Self-interest is the currency of existence.
People don't move for free. They don't speak without purpose. Every word, every action it all serves something, whether they admit it or not.
I used to believe otherwise. That was my first mistake.
The city of Veridion doesn't care about beliefs. It's a hungry, restless thing, pulsing with ambition the kind that doesn't build, only devours. Here, success is a game of leverage, and morality is a luxury only fools try to afford. It's the kind of place where people smile at you in the morning and stab you in the back before lunch. They call it progress, call it survival. And maybe it is.
At a glance, Veridion looks impressive. A city of gleaming glass towers, neon lights reflected on rain-slicked streets, a skyline that stretches like a monument to ambition. Everything moves fast people, money, power. Especially power. Deals are whispered over coffee in high-rise offices, signed in rooms where no cameras exist. The streets hum with a different kind of energy at night the kind that belongs to the ones who don't just survive here, but thrive.
But beneath the glamour, beneath the illusion of order, the cracks are everywhere. In the flickering streetlights of Lowmarket, where debts are collected in dark alleys and secrets are worth more than cash. In the polished corridors of Celhurst, where wealth doesn't mean integrity it just means you've learned to hide your sins behind expensive suits and well-placed donations. Even in Dawnbury, the so-called respectable part of the city, where people pretend to be honest simply because they can afford to.
Veridion rewards those who understand the game. And those who don't? They get swallowed whole.
I don't resent it. I just understand it.
I wasn't always like this. There was a time when I thought honesty had weight, that sincerity could stand on its own. I thought the truth mattered.
Then I saw what truth is really worth.
It was late afternoon, one of those hazy, overcast days where the sky looked like it couldn't decide whether to rain or clear up. The air was thick with the usual smells of the city gasoline, cigarettes, the faint metallic tang of pollution that never really left. I was standing outside a convenience store, waiting for my turn to go in, kicking at a loose stone on the sidewalk.
Inside, everything was ordinary. Fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, shelves stocked with overpriced snacks and dented soda cans. The man behind the counter the clerk wasn't important. Middle-aged, thinning hair, the kind of face that fades into the background. The kind of person who lives and dies without making a dent in the world.
The thief wasn't impressive either. Young, jumpy, face hidden behind a cheap mask. His hand shook as he pointed a gun at the register.
"Give me the money."
A simple demand. One that could have ended cleanly.
The clerk complied mostly. His fingers trembled as he opened the register, sliding the bills across the counter. If he had stopped there, he would have lived. But he didn't.
"This won't get you anywhere."
A second passed. Then another.
Then the thief pulled the trigger.
I remember the way the shot cracked through the air, sharp and final. The way the clerk staggered back, as if his body hadn't quite processed what had just happened. The way the blood spread, dark and thick, across his shirt, dripping onto the linoleum floor.
The thief stood there for a moment, frozen. Then he ran fast, panicked, shoving past customers on his way out.
No one chased him. No one screamed.
The customers in the store just stood there, wide-eyed, hands covering their mouths. One of them pulled out their phone. Another quietly slipped out the door, not wanting to be involved.
And the man who spoke the truth? He was dead.
For what?
Seventeen dollars and eighty-four cents.
That was the price of honesty.
That was the day I stopped believing in truth.
It doesn't save you. It doesn't protect you.
Truth is just an invitation to be destroyed.
But if truth was worthless, what about people?
I thought, maybe, people had some kind of core. That beneath the lies, the performances, there was something real. That even if they were selfish, there was a line they wouldn't cross.
I learned otherwise when I was thirteen.
It wasn't a gunshot that time. Just a classroom. A missing notebook. A test of human nature.
The girl who lost it sat two rows ahead of me, fingers twisting in the hem of her uniform, voice thin and strained as she asked if anyone had seen it. There was real panic in her voice not because of the notebook itself, but because of what was inside. Maybe it had personal notes. Maybe it had something she wasn't ready to lose.
Then Carl stood up, grinning, holding it in the air like a prize. "Found it!"
Relief flooded her face. She reached for it.
He pulled it back. "I think this is worth something, don't you?"
She hesitated. Laughed, nervously. "Carl, come on."
"Nothing comes for free."
The class laughed. It was just a joke, right? Just harmless fun. But I watched her face. The way her lips pressed together, the way her shoulders tensed as she swallowed back her pride.
She offered him ten dollars.
He smirked and handed it over.
Everyone laughed. She laughed too, even as her hands clenched around the notebook.
And I saw it.
We like to believe there are things we wouldn't trade. Dignity. Kindness. Friendship. But when the moment comes, when the balance tips, people always choose what benefits them.
That was a notebook. A meaningless, replaceable thing.
What happens when it's something bigger?
What happens when it's your job? Your freedom? Your life?
Everyone has a price.
Everyone.
That's the world we live in. Not one of justice or fairness, not one where truth matters or people stand firm in their ideals.
No.
We live in a world of shifting masks, of whispered bargains and unspoken debts. A world where power isn't about strength it's about knowing how to play the game.
They say deception is wrong. That lies corrupt. That honesty is the foundation of integrity.
I've seen the truth.
Truth is worthless. Lies build empires.
And people? People are just numbers waiting for the right price.
If the world runs on selfishness, I'll master it. If people lie to survive, I'll lie better.
Because in a place like Veridion, where everyone is pretending, the only true power belongs to the one who sees through the illusion.
And I?
I see everything.
Because in the end, there's only one person I can rely on.Me.
No false promises, no empty smiles, no borrowed favors that come with invisible strings. No waiting for someone to step in, no illusions that anyone ever will. People look out for themselves; they always have, they always will. So why should I be any different?
Trust is a weakness. Dependence is a gamble. And I don't make bets I can't control.
I stand alone, and that suits me just fine. Because at the end of the day, when all the deals collapse, when all the lies unravel, when everyone else is left scrambling I will still be standing.