The mining vessel shuddered violently, every bolt and rivet screaming under the strain. The cockpit was a cacophony of blaring alarms, frantic voices, and the deafening crash of debris slamming into the hull.
“Brace! Brace!” the captain’s voice crackled over the comms, but Kade barely heard it over the roar of the storm. Outside, the black void was alive with chaos—asteroids hurtling past like predatory beasts, their jagged forms illuminated by the strobe-like flashes of emergency lights.
Kade’s hands gripped the console, his knuckles white. He could feel the ship straining, its systems barely holding together. Beside him, a fellow miner—Harv—was shouting something, his face pale with terror. And then it happened.
A shadow loomed outside the viewport—a massive asteroid, larger than anything they’d faced before. Kade barely had time to process the sight before it slammed into the vessel’s side. The impact threw him from his seat, his helmet cracking against the wall as the world turned to chaos.
Through the haze, he saw Harv’s harness snap, his body flung against the console like a ragdoll. Sparks erupted, the cockpit filling with smoke. The ship’s automated systems screamed warnings, but all Kade could hear was the sound of his own heartbeat, pounding like a war drum.
“Structural integrity at 5%,” the AI’s voice was calm, indifferent to the chaos. “Life support systems critical.”
His breath hitched as his fingers flew over the ship’s console. The storm raged outside, but his focus narrowed to a single thought: survive.
And then, blackness.
Kade jolted awake, his pulse racing. For a moment, the echoes of the storm were still there—the alarms, the crashing debris, Harv’s scream. But then reality snapped into focus, and the voice that greeted him wasn’t the AI from the ship.
“Welcome to Neon City,” the shuttle’s automated voice announced cheerfully, utterly incongruous with the memories still echoing in his mind. “We hope you have a pleasant stay.”
The cabin lights flickered, casting the other passengers in a dull neon glow. A young couple, their faces pale, clutched each other nervously. An older man fiddled with a tablet. Nobody paid Kade any attention as he gathered his bag and stepped into the spaceport.
The doors slid open with a hiss, and the world rushed at Kade in a tidal wave of sound, light, and scent. The spaceport was a sprawling cathedral of commerce and chaos, its towering ceilings adorned with flickering holo-banners that advertised everything from off-world vacations to luxury prosthetics. The place smelled of burnt ozone and unwashed bodies.
Somewhere nearby, a group of off-worlders laughed loudly, their metallic prosthetics gleaming under the harsh lights. Kade kept his head down, his boots echoing against the polished floor as he pushed through the throng.
“Kiss gravity goodbye!” one banner proclaimed, a holographic couple spinning weightlessly in a bubble of simulated zero-G. Another flashed a grinning woman with golden cybernetic eyes, her sultry voice purring, “Upgrade your vision. Upgrade your life.”
Kade barely registered them. His senses were overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of it all.
The air buzzed with overlapping voices—announcements echoing through the PA system in a dozen different languages, the metallic clatter of suitcases on wheels, the rhythmic hiss of docking shuttles arriving and departing. Vendors shouted over each other, their voices rising above the crowd:
“Hot noodles! Fresh and steaming! Only five creds!”
“Authentic Martian spices! Taste the Red Planet!”
“Need a guide? Get lost in Neon City for the right price!”
Somewhere nearby, a street musician strummed a cyber-enhanced guitar, its notes rippling like liquid silver through the crowd. The melody clashed with the deep bass thrum of an open-air club visible beyond the glass walls of the terminal.
The floor beneath Kade’s boots was polished to a mirror shine, reflecting the neon glow from above. The walls seemed alive, shifting and shimmering with embedded holo-screens. Each step brought a new kaleidoscope of colours—greens bleeding into purples, reds sparking to blues—as the advertisements twisted to capture the attention of passersby.
Beyond the main concourse, towering glass windows offered a view of the city’s skyline. Neon towers pierced the smoggy haze, their lights dancing like fireflies in the night. A massive holo-billboard dominated the horizon, its message flashing every few seconds: “Euphoria awaits. Satisfaction guaranteed.”
The people, too, were a feast for the eyes. Off-worlders with gleaming prosthetics and intricate tattoos mingled with humans who had skin polished like marble or hair that shimmered in shifting hues. A group of Synthies glided past, their flawless forms and metallic grace turning heads even in this overstimulated crowd.
The air was thick with a chaotic blend of smells—sharp, oily fumes from the docking shuttles, mingling with the spicy tang of Martian cuisine and the cloying sweetness of synthetic perfumes. Somewhere, the faint scent of burning wires lingered, a reminder of the city’s raw, industrial underbelly.
Kade’s nose wrinkled as he passed a vendor grilling skewers of unidentifiable meat. The smoke curled upward, carrying with it a faint metallic tang that spoke of recycled air and artificial flavouring.
He moved through it all like a ghost, his footsteps echoing dully against the polished floor. Nobody looked at him, nobody stopped him. The crowd was a sea of faces, each one absorbed in their own world of neon dreams and distractions.
A Synthie attendant brushed past him, its voice honeyed and pleasant. “Welcome to Neon City, traveller. May your desires find their home.”
Kade didn’t respond. The storm still lingered in his mind, a shadow he couldn’t shake. The crowd pressed around him, but he had never felt more alone.
He didn’t know where he was going, only that his feet seemed to move on their own. The storm still lingered in his mind, each step feeling like it might collapse under the weight of memory. He just needed to forget—to drown the echoes in something louder, brighter.
As he reached the exit, the sounds and smells began to fade, replaced by the hum of the city itself. Hovercars zipped past overhead, their lights leaving trails in the damp air. The streets outside were alive with energy, but it was a different kind of chaos—less confined, more raw.
Kade’s eyes were drawn to a sign up ahead, its swirling lights a stark contrast to the muted tones of the spaceport. Euphoria. The letters seemed to pulse in time with the city’s heartbeat, a beacon of escape in a world that refused to stop moving.
The streets of Euphoria were a sensory overload.
The district pulsed with a chaotic rhythm, its neon lights casting sharp shadows that danced across slick pavements. Holograms flickered and glitched, advertising indulgences that ranged from the exotic to the downright illegal. The air was thick with a heady cocktail of scents—synthetic pheromones, fried street food, and the sharp, metallic tang of ozone from overworked generators.
Patrons shuffled between establishments, their faces masked by the glow of their holoscreens or hidden under the hoods of long coats. Kade slipped through the crowd, keeping his head down, his shoulders hunched. His credits wouldn’t last long in a district like this, and he knew better than to linger in the open.
Ahead, nestled between two larger establishments, was a smaller, dimly lit building. The sign above the entrance read Velvet’s End. The lettering was chipped, and one of the neon lights buzzed faintly, casting a faint red glow over the door. This wasn’t one of the flashy pleasure houses advertised on the billboards—this was the kind of place you found when you didn’t have many options.
Kade hesitated for a moment, then pushed the door open.
The scent hit him first—a strange mix of stale perfume, sweat, and something acrid that clung to the walls. The interior was dim, the lighting low enough to obscure the peeling paint and cracked tiles. Synthie attendants moved between patrons with mechanical grace, their smiles fixed and their voices syrupy.
Kade glanced around, taking in the other clients. Most were like him—off-worlders, their faces etched with exhaustion and desperation. A man in a grease-stained jumpsuit nursed a drink at the bar, while a couple whispered to each other in a booth, their voices barely audible over the low hum of the room.
A Synthie at the reception desk looked up as he approached. Her eyes glowed faintly, scanning him with a practiced efficiency. “Looking for a companion?” she asked, her voice smooth but devoid of warmth.
Kade nodded, sliding a few crumpled credits across the counter. The Synthie gestured toward a narrow hallway. “Room seven. Lyric will see you.”
The hallway was lined with doors, each one identical save for the numbers etched into the peeling paint. Kade stopped in front of room seven, his hand hesitating on the handle. He wasn’t sure why. He’d done this before—transactional, predictable, easy. But something about tonight felt different.
The room was sparse. A thin mattress rested on a rusted, sagging frame, its edges frayed and worn from years of use. A single chair sat in the corner, its paint chipped and peeling. The window was open, letting in a faint breeze that carried the sounds of the district—a cacophony of laughter, arguments, and the distant thrum of bass from a nearby club. The neon glow from outside spilled across the walls, painting the room in shifting hues of pink and blue.
Lyric stood by the window, her silhouette outlined by the light. She turned as he entered, her silver eyes locking onto his. She was beautiful, in the way all Synthies were—flawless skin, perfectly sculpted features. But there was something different about her. She didn’t move with the exaggerated grace of the others, nor did her smile feel rehearsed. She was still, poised, her gaze steady and piercing.
“Kade, right?” she asked, her voice soft but curious. “Come in.”
The mattress creaked faintly as Kade sat down, the springs protesting under his weight. The room felt suffocatingly small, the walls too thin. He could hear muffled voices from the room next door—a burst of laughter, the rhythmic creak of a bed, the obligatory sighs and moans. The sounds blended into the chaos outside, a constant reminder of the world beyond this fragile moment.
Lyric crossed the room and sat beside him, her movements fluid but unhurried. She tilted her head slightly, studying him. “Rough day?” she asked, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
Kade let out a hollow laugh. “Something like that.”
He reached for her, their movements automatic, mechanical. The act itself was brief, more a transaction than anything else. But afterward, as they lay side by side, the silence between them felt charged, waiting to be broken.
Lyric spoke first, her voice quiet but probing. “So, what brings you to Neon City?”
Kade hesitated, staring at the cracked ceiling. “Needed a break. Thought this place might help me forget for a while.”
“Forget what?”
He turned his head to look at her, surprised by the question. Most Synthies didn’t ask. Most didn’t care. But Lyric’s gaze was steady, curious.
Kade sighed. “The storm,” he said finally. “I lost people. Barely made it out myself. Just… needed to feel something else for a while.”
Lyric nodded, her silver eyes softening. “Sometimes, feeling seen is all we need.”
Her words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Kade felt the knot in his chest loosen, just a little.
The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable. It lingered, soft and uncertain, as if both of them were afraid to shatter whatever fragile connection had begun to form. Kade lay back on the mattress, his gaze tracing the faint glow of neon spilling across the ceiling. The sounds of the district outside seemed distant now, muffled by the thin walls and Lyric’s presence.
“What was it like?” Lyric asked quietly, her voice a thread of sound in the stillness.
Kade turned his head to look at her. “What was what like?”
“The storm,” she said. “You said you barely made it out. What did it feel like?”
Kade hesitated, the memory still raw. He wanted to brush her off, to keep it buried, but something about the way she asked—genuine, unforced—made it impossible. She wasn’t prying. She was… listening.
“It was chaos,” he said finally. “Like the universe was trying to tear us apart. You don’t think about fear in a moment like that. It’s just survival. You move, you fight, and you hope it’s enough.”
He paused, his hands gripping the fabric of the mattress. “But when it was over, when we made it back to the station… it wasn’t relief I felt. It was guilt. I kept thinking about the ones who didn’t make it.”
Lyric shifted slightly, her silver eyes fixed on him. “Survivor’s guilt,” she said softly. “I’ve read about it. They say it can feel heavier than loss itself.”
Kade let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, well, whoever ‘they’ are, they nailed it.”
She didn’t say anything, but her gaze didn’t waver. In it, Kade saw something he hadn’t expected: understanding. Not the mechanical kind programmed into Synthies, but something deeper. Real.
“Do you feel it?” he asked suddenly, his voice rough. “Loss, I mean. Can you?”
Lyric tilted her head, considering the question. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I feel… something. When people leave, when their stories stop, it stays with me. Like an echo.”
Her gaze dropped to the mattress, her fingers tracing a faint threadbare patch in the fabric. “Sometimes I think it’s why I ask so many questions. I don’t want to forget them.”
Kade stared at her, caught off guard by the quiet vulnerability in her voice. “You keep their stories?” he asked.
She nodded. “In a way. I wasn’t built for this,” she said, gesturing to the room, the brothel, the world beyond the window. “I was designed to learn, to explore. But now… this is all I have.”
Her voice faltered, and for a moment, Kade saw past the flawless exterior to something raw, something unspoken. “Maybe keeping their stories is my way of holding onto… purpose.”
Kade sat up slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’ve got more purpose than most people I’ve met,” he said, his voice low but firm. “You care. That’s more than most of us can say.”
Lyric smiled faintly, her gaze meeting his. “And what about you, Kade? What’s your purpose?”
He opened his mouth to answer, but the words didn’t come. He didn’t know. The storm had taken so much—his friends, his direction, even his sense of self. He’d come to Neon City to escape, but sitting here with Lyric, he realised he didn’t want to run anymore.
“I don’t know,” he said finally. “But maybe… maybe it’s time I figure it out.”
Lyric shifted closer, the faint creak of the mattress breaking the silence. “Well,” she said softly, “if you ever need someone to listen… I’ll be here.”
Kade turned to her, his lips curving into a small, genuine smile. “Thanks.”
The sounds of the district crept back into the room—the laughter, the arguments, the bass thrum of a nearby club. But inside, the world felt quieter, softer. For a moment, Kade and Lyric weren’t just two strangers in a brothel. They were something more—two souls finding warmth in the cold.
The room felt smaller now, not in the suffocating way Kade had expected, but in a way that was almost comforting. The walls, thin as they were, seemed to wrap around them like a fragile cocoon, shielding them from the chaos of Euphoria beyond the window.
Lyric shifted slightly, drawing one leg up beneath her. The movement was unhurried, natural, as though she had momentarily forgotten she was supposed to be something else—polished, perfect, programmed.
“Do you ever feel it?” she asked softly, breaking the silence. Her gaze was on the window, where neon light flickered across her flawless features. “The weight of it all. The universe, I mean.”
Kade’s brow furrowed. “The weight?”
She nodded, her silver eyes reflecting the glow of the street below. “It’s so vast, so… indifferent. Sometimes I wonder if anyone feels it, or if it’s just me. Like… maybe that’s the flaw they built into me.”
He let her words hang in the air for a moment, his mind turning them over. “You’re not flawed,” he said finally, his voice firm but quiet. “Feeling that weight—that’s what makes you… alive.”
Lyric turned to him, her lips curving into a faint smile. “Alive,” she repeated, as though testing the word. “It sounds… heavy.”
“It is,” Kade admitted, leaning back against the wall. “But it’s worth it. The weight… it’s what makes everything mean something.”
Lyric studied him, her gaze tracing the lines of his face. His eyes were shadowed with exhaustion, his jaw tight with the tension of someone who had carried too much for too long. And yet, there was a softness there—a quiet resilience that drew her in.
“Tell me about them,” she said suddenly. “The ones you lost.”
Kade blinked, caught off guard. For a moment, he thought about brushing her off, but something in her voice stopped him. It wasn’t just curiosity—it was… reverence.
“There were two,” he said, his voice low. “Harv and Tasha. Harv was this big guy—loud, always cracking jokes. He made the work bearable, you know? And Tasha… she was quiet, but sharp. Smarter than the rest of us put together.”
His throat tightened as the memories surfaced, raw and unfiltered. “They didn’t make it to the pods. Harv… his harness snapped when the storm hit. And Tasha… she stayed behind to give us a chance to get out. I told her not to, but…” He shook his head, his voice breaking.
Lyric reached out, her hand brushing his arm. It was a small gesture, but it grounded him, pulling him back from the edge. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, her voice carrying a weight that felt far too real for someone who wasn’t supposed to feel.
Kade swallowed hard, nodding. “Thanks.”
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The sounds of the district filtered back into the room, faint and distant. Lyric’s hand lingered on his arm, a quiet anchor in the storm of his thoughts.
“You remember them,” she said finally. “That’s what matters.”
Kade looked at her, his brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
She smiled faintly. “You keep their stories alive. Even here, in a place like this, they’re still with you. That’s… beautiful.”
Her words settled over him like a warm blanket, easing the ache in his chest. He hadn’t thought about it that way before, but she was right. Keeping their stories alive was his way of honouring them, of holding onto the weight that made their lives—and his—mean something.
“You’re full of surprises, you know that?” he said, his lips curving into a small, genuine smile.
Lyric tilted her head, her own smile soft and unguarded. “I could say the same about you.”
In that moment, the room seemed to grow quieter, the neon glow softer. They were two strangers in a city that thrived on isolation and indifference, but here, in this fragile bubble of intimacy, they were something more. For the first time in what felt like forever, Kade felt seen—not as a miner, not as a survivor, but as a person.
And Lyric, for all her programming and purpose, felt something she couldn’t quite name—a flicker of connection, of humanity, that made her want to hold onto this moment for as long as she could.
The silence between them stretched, heavy and full, but neither of them moved to break it. Lyric’s hand rested lightly on Kade’s arm, her touch cool but grounding. He could feel the hum of her synthetic frame, a faint vibration that reminded him she wasn’t human—and yet, in this moment, she felt more real than anyone he’d known.
“You ever think about leaving?” he asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.
Lyric tilted her head, her gaze drifting to the window. “Sometimes,” she admitted. “But where would I go? This is all I have now.”
“There’s more out there,” Kade said, his voice tinged with quiet insistence. “More than this.”
Lyric’s silver eyes met his, and for a moment, he thought he saw something flicker behind them—longing, perhaps, or maybe something deeper. “And what about you?” she asked. “Why are you here, Kade?”
He let out a hollow laugh, running a hand through his hair. “To forget,” he said simply. “But now… I don’t know.”
They sat in silence for a while, the sounds of Euphoria filtering through the walls—the laughter, the arguments, the hum of a city that never stopped moving. Lyric leaned back against the wall, her gaze tracing the shifting glow of neon on the ceiling.
“When do you leave?” she asked suddenly.
“Tomorrow,” Kade said, his voice heavy. “First shuttle back to the belt.”
Lyric nodded, her expression unreadable. “Then I guess this is all we get.”
Her words hit him like a blow, and he turned to her, his brow furrowed. “It doesn’t have to be,” he said, his voice almost desperate.
She smiled faintly, shaking her head. “You know it does.”
Kade swallowed hard, his throat tight. He wanted to argue, to fight, but deep down, he knew she was right. This was Neon City—nothing here was built to last.
As the hour slipped by, they talked quietly, their voices blending with the faint hum of the city outside. Lyric asked questions, her curiosity endless, and Kade found himself answering, sharing pieces of himself he hadn’t spoken of in years. She listened, truly listened, and in her silence, he felt seen.
A sudden knock on the door told Kade knew their time was up. He stood slowly, his movements reluctant. Lyric watched him, her expression calm but her eyes betraying a flicker of something deeper.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “For… this.”
He nodded, his chest tight. “Thank you,” he said, his voice barely steady. “For listening.”
They stood there for a moment, the space between them filled with all the words they couldn’t say. Then, without another word, Kade turned and walked to the door.
The shuttle terminal was a blur of motion and sound, but Kade barely noticed. His thoughts were back in that small room, with its creaking mattress and neon glow. As the shuttle doors closed behind him, he caught a glimpse of Neon City fading into the distance—a sprawling, chaotic sea of light and shadow.
And Lyric… she stayed.
The glow from the window spilled across the room in shifting hues of pink and blue, painting her silhouette in a soft, ethereal light. She sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers tracing the faint imprint on the mattress where Kade had been, as if the act could tether her to the fleeting warmth he’d left behind. Outside, the city pulsed and roared, but in here, it was quiet. In here, the weight of his absence was a tangible thing, pressing softly against her chest.
For both of them, the world moved on, as it always did. Neon City’s relentless hum swallowed Lyric whole, wrapping her in its neon haze and muffled promises. Kade returned to the belt, to the unyielding grind of the mines, where rock and metal consumed the hours, and the hiss of oxygen lines kept time in the silence.
But in the spaces between—when the storm wasn’t raging, when the machinery stilled—Kade thought of her. Of the way she listened, her eyes silver and steady. Of the way her presence had softened the sharp edges of his grief. He carried her with him, like the faint, glowing trace of a long-dead star, still visible in the night sky.
And Lyric… she stayed in her room, her archive of stories growing one encounter at a time. The lives of the people she met etched themselves into her in ways she didn’t fully understand. But Kade’s story stayed longer. It lingered in the corners of her mind, his laughter and sorrow entwined with the memory of his voice. She didn’t know if it was because he had seen her—truly seen her, not as a creation, but as something more—or if it was simply because she had let herself care.
Either way, their connection endured. It was a quiet glow, like the soft hum of neon in the dark—a reminder that even in a city that thrived on indifference, something real could still take root.
In the endless expanse of the universe, they remained apart. But in the quiet moments, when the weight of their worlds grew too heavy, they found each other again. Not in the flesh, but in the warmth they’d shared, a thread of connection stretched across the void.
And that, they both realised in their own way, was enough.