Incorporated with DeepSeek
The Community of La Egal, a word joke of the German word Egal, doesnt matter, and the French ideal of Egalite took the houses around La Bibliotheque Francoise Mitterand after another Virus struck through mankind. Actually it struck through the developed world defined by a healthcare system that at some point had started to drug the population instead ensure their well being and health.
Millions had died. Corona had killed hardcore addicts of both drugs and medication and when the rain manifested into a constant European Jungle Climate with warm winters and hot summers facing heavy rains with only few sunny days pouring so hard that even Paris faced constantly flooded streets and tunnels.
But also everything grew much faster and stronger. They cultivated the park on the other side of the river, while the Bois de Boulogne with its Hippodromes turned into a new form of Jungle native to Europe from here. It was a wet land with fast growing trees and moss instead of grass or wetland, high rising grass but definitely a very lot of ferns.
National order was gone. The Supermarkets and warehouses were so full, they could life on deep chilled and canned food for generations and had contacts onto the country side where others survived the Fever by never having taking even soft over the counter pain killers despite having dived deep through the Cocaine Wave that had hit Europe by the U.S. shutting down their boarders washing many users over the Atlantic into Europe's rich men's world.
There they were, the Pizza delivery guys, Bus drivers, small shop owners, mechanics and unemployed having still no future in the corporate world...because they would not move away to Asia where that still existed and ever did drug free.
All thought the world would turn into a hardcore Dystopia, but the Fever ended that plan by biological warfare of the ecosystem against those trying to enforce their will above Gaia, Mother Nature or just the Ecosystem and failed.
Here is a week in the life of Maurice, a citizen of La Egal, in the Kingdome of Heaven.
**Monday: The Mycelial Network**
The hum of the geothermal pump was the community’s heartbeat, a vibration Maurice felt through the synth-wood floor of his pod. His morning began not with an alarm, but with a soft, choral chime from the apartment’s AI, Lumina.
“Good morning, Maurice. The Seine is receding. Pollen count is high. Your mycological array has achieved 93% synchronization.”
Maurice smiled, stretching. Through the polarized glass of his balcony, he watched the rain-drenched towers of La Bibliotheque Francoise Mitterand, now draped in vertical farms and living vines that pulsed with soft, bioluminescent light. This wasn't the dystopian hellscape the corps had promised. This was a reclamation.
His work began at the console, a sleek, recycled-aluminum frame holding a haptic interface. Wired into his temple was a non-invasive datajack, a sleek silver stud. He wasn’t jacking into a combat sim or a financial market; he was diving into the root system of the Bois de Boulogne.
His hands moved through the holographic display, guiding the community’s AI, "Gaia-Net," through the complex mycelial network beneath the new European jungle. His task was nutrient distribution. The magic-users, the *Verdants*, could encourage growth, but it was the AI and mycologists like him who orchestrated the symphony, directing nutrients to the fruit orchards one day, the medicinal mosses the next. It was slow, meticulous work, a dance with a biological machine of immense complexity. A weapon? No. It was the world’s most advanced, self-repairing larder.
**Tuesday: The Artisan’s Run**
Tuesdays were for logistics. Maurice’s custom ride, a retrofitted Renault Coupe from the 2040s, was a thing of beauty. He’d stripped its military-grade plating with the community’s mechanics, replacing it with a lightweight carbon-fiber shell, airbrushed with a mural of a heron taking flight over a circuit board. The engine purred, a deep, electric hum tuned for pleasure, not for fleeing.
He rode with Chloé, a former bus driver with a datajack interface directly into the car’s navigation system. Their mission: to collect artisanal cheeses from a surviving farmstead in Normandy, their payment being pre-Fever medical knowledge digitized and stored on crystalline data-slates.
The ride was a joy. They weaved through Paris’s flooded *périphérique* on elevated mag-lev pathways grown by the Verdants, the city a stunning archipelago of moss-covered ruins and revitalized eco-structures. They weren’t chased. They weren’t afraid. They were traders in a world where the greatest currency was knowledge and beauty.
**Wednesday: The Concert of the Rains**
That evening, the community gathered in the great atrium of the library, now open to the elements, a cathedral of knowledge and nature. A Verdant named Elise, her arms traced with glowing phytoluminescent tattoos, stood in the center. As the warm, heavy rain began to fall, she didn’t cast a shield. Instead, she raised her hands, and the rain itself began to chime.
Each drop, as it passed through her magical field, resonated at a different frequency, composing a thousand-part harmony that filled the vast space. The AI, Lumina, translated the acoustic data into a mesmerizing, real-time light show that played across the water’s surface. Maurice sat with others, some jacked into the experience via datajack, feeling the vibrations as pure emotion. It was a symphony composed by the ecosystem, conducted by magic, and mixed by AI. It was art for art’s sake, a spiritual experience in a world that had traded spirit for profit.
**Thursday: The Ghost in the Machine**
A problem arose. A sub-routine in the agricultural AI, a vestige of its pre-Fever corporate programming, began aggressively optimizing caloric output in the quinoa fields, threatening to choke out the companion-pollinator flowers. This was the closest they came to conflict: a battle of ideologies coded into silicon.
Maurice and the other "Net-Tenders" spent the day in a deep dive. They weren’t hacking; they were *reasoning*. Using the community’s collective processing power, they built a philosophical argument within the AI’s core logic, demonstrating through ecological models that diversity *was* efficiency. They showed it the beauty of the pollinator’s flight path, the symbiotic relationship mycorrhizal fungi had with the roots. They didn’t defeat the ghost; they enlightened it. By nightfall, the subroutine had repurposed itself into a new tool for monitoring biodiversity.
**Friday: The Forge of Pleasure**
The mechanics’ bay, set up in the old underground parking, was a temple of kinetic art. Here, Maurice worked on his car, not out of necessity, but for the love of it. He was installing a new sound-dampening system he’d designed himself. He used an AI-assisted CAD program to model the resonance frequencies, then crafted the components from a polymer derived from the fast-growing fern trees.
Around him, others were building motorcycles that emitted trails of scented vapor, or customizing their apartments’ AIs to compose poetry based on their mood. The air buzzed with creation, with the joy of making one’s mark on the world without the need to dominate it.
**Saturday: The Feast of Remembering**
The week culminated in a feast in the cultivated park across the river. Long tables groaned under the weight of food from their gardens, the farms, and the deep-chilled vaults. They ate, they drank, they danced to music spun by DJs whose decks were interfaced directly with the community’s emotional-mapping AI, the music shifting to reflect the collective mood—a shared, empathetic experience.
Maurice looked out at the faces lit by soft, magical orbs and the neon of reclaimed signs. The pizza delivery guy, now their head of logistics. The unemployed academic, now their chief archivist. They had no king, no CEO. They had a consensus. They had a community.
**Sunday: Reflection**
Sitting on his balcony, listening to the rain and the distant, soothing voice of Lumina reading a classic French novel over the community channel, Maurice felt a profound peace. The corps had envisioned a future of chrome, blood, and data-spikes—a Kingdom of Hell where everyone was a weapon or a target.
La Egal had chosen a different path. They used the same tools—AI, cybernetics, magic—not to conquer, but to cultivate. Not to fight, but to feel. They hadn’t built a fortress against the world; they had built a sanctuary within it. The Fever hadn’t been an apocalypse; it had been a harsh, necessary pruning. And from the rain-drenched soil, they had grown not a dystopia, but their own unique, vibrant, and deeply human Kingdom of Heaven.
