The multi-layered hydroponic gardens of New-Heliopolis— It's beating heart, The key to its pride and prosperity.
Even from the vantage of this garden's watchful gyrocopters, these fields stretch on for miles. A majestic view, commonly shared with children, poets, and loving couples. A webbed, verdant sea.

Far more impressive than its breadth—however—is its depth. The machines that oversee this marvel—and the facilities that oversee those machines in turn—these go on for many storeys below the garden's bright green canopy.
Few humans toil on these machines, and those who do often live with their families in overgrown huts spread throughout the fields. Their dark green jumpsuits show up in New-Heliopolis only once in a few weeks, always to a very warm welcome and often small gifts. They say that in the gardens, the air quality alone can keep a man alive past his nineties. Evidence to this is anecdotal at best, and at worst they're simply known as "Old Hakim", still twisting valves and filling tanks with his haggard, veiny arms.

Many float the idea to do more with these bridges that spiderweb across the fields— nowadays primarily used for their original function of harvest. These ideas are usually short-lived. The fear of spoiling this view—this ocean of leaves—is shared by every member of New-Heliopolis. Disrespect to the splendor of nature is the one thing that will never be tolerated in the green, beating heart.

After all: It is from the ashes of this very mistake that New-Heliopolis was made.