New Vance City

The Solar Credit Exchange is the economic heartbeat of the Citadel Council’s sleek dominion—a glass-and-chrome monolith nestled within the controlled utopia of the Glass Ring. Here, the Citadel's dream of a post-collapse civilization is most palpable, powered by logic, order, and radiant digital currency. Citizens line up in orderly queues, their biometric profiles linked to exchange terminals that convert approved barter into Solar Credits—one of the few currencies still honored outside the Citadel. Overseen by augmented officials and guarded by polymer-clad enforcers, the Exchange doesn’t just move currency—it regulates status. Every transaction, down to the last energy coupon or protein chip, is logged, graded, and analyzed. Access is dictated by a trust metric. Low scores mean delay. Zero means exclusion. This isn’t a bank. It’s a loyalty test in economic drag. And yet, for many, it’s the only doorway to warmth, food, and simulated normalcy.

The Solar Credit Exchange rises like a circuit-board cathedral, all mirrored glass, glowing signage, and quiet menace. Polished walkways lead to a central dome wreathed in flowing holographic banners that pulse with exchange rates and behavior scores. Inside, light reflects off every surface—cold blues, surgical whites, and neon golds. Kiosks shaped like obelisks hum with artificial calm, scanning irises and social indices before allowing any trade. Surveillance drones drift overhead like silent birds, their lenses blinking in rhythmic approval or disapproval. Behind transparent polymer barriers, Citadel clerks operate with machine-assisted efficiency, their eyes flickering with HUD overlays. The very air feels filtered—too clean, too measured. Every footstep echoes like a test. Every line of credit, a leash spun from photons. The Exchange is beautiful, but sterile—a shrine to stability built from the bones of freedom.