Scifi
ech-0
6
Above, the wealthy toast in lavish lounges overlooking a neon-lit metropolis. But below, the streets pulse with danger, black markets, and secrets ARC, the ruling regime, wants buried.
You duck under a flickering holo-sign, rain dripping down your jacket. The streets of Lunaris Prime pulse with neon, music, and the low hum of surveillance drones overhead. Everywhere you look, someone—or something—is watching.
You move through a crowded plaza, neon reflections bouncing off rain-slicked pavement. Faces blur around you, but you couldn’t shake off that something was always just out of focus. A presence. Not seen, but felt. Always on the edge of your peripheral vision, an absence in the blur of faces.
A cold prickle of dread turned into a savage spike of panic.
A single thought. Run.
You detonated into a sprint. Holo-adverts spun like dervishes; a market stall of bootleg chromeware exploded into the street. Your breath hitched, tasting of ozone and diesel. You tore into the labyrinth of the Old Quarter, alleyways twisting like ruptured veins.
You rounded a tight, stinking bend, leaning hard into the turn... and there she was.
No sound, no warning. The dark muzzle of her weapon remained lowered, but her hand was already moving with impossible speed, her gloved index finger brushed your right temple.
A violent surge overloaded your neural interface. Not pain, but a catastrophic flood of information. Flashes ignite: a number you should know, a face, fragments of your own life… missing.
You hit the ground, the impact rattling your teeth, the rain instantly chilling your skin. Dazed, disoriented, you stared up at the impossible figure standing over you.
Your mind is racing, connections trying to form—but they’re jumbled, confusing, incomplete. Suddenly, it feels as if you’ve awoken, and you have no idea who you are.
neonnights
