The Heir of the Hurlers: Bronzeville, 2199

Drew Wade
Nov 16
4 min read

The Bronzeville Fusion Center shimmered at dusk, its plasma-blue glass skin catching the reflection of Lake Michigan’s quantum tide. It wasn’t a “gym” anymore—hadn’t been for over a century—but people still called it that, out of habit. It stood where the old LA Fitness once did at Lake Meadows, now part of Quantum City, or just locally called QC for short, previously known as the City of Chicago, the world’s first fully fusion-powered metropolis.

The air was ionized, faintly metallic—the scent of clean energy. The Metropolitan Water Reclamation District, once a humble government agency, had evolved into MWRD Industries, the most powerful energy conglomerate in the solar system. It had started with reversing the Chicago River. Then it reversed civilization’s dependence on fossil fuels. Now it pumped fusion power from orbiting desalination arrays around Europa and distributed it through wormhole conduits across the asteroid belt.

Inside, the soundscape was part hum, part pulse—a symphony of bio-feedback loops and neural sync tracks. Members didn’t “work out”; they recalibrated. Muscle fibers were tuned at the quantum level. Cardio was done via simulated gravity modulation. Even sweat had been optimized—nanofluids extracted from the skin to generate trace fusion energy in the recycling vents.

“Jet! My guy! Back from the Belt?”

Jet Osei grinned and dropped his magnetic boots by the hydration bar. “Three weeks inbound, Zuri. Belt dust still in my hair. You ever try sleeping in microgravity while hauling three hundred tons of frozen H₂O between Ceres and Mars? Makes you dream sideways.”

Zuri, now head trainer of Fusion Alignment Systems, laughed as she spun a protein lattice cylinder. “You look good for someone who’s been living in a rock garden. Guess all that zero-G keeps you young.”

“Or old,” Jet said. “Depends on the flare storms. Last one almost fried our hull. Had to patch with Europa ice. The old-timers used to call it duct tape; we call it phase-wrap.”

Zuri raised a brow. “They still pay you in QDit?”

“Half,” Jet said. “Other half’s indexed to the QuantumCX—the QX, you know. H₂O.FUT just broke 1,400 a cubic teraliter. You’d have made a fortune if you bought last dip.”

Above them, a holographic ticker flickered:

QuantumCX Live Feed

QDIT ↑ 2.7% | H₂O.FUT ↑ 1.9% | MWRD-A ↑ 3.4% | SOL.MIN ↓ 0.8% | MarsOps IPO Suspended

Zuri whistled. “Looks like fusion water’s the new gold.”

“Always was,” Jet said, sipping his drink. “Back when we still used combustion engines, Chicago water was already the lifeblood. Only now it flows through stars.”

He turned toward the vast glass wall where the Quantum City’s skyline glittered under the aurora of fusion fields. The Willis Tower had been retrofitted into a power beacon. The old MWRD headquarters was now MWRD Industries, its emblem—a reversed river wrapped around an atom—projected into the night sky.

“So tell me,” Zuri said, leaning on the counter. “What’s it like out there, really? The Belt?”

Jet chuckled. “Imagine Bronzeville, but stripped of air, gravity, and jazz. Just silence and stone—and the hum of machines cutting into the heart of creation. The asteroids don’t rush through space like people think. They drift. Slow. Like ancient whales moving through black water. You can feel their mass, their patience.”

He paused. “But they’re rich—denser than Earth rock. Iron, nickel, platinum, water ice. Pure as the day the universe forged ’em. We sling the water chunks toward Mars, some toward Earth orbit. You wouldn’t believe the power when they melt—fusion-grade hydrogen, straight from the void.”

Zuri tilted her head. “So… like space cowboys.”

Jet grinned. “That’s what they call us—‘Hurlers.’ We ride the frozen herds.”

A low vibration trembled through the floor. The fusion alignment cycle was beginning.

Overhead, the lights shifted from blue to crimson as the tide synchronization field engaged. The walls flickered with data—quantum stress graphs, plasma resonance lines, QX token updates.

Zuri glanced at the numbers. “What’s with the surge? MWRD’s trending like it’s about to announce something.”

Jet’s expression darkened. “They are. Word in the Belt is they’re bidding for the Europa Ice Pipeline. A hundred-billion-credit project. If they land it, they’ll control ninety percent of all fusion water in the system.”

“And if they don’t?”

Jet finished his drink. “Then we go further.”

She frowned. “Further where?”

“Saturn’s rings still shine, don’t they?” he said, smiling faintly.

The floor pulse shifted again—this time, sharper, almost seismic. A voice cut through the intercom:

“Quantum tide misalignment detected. Please remain calm.”

Jet froze. “That’s not supposed to happen. Not in fusion range.”

Zuri looked toward the ceiling. “Jet… you feel that? It’s like—”

The windows flashed white, then black.

Outside, the skyline dimmed. For the first time in decades, Chicago’s fusion glow faltered. The aurora vanished.

The holo-ticker blinked erratically:

QuantumCX: SYSTEM HALT — UNKNOWN SIGNAL SOURCE / QDIT ↓ 12.4% / MWRD-A TRADING SUSPENDED

A tremor rippled through the building. Jet grabbed the counter to steady himself. “That’s coming from orbit,” he said. “Something’s wrong with the hurling lanes.”

“Could it be an asteroid strike?”

He shook his head. “Not possible. All lanes are mapped. Unless…”

He trailed off, eyes narrowing toward the lake. Beyond the blackened skyline, a faint light shimmered on the horizon—an unfamiliar blue-green glow, rising like dawn.

Zuri whispered, “What is that?”

Jet’s voice was quiet, almost reverent. “Not from Earth,” he said. “Or the Belt.”

A deep hum filled the air—low, resonant, almost musical. The lake’s surface rippled, glowing brighter, until patterns—like runes of energy—spiraled outward in geometric symmetry.

Every display in the Fusion Center flickered simultaneously, showing one message:

“The Heir of the Hurlers has returned.”

Then the light consumed everything.