Alphaxone - Dystopian Gate

 With a breath of fresh air from the oxygen tank you gaze over the rooftops towards a red sky. The colonization ship glimmers, leaving for dreams of a better future. Below, the city has turned dead silent after curfew. You fish a cred stick out of your pocket, enough for this months oxygen supply. At this rate you're ten lifetimes away from a resettlement ticket. Or 6 months if you play your cards right in the underworld.