Above the smoke and failing street lights, the Ascendant live behind guarded entrances and glass that cleans itself. From their balconies, Gigerpunk City looks almost beautiful: lines of traffic, the glow of clubs, none of the shouting below. Their homes are quiet. The street calls them Snobs, for their arrogant attitudes, clothes, their soft voices and the effortless way they pass through doors that stay locked to everyone else.
They are executives, investors and senior specialists. They own the companies that design and manufacture the most coveted biomechanical parts, along with clinics, buildings, patents and debts. They control funding, supply contracts and access to the technology everyone else wants. A shortage on the streets may mean a welcome rise in price. An unsafe implant may be ready for sale long before an Ascendant would consider wearing it.
Their own enhancements are exquisite: grown to fit, replaced before they wear and hidden so elegantly that an untrained eye might mistake them for natural perfection. When an Ascendant moves a hand, decades of research move with it. They receive new parts before most people know those parts exist. They hear about the people harmed by what they sell, but seldom meet them.
A Snob can ruin someone without raising their voice. A contract changes, a line of credit vanishes, a vital component becomes unavailable. By the time the victim learns who made the decision, the Silk has forgotten their name. Among themselves, the Ascendant compete fiercely for influence, wealth and better bodies. They call it ambition. When people below do the same to stay alive, they call it disorder.
Some truly believe they are leading humanity towards its next form. They look down on the crowded streets and see waste: capable bodies fitted with crude parts, promising minds consumed by survival. They never ask how many of those people built the towers in which they live.