The grand ballroom of the Inner Spire was a massive monument to corporate excess. It was a place designed specifically to mock the absolute misery of the lower sectors.
While the refugees in Sector 4 starved and died from mutated rat bites, the Vanguard Syndicate top executives danced under floating chandeliers. The floor was a flawless expanse of polished obsidian laced with glowing veins of gold that pulsed in time with the swelling orchestral music.
The room was filled with the savory scent of roasted digital beasts. Massive multi-tiered fountains were scattered across the edges of the room but they did not pump water. They pumped a shimmering pink wine that cascaded down into carved crystal basins.
The guests were a collection of the highest-level NPCs and the most arrogant wealthy beta testers on the server. They wore flowing gowns and tailored sharp suits made from the hides of high-tier monsters.
But the most ridiculous part of the entire affair was the masks.
