Page 18 of GlitchBorn Heart

The Corporation dismisses it as magical superstition.

Personally, whenever I stand near one, I can feel it. A faint hum under the skin, like the sigils are alive.

Propaganda posters litter the sides of the two overflowing dumpsters, stamped with a symbol of a clenched fist around a circuit. A steel door hides between them. Metal scrapes metal on the other side, and a narrow slot cracks open.

A single, bloodshot eye peeks through suspiciously. “Business or trouble?” the voice growls impatiently.

I hold my breath. “Business,” I say, trying to sound like I belong here.

The door groans open, revealing a staircase spiraling down into an old lower roadway pulsing neon light and the growl of bass-heavy music. Below Oneiro is an iconic, multi-layered road system that runs beneath the main streets, once used to ease downtown traffic congestion, before we had bullet trains and air taxis. Tonight, they’re being used for the pandemonium of the DarkMarket.

Street corridors are lined with flickering holo-screens selling illegal “specialized” DreamBands like my own, hacked AIs, bootleg tech, and contraband memories in slim, black micro drives. Someone peddles digital pets that look like tiny furry devils chirping in static. A girl with chrome implants sells glowing chips that can be inserted under the skin to enhance sensation. U21s are everywhere, browsing, dancing, kissing, groping; I definitely need to make a mental note to come back to that groping booth.

I try not to stare, not to look as out of place as I feel.

I shove through the crowd, clutching my DreamNet band tight.

Above me, pipes emerge from walls, swollen with steam, hissing, dripping on a young girl selling t-shirts with tags like:

CORP SEES YOU

UNDER21 RISE

RESIST

“Over here, beautiful!” A hunched man in mirrored goggles is trying to show me “soul-filters”—software to hide your emotions from corporate surveillance. If only that worked for me.

I dodge him by pushing through a group of bodies crammed together, dancing and sharing EarLINKs that blare hypnotizing beats. A flash, a whiff of ozone, and that’s when I spot him. “Of course...” I murmur.

Ash is sitting behind a cluttered table, wearing a drab denim jacket, guitar strap cutting right through that gorgeous chest, guitar hanging in back of him. His table is covered in half-built tech: DreamBand mods, signal-scramblers, warped metal that looks suspiciously like a weapon but disguised as a guitar pedal.

He obviously just blew something up. Fuck around and find out, I guess.

He wears the same cocky grin from his band posters plastered around the district, his eyes glowing blue like he is permanently wired into some private frequency.

“Well, well,” Ash says, looking up as I approach. “Somebody’s DreamBand shorted out, yeah?” He extends a hand for me to come to him. “Let me guess,” he purrs, voice full of mischief. “You burned this thing out in one of the RedRooms in DreamNet? Happens all the time...people get real creative with their body parts in there.” He winks.

I open my mouth, shocked by his question. Around me, tech flickers pink and red, colors that match my heightened pulse.

I hand him the defunct DreamBand. “Can you fix it?” My heart skips as his fingers touch mine. Damn this beautiful man and his ability to manipulate feelings.

Ash grins wider. “I can fix anything, but this”—he closes his other hand over the device—“this thing feels...alive, like it’s been listening to you.”

I lean in closer. “I think my magic is somehow interfering with my dreaming. Like glitching, warping, breaking into the code somehow,” I whisper, hoping I can trust him with the information.

“Oh, I’m sure.” The neon-blue streaks highlighting his tousled hair glow with his excitement. “Five minutes...and be sure to take this.” He hands me a small guitar pick, thin, iridescent with the NeonGods logo and a small hole at the top. He threads a piece of silver string through it, but before he places it in my hand, he hums and taps out a beat across it. “Wear this glitch token at all times. It won’t help you when you’re not in DreamNet, but it should return your dreams to normal...unless, of course, I’m in them.”

“Oh, you’re a dream alright,” I say softly to myself as he walks away to a side table.

“VibroKinetics.” He looks over his shoulder and smiles. “I can manipulate sound and vibration waves, anything from subtle resonance to sonic bursts.” He bends over to dig through a box of parts. “The ability to feel someone’s frequency...oh, and I can hear whispered conversations from across a loud club...or just from here.”

Damn.

I feel my face flush.

“Drones!” someone screams. A crowd of frantic bodies starts scattering everywhere. A low, mechanical hum cuts through the alley as panic erupts.

Ash freezes. “Ah, hell,” he mutters calmly, like it’s just another day at the office.