Chapter 2: Wired
That NeuralWeb alert tore through my implant like a blade, shredding the first sleep I'd clawed out in weeks.
Witches in the wires?
Ghost nodes?
The Sphere's a screaming void, people losing it over signals that pulse like a living thing, clawing at my mind. Are they code, or something older—something *wrong*?
Coffee. Without it, I'm a dead node.
I fumble my AR glasses on, graphene frames buzzing as they sync with my implant. I get to work, multitasking.
I slip out, house silent. Streets too.
The city's feral in some parts. Not here.
Drones swarm above, anti-grav thrumming in sync with the Grid's pulse—some drop packages, others sweep.
My glasses layer the chaos: traffic flows, air warnings, and that signal's red pulse—thudding, relentless, like it's counting down to something.
— head's too heavy for this, 3 a.m. shadows crawling with questions.
A figure across the street pauses, their implant flickering—not blue, but violet, a glitch I've never seen. They vanish into an alley before I can blink.
My pulse spikes.
Was that a Technomancer? Or just my tired eyes?
People flow past, blue implants glowing at temples, wrists, all leashed to the Grid. Some drift in VR visors, blind to the world; others flash illegal mods—fractal arms gleaming, optic implants spitting light like dying stars. A kid with a cracked visor stares too long, like he knows something I don't.
The sidewalk hums under my boots, kinetic harvesters sucking every step to feed the city's endless grid.
Who's doing this? Why does it feel like it's hunting me?
Starbies' sign glows ahead, a dim hope in the neon murk.
I push toward it, coffee's bitter promise my only anchor.
Brain fogged, hands jittery, I grab my jacket, AR glasses, and head for Starbies, praying I can keep reality from splitting open.