New York, 7:47PM, 3 Months After the Hub Incident He always wondered how New York never solved its smog problem, or how independent organizations are more responsible for microeconomic improvements, or how he got himself to the lowest point of his career. His impulsive drinking and blind, unfocused approach made him one of the least admirable politicians in the council, both from the people's perspective and the other politicians' opinions. He had stood on his balcony overlooking the Atlantic for more than half an hour. The opening of the gates shifted his usefulness to almost none. No need for improving Earth. There was the Frontier. No need for worrying about Mars. There was the Frontier. No need for stabilizing relations, attempting to integrate the Belt, recycling resources, all that. There was the Frontier. What a farce. But what about the other way around? There were people that had stuck around Earth as well. The rights of Belters still under the UN, if there were any, weren't improved one bit. Hell, that may even transfer over to the treatment of the newer colonies. The Lead Leos that are still armed and in drydock are waiting for a designer that has the guts to try to improve the design. Martians on Mars have been left behind in their government's pursuit to colonize. He had missed many days of work due to just recovering from the damage he did to himself. The day when he got caught by his political arch-nemesis, Cervan, he drank himself to the edge of the light after shutting out the admiral, adding on top a month of self-starvation and consecutive drinking at the rate other alcoholics wouldn't dare to achieve. He had been a shell of his former balanced, benevolent self, diluted from being a dynamic character in the once stale, but now flourishing government of the UN. Daily life was meaningless for him. But he shouldn't be thinking this way. His job still calls for a person that has experienced many perspectives of Earth, Mars, and the Belt. It still calls for a person who cares about anything other than Earth. He's still called for the second attempt to do things right with the colonies, right? Or maybe the UN already found a replacement. A loud noise from down below snapped him back to reality. It was already 9:24PM. He'd been standing there for over two hours. He slowly went back inside his gray-colored UN apartment, the logo glowing like a call-to-action or a funny reminder of his time in this government. He prepared something to eat, went to his table, and played around with his food, mind still processing.