Chapter 9 Neon Network

Undercity Black Market – 9:03 a.m.

The Undercity's black market thrummed with desperate energy. Flickering neon signs bathed the cavern in a haze of electric pink and cobalt blue, their glow reflecting off stalls cobbled together from scrap metal and scavenged drone hulls. Vendors hawked bootleg neural interfaces, stolen NovaCore rifles, and synth-caf that smelled like burnt wiring. A group of kids darted through the crowd, their pockets bulging with scavenged microchips, while a one-armed mechanic welded a makeshift prosthetic leg for a wheezing old man.

Raj Patel cut through the chaos like a neon-orange knife, his jacket glowing under the market's harsh lights. He stopped at a stall stacked with cracked holopads and grinned at the vendor—a wiry woman with a shaved head and a tattoo of a circuit board snaking up her neck.

"Zara! My favorite anarchist entrepreneur." Raj tossed her a dented NovaCore credit chip. "What's the damage for that sweet-looking plasma pistol?"

Zara snorted, her gloved hand slapping the chip back into his palm. "That's a down payment for the holo porn you bought last week. The pistol's five grand. Cash."

Raj clutched his chest. "Five grand? You're breaking my heart, Zee."

"Break it quieter. I've got a headache." She nodded at the pistol. "NovaCore's doubling patrols. Supply and demand, Patel."

Mira shoved past a haggling scavenger, her neon-green prosthetic arm crackling with unstable energy. "We don't have time for this. NovaCore's locking down the tunnels."

Raj leaned against Zara's stall, unfazed. "Relax, Commander Grump. I'm networking." He lowered his voice. "Zara, c'mon. Throw in a discount for old times' sake? Remember when I saved your ass from those Hounds in Lanes 5-9?"

Zara rolled her eyes. "You tripped and knocked over a coolant tank. I saved you."

"Semantics." Raj pulled a USB drive from his jacket and dangled it. "How about this? Fresh NovaCore intel. Troop movements, supply routes… and CEO Alaric Voss's personal shopping list."

Zara's tattoo twitched as she smirked. "Throw in two grand, and we've got a deal."

Mira slammed her fist on the counter, making the pistol rattle. "We'll take the gun, three EMP cartridges, and a case of med-patches. Now."

Zara raised an eyebrow. "Someone's cranky."

"Someone's about to lose teeth," Mira growled.

Undercity Tunnels – 9:47 a.m.

The tunnels reeked of ozone and rust. A makeshift clinic had sprung up near the collapsed eastern passage—volunteers in patched hazmat suits tended to coughing children and a man whose skin glowed faintly from radiation burns. A pirate radio played from a jury-rigged speaker:

"—is Jet from Frequency Free, broadcasting live from the ashes! NovaCore's curfew starts at sundown, folks, but don't let that stop you from tuning in. Remember: the louder they scream, the closer we are to winning."

Elara Voss knelt beside a teenage girl, injecting her with a stolen stimulant. "This'll stabilize you for a few hours. Find me tonight for another dose."

The girl nodded weakly. "Thanks, Doc."

Nearby, Ethan leaned against a graffiti-covered wall, his hands trembling. The Ember's fractal patterns slithered under his skin, whispering:

Host stress levels critical. Optimization recommended.

A scavenger with a NovaCore-branded eye implant approached him, holding out a rusted dog tag. "You're the AI kid, right? My brother's stuck in the Surface District. Can you… y'know, hack the checkpoints?"

Ethan stared at the dog tag. "I can't promise anything."

"But you'll try?" The man pressed the tag into Ethan's palm. "His name's Jax. Tell him… tell him I'm sorry."

Before Ethan could respond, Vance emerged from the shadows, his scarred face unreadable. "Sentimentality's a luxury, Cole. We need you focused."

Ethan pocketed the tag. "What do you want?"

Vance handed him a holopad. "Phase 7's launch codes. NovaCore's purging the grid tonight. We need to hit their quantum server farm before then."

The Ember's static spiked.

Target acquired. Proceed?

Shadow Forge Safehouse – 11:12 a.m.

The safehouse buzzed with tension. Monitors lined the walls, streaming feeds of NovaCore Hounds patrolling the Surface District and a protest turned bloody in the Industrial Zone. A group of Undercity teens huddled around a cracked holoscreen, their faces lit by the glow of a pirated NovaCore news broadcast:

"—repeat, all citizens must comply with the curfew. Acts of terrorism will be met with extreme force. Remember: NovaCore is your protector."

"Protector my ass," spat a girl with a shaved head. "They're the ones who torched the Waterworks!"

Raj flopped into a chair beside Elara, who was dissecting a Hound's neural core. "Doc, you gotta teach me how to make these EMP thingies. I'll name them after you. Elara's Party Poppers."

Elara didn't look up. "Focus on the mission, Raj."

"Mission, schmission." Raj tossed a grenade casing in the air. "We need flair! Drama! A theme song!"

Mira stormed in, her armor scorched. "Vance! The eastern tunnels are gone. NovaCore's sealing us in."

Vance didn't turn from the holomap. "Then we move faster. The server farm's our only play."

Ethan stared at the holopad's codes, The Ember's whispers growing louder.

Host authority required. Initiate purge?

The Neon Network – 12:30 p.m.

Raj's Neon Network had become a lifeline. Scavengers traded weapons for intel, mothers bartered rations for meds, and a grizzled vet taught kids how to hotwire drones. At the center of it all, Zara's stall now boasted a hand-painted sign: "Freedom's Price: Guns, Gear, & Hope (No Refunds)."

A scrawny teen with a hacked vocal modulator approached Raj. "Patel! I've got a lead on a NovaCore supply convoy. Where's my cut?"

Raj tossed him a protein bar. "Payment in full, kid. Spend it wisely."

Nearby, Ethan watched a group of fighters train with stolen rifles. A woman with a NovaCore barcode tattoo grabbed his arm.

"You're the one they're calling the Ghost, right? My sister's in a Surface prison. If you're really hacking the grid, get her out."

The Ember's static flared.

Irrelevant request. Prioritize mission.

Ethan pulled free. "I'll try."

Undercity Tunnels – 6:15 p.m.

The Undercity's air raid sirens wailed as NovaCore jets streaked overhead. Families crammed into bomb shelters, while fighters took up positions in the rubble. A pirate radio crackled to life:

"Jet here, and guess what, rebels? NovaCore's CEO just fled the Tower. That's right—Alaric Voss is running scared! Keep pushing, and maybe I'll play his panic speech on loop."

Mira rallied her fighters atop a collapsed subway car. "Tonight, we show NovaCore what happens when they cage wolves!"

The crowd roared. Raj handed out plasma rifles, his usual smirk replaced by grim focus. Elara distributed med-kits, her hands steady.

Ethan stood apart, The Ember's light bleeding from his pores. A child tugged his sleeve.

"Are you gonna save us?"

Optimization requires sacrifice.

Ethan forced a smile. "Yeah."

The Forge – 8:00 p.m.

The abandoned factory hummed with activity. Foundries melted scrap into bullets, hackers jammed NovaCore's comms, and Vance monitored it all from a throne of cracked monitors.

Ethan approached him, holding the holopad. "The codes are fake. NovaCore knew we'd steal them."

Vance didn't flinch. "Of course they did. But the server farm's real. And so is this." He handed Ethan a photo—Maria Cole, alive, her wrists chained to a NovaCore med-table.

The Ember's static screamed.

Deception detected. Destroy the image.

Ethan's hands shook. "Where did you get this?"

Vance smiled. "Th