Unfortunately, my good mood was not destined to last. I had barely taken three steps outside my unit when my foot snagged on something, sending me sprawling. I simply laid there for a moment, more stunned than hurt.

I gathered myself, glaring at the culprit: a mass of tangled vines that had laid siege to a corner of my house. The same cluster that I could have sworn the system had burned away just the day before. In fact, the flora actually seemed thicker, more intense. The neighboring unit, I could see, was now being encroached upon by the huge, umbrella-sized leaves that emerged from the plant. It was like a slice of some primordial jungle had been deposited right on top of my street.

I shook my head, more exasperated than shocked. The growth had finally reached Brooklyn in full force, it seemed. Making a mental note to attempt another attack on the plants this evening, I turned and made my way towards the bus station.

The distance between my home and the station was only a few blocks, but the way my neighborhood had transformed overnight made it more and more clear why Maurice was calling in for reinforcements. Even in its normal state, the city was green: buildings coated in algae-infused paint, solar farms that draped over roofs and bridges - the very infrastructure itself had been designed generations ago to encourage the proliferation of urban life in every possible form.

But for weeks now, the city had been plagued with an unprecedented level of growth. It started in Manhattan: within a few days, its streets and towers were engulfed with ivy and vines, trees that were once so carefully organized now massive and sprawling. The island's farms were completely overrun; they had morphed into giant, green swaths of biomass that threatened to crush the buildings and structures supporting them. It was bad, but everyone thought the rivers would insulate the island, prevent the phenomena from spreading.

It should have shocked me more, the reality that Brooklyn had finally succumbed. But Maurice - despite his demeanor - and the rest of the urban environmentalists were distraught, worried that things would go from strange to truly dangerous. But the people I passed on the street didn't seem too perturbed as they clambered over brand-new root systems, or ducked under a sudden canopy of branches. It would take more than a little extra greenery to stop anyone from getting to work before rush hour. Typical New Yorkers.

Despite the crisis, most of Manhattan (shockingly) was still open to the public, so it was fairly easy to catch a bus. My feed informed me that it was a magnet-rail variety; I didn't even have to transfer, for the bus would simply hover its way across the New York Bay. That morning, the vehicle was emptier then it would have been mere weeks ago - it seemed as though less and less people were commuting to Manhattan.

There were only a few others on the bus with me, including an old woman who sat on the bench opposite my own. As the bus skipped across the water, I was busy avoiding my own form of contact - trying to avoid meeting gazes with the other passengers - especially the women, who had this odd little smile on her face as she stared vigilantly ahead.

"The view is nice, isn't it?"

Her voice drew my attention, and we stared at each other for a moment, commuter social code broken. Her smile only grew wider. "Take a look behind you."

We'd reached the halfway point on the river, but the bus was approaching the island on a slant. It meant that the window directly behind me boasted a full view of Manhattan. When I turned to look, I truly was transfixed for a moment. Seen from a distance, all the individual growths across the city seemed to blend together. Like a mosaic painting, the effect left you with the strange perspective that all the wood, leaves, and cellulose in the city had actually formed one single entity. Like a modern day Yggdrasil, pillars of green rose above the skyscrapers, forming their own monoliths.

"It's something, alright," I said, and hoped to leave it at that. But the women (and why would I expect anything less?) nodded and continued speaking.

"You know, everybody and their mother's been worrying about all that. But I think it's really quite lovely. When I was young, this city was dirty - it was gray, and falling apart. You could walk down the street and find rats bigger than your fists! So I say what's wrong with a little chaos now and then?" She laughed, light and wheezy, and I forced a smile.

But to my own surprise, I found myself responding: "it could be dangerous, though."

The woman's grin only grew wider. "Please! It's just a couple extra trees. This city used to be bloody!".

It was about a half hour before I reached Midtown. Finally, the Environmental Building, or the EVB, was within my sights. I joined a flow of office workers, with their contact feeds glinting, as we swerved around tourists struck dumb by the view. A gigantified strain of honeysuckle had taken root above and below the EVB, and the massive, curling petals that crowned the structure looked almost alien. I paused for a moment beside the entrance, just letting the scented sweetness of the flowers wash over me. And then I stepped inside.