The photo is taken from the archives’ lowest level looking up through the criss-crossed layers to the highest and oldest ones. Each databank is filled with Cloudbank’s history, tracking selections and votes throughout the years. Their identical appearances create a disorienting symmetry as they spiral upwards into the dimly lit distance.
A smudged and tattered notebook lies open on a desk with scribbled on papers scattered around it. The dog-eared pages are marked with dates and quotes scrawled out in messy penmanship. The photo captures only about half of the notebook though as the rest is obscured by a stretched out cat with red eyes and golden paws.
Starry-eyed interns crowd together in the OVC main office for the first time, and the photographer scrutinizes them through her lens from a nearby desk. One of the newer editors is caught mid-yawn as they absently rattle off the list of assignments, but if the interns are underwhelmed by their menial tasks they don’t show it. They hold themselves tall and remind themselves that this is just the beginning.
On the first day of Fashion Week a group of five young attendees call out to the photographer to take their photo. Each one proudly sports a different eye-catching outfit with bright colours and unconventional silhouettes. They styled and dyed their hair to match, and standing side by side they form a rainbow. They push in close together with arms draped across each other’s shoulders and grins stretched from ear to ear.
Two lovers sit on a blue blanket with gold patterns sprawling across it, their hands linked and their fingers intertwined over a wicker basket with a bottle of wine poking out the top. Their backs are to the camera, and the photo is framed by bustling streets and towering buildings. They do not seem to mind the constant company Cloudbank provides if they notice it at all. The city rushes onwards but they are still, holding hands and gazing up together at a brilliant blue sky.
Junction Jan’s foot traffic line winds around the small building twice before trailing off down the street. Waiting customers chat amicably with each other, and the photo catches many of them in mid-gesture or in mid-laugh. A satisfied customer with a yellow and gold triangle emblazoned across the back of his jacket rounds the corner with one hand balancing a takeout box and the other already stuffing a slice into his mouth.
Outside of the modest building that serves as the 18th Precinct’s headquarters a make-shift stage was assembled so that they can accept yet another reward from administration for their work. The crowd is sparse at best with several people caught mid-turn as they start to leave after realizing that the famed forecaster won’t be making an appearance. If the person on-stage is bothered they don’t show it. They hold their head high and accept the award with grace and the hint of a smile touching the corner of their mouth.
Two of the Highrise Hammers’ newest players are still in full gear as they parade through Cloudbank’s streets after winning their first official game. They lean into the camera, their broad shoulders easily pushing out of the shot, and give their best victory roars. All around them cheering fans roar in return.
The photo was taken shortly before the photographer was non-negotiably escorted from the area by authorities. It features a group of twenty or so protestors of all ages, most of their faces obscured by the people in front of them and some only visible as a limb poking into view. Each protestor carries a handmade sign adamantly declaring that Goldwalk should be saved. Some of the text is blurred though as the signs are jostled into view to make sure their message is seen.
The photo is taken from a motorcycle, the back of which is barely in frame. The location is a mystery to all but the driver and the photographer as any and all landmarks are rendered indistinguishable by reckless motion. The city and its people have blurred together into glowing streaks dominated by green and gold.
The photo shows one of Cloudbank’s busiest streets at night with so much light that it could almost be day. It’s sometimes described as an impossible shot that was taken high up among the rooftops, but what makes it so unusual is the fact that the camera is angled directly over the street as if the photographer is flying overhead. Far down on the street below the crowd bustles on, oblivious to what’s happening above.
A singer performs at The Empty Set before a crowd that fills the massive theatre to the brim. With their back to the camera the stage lights have turned them into a silhouette against a haze of light on an otherwise empty stage. They are alone with their microphone in a space that should dwarf them, but they have never been so grand.
An OVC reporter, marked by the notebook clutched in one hand and the press badge clipped to their shirt collar, pushes their way through a crowd that doesn’t seem to notice them. This doesn’t matter. Their expression is set with unyielding determination as they continue to navigate the city, fully aware that they are integral to its heart.
Two distinctly separate groups of people crowd around adjacent tables in a popular café. One group is comprised of students, a fact given away by the Traverson Hall decals on the bags at their feet. The other group is older with people approaching if not already at retirement age. Each table has a radio sitting in the center. The two groups pointedly ignore each other with backs hunched towards them despite being visibly tuned to the same station.
Cloudbank is constantly shifting and changing even right before its citizens’ eyes, earning the poetic description of being alive. The photo captures one of the eastern developments of Bracket Towers midway through its seasonal transformation. The building is caught between the past and present as the old design seems to crumble away to reveal something strikingly new.
Countless sheets of draft paper are scattered haphazardly across a round table. Each sheet features sometimes multiple clothing designs, but every sketch has been crossed or scribbled out with an angry red marker. Some of the papers have been torn up, the offending scraps tossed to the ground where they now wait to be trampled.
Two people argue in front of an OVC terminal. One person grips the edge of the terminal with both hands while the other has one hand drawn back in a fist by their ear. A third person enters the scene from the left, their body caught half in and half out of the photo. Their face is red and contorted with rage, their mouth caught open in mid-shout.
The photo captures Cloudbank through a narrow gold window, blurring and tinting the city with an almost ethereal glow. The faint outline of the photographer is barely visible in the glass’ reflection. It is easily missed by first time viewers. Beyond the glass Cloudbank continues on in its myriad of ways, uncaring of those not there to witness it.
Instead of a set of photos there is only one photo presented this time. It features a landscape unlike anything you would see in Cloudbank. An endless field of golden wheat rolls off into the distance, further than the eye can see. And high overhead white clouds drift lazily through a bright blue sky.