Page 8 of GlitchBorn Heart

ELI HAS BEEN TEXTED LYRA

The insufferable AI voice dismisses me like a child. I hate it.

Whoever coded this thing clearly values efficiency over empathy, which means he’s either a genius or an absolute nightmare. I bet that guy is a real fun time at parties...if he’s even invited.

The cool night air hits me with a jolt to the face; acidic rain again, how predictable. I pull my leather jacket up around my neck and dart into the mix of whirring traffic and blinding lights. I remind myself that STATIK is only five blocks from VikkCorp, a relatively fast walk. I pick up the pace, boots splashing through puddles of shimmering hues. I should easily be able to cut through a few back alleys to avoid the mammoth security monitors and endless glow of holographic ads that tower over the streets.

I yank my hood up as I break into a full-on jog. I’m going to be late trying to avoid the drones and the flickering screens. I’m exhausted and stressed, so I can feel it again. Pressure. Like my thoughts are too big for my skull. My heartbeat syncs with the pulse of the city itself. It’s always stressful for me to be in the presence of all this tech.

Oh, perfect! Drones.

There’s no avoiding the two city-surveillance drones hovering over the crowd at the mouth of the HoloDistrict. Their scanners strobe across faces, calibrating, hunting. My pulse spikes, so I force my breathing to slow.

I know this...

I’ve rehearsed this. I just have to look normal. Whatever that means anymore.

Calm down. Just keep moving and don’t let the tech sense you’re trembling. I can’t afford to react. Not here. Not where every spark inside me might answer back. I’ve dodged surveillance since before I could drink cheap stem-cocktails. I can handle two metal gnats.

A screen flickers as I pass. Then another.

At first, I didn’t notice the full effect. The ad shows the usual smiling faces of the Corporation’s “perfect citizens,” flawless, beautiful, and unreal. But then the smiles twist, and the faces melt into static. Words glitch into gibberish.

A BETTER TOMORROW...digital fog and snow.

A BITTER TOMORROW...the voice slows and deflates like a balloon losing helium.

Bright amber-and-gold streaks appear, and the sound of waves humming and crashing violently sync with the dripping colors. I freeze for half a second.

No. Not here. Not now.

I propel myself forward, splashing through gutters, shoulders tight with panic.

Another screen cuts out entirely, plunging part of the alley into darkness. The one next to it flares with an image that isn’t supposed to be there at all. My own reflection, stretched and cracked across the glass like a phantom watermark. Acidic rain continues to fall and turns the images into rivers of melting light.

Passers-by stop, eyes flicking between the glitching ads and my figure racing past. My generation couldn’t care less, smirks crossing their faces as they turn back to whatever mindless task they were doing.

But the older generation? The ones who love corporate life and all the monotony it has to offer? They notice. One man mutters something about “U21 tech-tricks.” A woman moves closer to her partner as if my generation is to be feared, like we’re all savages running loose in the streets.

The pressure in my mind continues to build to a dull ache. My insides twist, and my chest feels tight. My hands buzz like they’re plugged directly into the grid.

Now, every screen I pass warps.

The Corporation’s logos drip like blood. Models with perfect hair and skin split into shadow-eyed monsters. Words twist into warnings:

RUN. WAKE UP. IT’S A LIE.

Well it is.

But fuck, I’m not doing this on purpose. I’m not even sure how I do this. Just that any emotion, any stressor, any pull on my feelings causes this to happen. All I know is that the closer I am to the nightclub, the worse it’s going to get. Ads continue to crackle with bursts of light, half-formed images, and flashes of my memories. The ones I can’t let go of: Emotions buried so deep they could land me right on the Corporation’s list of dangerous anomalies.

Calm yourself, Lyra. It’s just emotion. I know this...“Ten, nine, eight, seven...” I begin counting backward to release the tension. I can do this.

I slow down and continue to count. It’s hard to look inconspicuous when the buzzing of drones fills your ears like hornets to a nest.

The familiar buzz of the red STATIK sign glows above my head as I reach the entrance, heart hammering, rain dripping from my hood. The entire block of screens behind me flare snow white and die in perfect unison. The street goes dead silent, like the city itself seems to hold its breath around me.

A cold shiver runs over me. I realize that whatever this is, whatever power that was given to me on StarFell, it’s getting stronger. I need to take control of this beast, or they will find out.