BY ONE in the morning, the largest vice house in the Theta District was closed. Most Silver Palms patrons were either long gone or passed out in a dark corner.

I pushed the broom across the black resin floor of Acid Room #2. My workphones played their slow pulsing tone just slightly faster than the ambient pulse back home in the Delta District, what we call Slate Town. Its ambient sound was soothing and slow. Workphones were designed to produce methodical drones. I wouldn’t have admitted it, but part of me was thankful for them. When paired with a time dilating energy drink, work went quickly. It was like turning your brain off.