, which bewildered him slightly as that was the first anomaly he found in the otherwise well-groomed Hub, he came across a series of squat, cramped buildings made of anything imaginable, ranging from broken bamboo sticks to old car parts to flimsy planks of wood. Stunned was a laughable understatement for what he felt. The sorry state of the makeshift houses here and the people he saw… their dirt-streaked faces and prodding eyes intimidated him, and it was so unlike anything the Greater Bay Area represented. Yet, it was also far from what the villages were like. There, it was much, much worse. ‘Who are you?’ It was a simple question, yet it felt like an accusation. His eyes found a squat, frail, old woman whose bones looked like they wouldn’t withstand a strong wind, but he had a hunch she was probably stronger than himself. ‘I’m, um… I’m Aiden. Sorry, I’m not from here… Do you know where the closest Hyperloop station is?’ He started, hesitant to meet her eyes. She glared at him for the better half of a minute. If looks could kill, he’d be dead by now. He started to leave, but the sharpness of her voice caught him off guard. ‘Wait.’ The tension in the air was tangible, as all the residents of the area watched their exchange. ‘Come in.’ ——— ‘How did you find this place?’ Her voice was soft despite the weight the sentence seemed to carry. ‘I'm here for an internship and it’s my first day, and the train sort of broke down and I got lost. I came here by accident, I guess.’ She stayed silent. He took the opportunity to gaze around the house, which solely consisted of one dimly-lit room with a thin mattress good for two pushed against the wall, piles of worn-out clothes in every corner, and empty food cans overflowing from a tattered plastic bag. Several photos of a woman, a man, and two children, all with smiling faces, stood out against the sooty wall. Three rusted metal buckets guarded the back entrance, next to a grimy stove and a broken fridge with its door removed to reveal plates, cleaning supplies, and more non-perishable food. ‘So are you saying you won the Lottery? You’re from the villages, aren’t you? And you’re now staying in the Warzone, right?’ ‘“Warzone?”’ He sputtered. ‘Oh, that’s what we call the Hub,’ the woman deadpanned. ‘Because us marginalized people have to fight for our rights there. It gets bloody sometimes.’ This place was full of some nasty surprises,