Chapter 43: The Auction of Desire in the Nervous Black Market

The man's medulla oblongata was being pumped into gold filigree as the auction gavel was pounding away at the last segment of his sense of morality.

"Current bid: number L-48's First Love Nerve Pulse!" The auctioneer sliced open the seller's prefrontal lobe to reveal throbbing dopamine glands, "Starting bid is three cans of beef, pain memory installments accepted..."

Rule number 245: all neural signals must be open for bidding. luna's cochlear implant filters the frenzied offers from the room. the dome of the auction house is a neural network woven from countless brainstems, each synapse flashing the price of a different desire. in the VIP box, the rich and powerful exchange spinal fluid for see-through glasses - to see the auction items! the deepest layers of childhood trauma in the brain.

"Extra auction for special item!" The auctioneer suddenly yanked open the curtain to reveal a silver-haired clone soaking in a nutrient capsule, "Freshly intercepted neural clusters of patricidal desire, with a five-minute voucher for a killing memory experience!"

Luna's pupils contracted into pinpoints. The clone had the exact same neck barcode as her, and the scar on the corner of her forehead was from Jax last week. When the bidding spiked to fifty cans of green beans, she bit the tip of her tongue to activate her voice weapon: "According to Section 246, neurological merchandise involving this body is subject to a 1,000% consciousness tax!"

The auction house's alarms spewed smoke with memory fragments. The clone suddenly opens its eyes and its vocal cords vibrate with the president's voice, "Good daughter, every beat of your heart creates for me..."

The moment the bullet shatters the nutrient pod, Luna gets a taste of intrigue-the clone's brain matter is mixed with nanotrackers, each particle etched with a convenience store logo.She leaps onto the stand with her auction gavel, and the scalpel cuts through the clone's scalp to reveal the countdown to the buried nerve bomb: 71 hours.

"Rule 247 addendum!" Luna shoved the bomb chip into the auctioneer's eye socket, "All auctions must feature the auctioneer's brain stem as the finale item."

Riots erupted in nerve pulses.

As the first tycoon's see-through glasses explode, splattered shards of crystalline lens project hidden data streams across the wall.Luna's retinal scans reveal that all the bidders are clones-their real brains were replaced with the neural chips from the convenience store headquarters back in the year of acid rain. The auctioneer's head suddenly splits open, extending mechanical tentacles to bind her cervix, "Let's see what you're really worth..."

A holographic projection erupted from the end of the tentacle: twenty years ago in a convenience store lab, as an infant she was soaked in a neural culture. The president is implanting a chip into her unclosed fontanel, and the screen reads **"Initial obedience value 99.7%"**. Even deadlier was the experiment log note: "If value falls below 70%, initiate neural annihilation program."

"Rule 248!" Luna ripped off her tentacles and inserted them into her temples, "When brains become a commodity, transform the auction house into a graveyard!"

The blue light of the EMP bomb caused all the clones to have synchronized seizures. Their neural chips overload and burst into flames as the auction house's neural network begins to incinerate itself.Luna grabs the drifting streams of data in the fire and pieces together the lurid truth - each segment of her neural signals being auctioned off is training a more perfect clone for the headquarters.

Moonlight pierces the charred dome and shines on the remains of the auctioneer. A memory crystal was stuck between his ribs, and ultraviolet light revealed the president's handwritten instructions, "When Subject 48 develops autonomous consciousness, activate the Neural Spark program immediately."

In the distance, the newly opened Neuro Black Market lights up in neon, clones soliciting customers in gowns made of meninges. Holographic advertisements wrap around the burning skyscraper, and signs pierce the night sky:

"Annual Sale!!!Luna's Fear Neurogen, Buy One Get Three Free!"