New Mumbai was a city that didn’t just hum; it sang—a raucous, glitchy tune patched together with the whir of drone traffic, the chatter of street vendors hawking masala dosas alongside neon-plated tech, and the deep, throbbing bass of illegal clubs buried in its underbelly. Here, old met new, not in some quaint coexistence, but in a glorious, technicolor collision. The temples of Lakshmi and Ganesh sat cheek by jowl with data towers that pierced the smog-heavy sky, their surfaces shimmering with advertisements that updated in real-time: “Unlock Your Potential with KPI Neural Implants!” blinked over a mural of Durga slaying Mahishasura.

Kavthekar-Paranjape Industries wasn’t just a corporation—it was the corporation, its logo stamped on everything from nanobot-infused medicines to the security drones patrolling the elevated walkways. The company’s headquarters, a monstrous spire of glass and steel known as Paranjape Peak, was the heartbeat of North New Mumbai. It pulsed with data streams so potent that it was rumored even the city’s infamous espers had to shield their minds when passing too close.

Not that everyone passed too close. South of the river, where the neon lights dimmed and the electric rickshaws sputtered along broken roads, life was less glamorous but no less alive. Here, the Nigerian immigrants who had flocked to the city over the decades ran thriving markets filled with pepper soup and imported music, their vibrant stalls a striking contrast to the sleek corporate uniformity of the north. Shuxin Li served bowls of steaming ramen at Noodlarity, a noodle bar that catered to hackers, smugglers, and off-duty androids looking for a brief respite. The Dragon’s Hoard, one of the city’s most feared gangs, operated from an unmarked tower nearby, its leader Ravinder Shukla rumored to be collecting not rare artifacts, but people with abilities most couldn’t comprehend.