Dari

Dari has always been a police state. When it was a village of mud brick, the people were watched by ever-vigilant guards. As a city of wood and plaster and stone, secret police infiltrated every level of society. Now, its towers of glass and steel are rife with security cameras and parabolic microphones. But these are a mere afterthought to the Mark of Dari.
Every adult citizen has a chip surgically implanted in their left palm containing several miniaturized electronic devices—an audio receiver, polygraph sensors, and a radio transceiver with a unique transponder code to link those systems to the secret police’s information grid. It also contains reservoirs of algetics and neurotoxins, released either by remote trigger or by tampering with the chip.
Crime in Dari is low, while emigration among young people is high—though not as high as one might think. The office of the Perfect—the continually re-elected head of this single-party republic—labors to burnish a sense of civic pride, portraying the chip as a mark of honor.

Dari

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