Neon Veil had layers most people never saw. From above, it was a glittering web of neon light, rain-soaked streets, and flickering advertisements. But below, beneath the layers of corporate skyscrapers and crowded avenues, the city held a darker, quieter pulse—the underworld. It was a place where memory thieves, brokers, and shadowy figures traded consciousness like currency. And tonight, Evan Cole had no choice but to enter it.
He crouched atop a crumbling overpass, shards of stolen memory circling around him like restless fireflies. The fragments pulsed, some calm, some frantic, and the one from the accident glowed the brightest, almost thrumming against his temple. Evan flexed his fingers around the memory device, feeling its hum resonate with the shards. Every step he took pulled the fragments closer to instability. One wrong move, one lapse in focus, and the shards could overwhelm him completely.
The rain fell steadily, and Evan listened. Every drip, every distant siren, every faint vibration of the city beneath him mattered. Somewhere below, pursuers were still searching, but Evan had learned to trust the fragments. They guided him, projected subtle holographic paths on wet rooftops, and whispered warnings that only he could understand.
He dropped silently into a narrow alley, fragments flaring to life around him as if sensing the proximity of danger. Ahead, a narrow staircase led downward into the bowels of Neon Veil. The underworld waited there: a network of tunnels, abandoned warehouses, and forgotten subway lines, where memory brokers conducted their clandestine trade. Evan hesitated for a fraction of a second before descending. The fragments urged him onward.
The staircase opened into a vast underground chamber. Neon strips embedded in the walls cast a sickly glow, illuminating faces both familiar and strange. Brokers haggled over fragments, their devices glowing with stolen memories. Some wore visors displaying holographic data, others had implants glowing beneath their skin. The air smelled of ozone, wet concrete, and something metallic, almost like blood.
Evan's eyes scanned quickly. He had come here to find answers, but he had to remain cautious. He wasn't a simple thief anymore. The shards had made him a target, and anyone could sense the strange glow pulsing around his device. He kept low, weaving through the crowd, letting the fragments float protectively around him.
A broker noticed him first. A man with a reflective visor and a grin that made Evan's skin crawl stepped forward, holding up a palm displaying a holographic scan. "Evan Cole," he said, voice smooth but tinged with danger. "I've been expecting you."
Evan froze, recognizing the risk. The fragments pulsed violently, images flashing rapidly in his mind: a masked figure, a shattered building, a hand reaching for something precious. Don't trust him, they whispered. Not yet.
"I'm just passing through," Evan said, keeping his voice steady. His hood shadowed his face, hiding the pulse of light from the shards.
The broker tilted his head, scanning the glowing fragments. "Passing through? Funny… I think you're carrying something very interesting. Something very dangerous."
Evan tensed. The shards responded, spinning faster, pulsing in violent bursts. They weren't just protective—they were alive, aware, and aware of the broker's intentions.
"I don't want trouble," Evan said carefully. "Just looking for answers."
The broker laughed, a short, sharp sound that echoed against the underground walls. "Answers come with a price in Neon Veil. And the things you carry… they're worth more than you think."
Evan's mind raced. He had to negotiate, distract, or escape. The shards pulsed, and he realized they were reacting to his own thoughts, amplifying his instincts. One fragment floated to his palm, projecting a faint map of the chamber and nearby exits.
He nodded subtly, acknowledging the unspoken guidance. "Maybe I can make a trade," he said. "Information for information."
The broker's grin widened. "Smart. But careful—every fragment has a mind of its own here. Some will lie. Some will fight back. Some will consume you if you're not careful."
Evan swallowed. He had seen glimpses of this before, through shards that pulsed erratically, whispering warnings in tongues only he could decipher. The underworld wasn't just about theft—it was a battlefield of minds, where stolen consciousness could shift power and control in an instant.
A sudden shout drew his attention. A group of rogue thieves had spotted him, moving quickly, weapons in hand. Evan felt the shards flare violently. They were warning him, projecting paths and safe zones through the crowd, guiding him instinctively. He leapt over crates and through narrow gaps, fragments spinning to protect his flanks.
One rogue lunged, but a shard pulsed sharply, intercepting the movement and projecting a brief illusion in Evan's mind. The attacker hesitated, seeing an extra Evan mirage in his peripheral vision. Evan used the distraction to escape further into the tunnels.
Breathing heavily, he ducked behind a pillar and let the fragments settle momentarily. The one from the accident glowed more intensely than ever, images flashing: a masked figure approaching, a city burning, a name whispered in broken fragments—Kairo.
Evan's heart skipped. Kairo… who are you?
He had no time to think. The underworld was alive, and every shadow could be an enemy. The fragments pulsed faster, almost vibrating in tandem with his heartbeat. They weren't just guiding him—they were communicating, warning him of dangers, suggesting paths, showing glimpses of threats he couldn't see.
A hidden door ahead opened silently. Evan ducked inside, letting the fragments cloak his presence with flickers of light. The room beyond was small, lit by a single strip of neon along the ceiling. A figure waited—a woman with glowing implants along her arms, eyes sharp and calculating.
"You must be Evan Cole," she said. "I've been hearing about you… and about the fragments you carry."
Evan's heart raced. He didn't know if she was an ally or another enemy. The shards pulsed violently, signaling caution. "Who are you?" he asked.
"Name's Selene," she replied. "And you're holding more than just stolen memories. That fragment in your mind… it's alive. It's not just a shard—it's a consciousness with a purpose. And it's drawing attention. Dangerous attention."
Evan swallowed. "I don't even understand it myself. I didn't mean to take it. It just… attached to me."
Selene studied him carefully, then nodded. "That's exactly why you're here. You need guidance, and I can provide it. But understand this: the underworld doesn't forgive mistakes. One wrong move, and the fragments will consume you. Or worse—they'll make you a target."
The fragments around Evan pulsed as if agreeing with her, almost thrumming against his temple. They were alive, reactive, and undeniably dangerous.
Selene extended a hand. "I can help you control them… but first, you need to survive the night."
Evan nodded. The underworld of Neon Veil was treacherous, filled with thieves, enforcers, and rogue consciousnesses. But for the first time, he felt a glimmer of possibility. The shards weren't just a threat—they were a key. A tool. A weapon, if he could learn to wield them.
And in Neon Veil, survival meant understanding the mind, controlling the fragments, and navigating a world where memories were more dangerous than bullets.
Evan stepped forward, fragments swirling protectively around him. The night was far from over, and the underworld had only just begun to reveal its secrets.