So what is Utopian SF?
Is there an objective definition?
Or will we inevitably be accused of political bias for saying free healthcare, education, a health-based approach to drug use and rehabilitation, universal basic income for everybody, art is b...
This was the place. Dirty Rick's Nasty Bio Pit, an illegal biomod-installation shop operated out of the trunk of an abandoned Saturn Astra.
"You want me to get in there?" I asked Dirty Rick himself, so dirty his grease stains had shit stains. The trunk was full of diapers, scrap metal, assorted fluids, and even fresh fruit.
Dirty Rick shrugged. "You want the biomods or not?"
"I still don't know what kind of mods I'm getting," I said, which was true. The text from my buddy Seth just said I'd get free mods, no particulars.
"All the mods, kid," Dirty Rick told me before shoving me in the trunk. "Enjoy."
And as weird as it sounds, I did. When the trunk closed and the darkness claimed me, I found myself transported to a new realm. A fairy godfather told me I was special, and that I would achieve great things in this life and the next. He said my new powers would let me achieve all my dreams.
When I told Dirty Rick this after the trunk opened, all he said was, "Yeah, yeah, that was just the gas we pump in there to keep you from clawin' our eyes out while we work. How you like the new legs?"
I bent down real low and put all my power in the lift-off, wanting to take myself way up, as high as humanly possible. I sprung up, and up, and up, and kept on going.
When I reached the Moon, I said, "Pretty good, Dirty Rick. Pretty, pretty, pretty good."
