Hi guys! Before we dive into the chapter, I want to clarify something.

  In the last chapter (Chapter 34), some of you raised concerns about Dash taking the book with him. I want to remind you that Dash’s biggest flaws are his recklessness and his need for control. From a character perspective, it made sense to me that he would take the book, because having it with him feels like having the situation under control.

  Since this choice is (nearly) inconsequential, I can retcon it and have the book stay at home in Chapter 34. However, Patreon readers are about 200 pages ahead, and changing this now could break continuity for them. (he already had tanked it with him many chapters ago, so him going home and pulling it out of bunker may be jarring, because it didn't happen for them)

  Because of that, I let Patreon vote on whether we should retcon this or not.

  Depending on the result, Dash will either go out with the book... or leave it behind.

  “West Corporate District offers a vibrant, immersive street experience designed to engage all senses.”

  “Dynamic lighting, open-air avenues, and natural climate exposure reinforce authenticity, energy, and urban character.”

  “Premium environmental moderation options are available in select zones.”

  — Tago Public Relations Office

  The train ride to West Corporate District took forty minutes, and I spent most of it checking the MIRAGE app’s settings, making sure I understood how to activate it quickly if I needed to.

  By the time the automated announcement chimed—"Now arriving: West Corporate District, Station 7-B"—I had the basic controls memorized.

  The doors hissed open, and I stepped out onto the platform.

  [Paid: ￠2]

  Rain hit my face immediately, cold and insistent, a steady downpour that said it had been falling for hours and would keep falling for hours more. The station’s overhead cover only extended a few meters, and beyond that, the street was a grey curtain of water.

  I pulled hood and collar up and stepped out into it.

  The smell hit me as hard as the rain. Grease and ozone and something sweet that might’ve been synth-sugar from a nearby vendor, all mixing together with the petrichor of water on old concrete. It was different from Central Corporate’s sterile filtered atmosphere, more lived-in, more real in a way that felt both familiar and overwhelming.

  I followed the crowd toward the exit, and the station opened up into street level.

  Neon everywhere, reflected and doubled in the wet pavement.

  Vertical signs climbed the sides of buildings in languages I could read and several I couldn’t. Japanese characters promising “Best Ramen - Real Pork!” next to Mandarin advertisements for augment clinics flickering blue and white, creating overlapping patterns on the wet ground.

  English corporate slogans scrolled across massive holographic displays that seemed to ignore the rain entirely, their projections cutting through the downpour “Palistra Apex: Building Your Future Since Ours Began.” and “Najjar Bionics: Why not get the best?” in clean white text that reflected off every wet surface.

  The buildings themselves were older, their facades dark with water, neon tubes outlining windows and doorways in colors that bled and ran in the rain. These were the megabuildings from thirty years ago, back when architects still cared about street-level design instead of just stacking hab-units as high as physics would allow.

  I walked down the main avenue, trying to look like I belonged here while simultaneously trying to take in everything at once.

  The MIRAGE system’s power cell was supposedly weather-sealed, but I still checked my holoband nervously to make sure the system hadn’t shorted out.

  [MIRAGE Adaptive Camouflage System: ONLINE]

  [Power: 93%]

  Still working. Good.

  Street-level vendors lined the sidewalks, most of them operating out of converted cargo containers or prefab stalls with improvised awnings that kept the worst of the rain off their merchandise. Synth-food stands pumped out steam that mixed with the rain, creating a fog that smelled almost like real cooking.

  People huddled under the awnings, eating noodles from disposable containers while rain hammered down inches away.

  One AD shifted as I walked by, my holoband’s identifier triggering its targeting algorithm despite the weather. A woman’s face materialized in the rain in front of me, beautiful and artificial, her smile too perfect to be real.

  Water passed through her projection without distorting it.

  “Tired after your shift?” the hologram asked, her voice somehow cutting through the sound of rain and street noise. “Apex Stims can help! Legal, safe, and guaranteed to keep you productive for another eight hours! First dose free with—”

  I walked through the projection, and it dissolved around me, already reforming to target the person behind me.

  The crowds were different here. Office workers in corpo casual, their company logos embroidered discreetly on their sleeves or collars, most of them with hoods up or carrying cheap umbrellas that did almost nothing against the downpour.

  Off-duty security in half-armor that shed water like it was designed to, which it probably was. System users in gear ranging from obviously expensive to obviously knockoff, and plenty of people like me trying to blend into the background while getting steadily more soaked.

  Everyone looked tired.

  That was the common thread running through the rain-blurred faces.

  The bone-deep exhaustion that came from working sixteen-hour shifts in climate-controlled offices, processing data or managing logistics or doing whatever it was that corporate people did to justify their existence.

  The buildings got taller as I walked deeper into the district, the street narrowing as upper floors jutted out overhead. Some of the megabuildings had enclosed skyways connecting them at the twentieth or thirtieth floor, creating a layered city-within-a-city that blocked out what little natural light made it this far down.

  The rain fell in stages here, cascading off edges and overhangs, creating waterfalls that splashed into the street.

  The neon compensated for the darkness, of course. Everything was bright, almost aggressively so, the colors reflecting off wet concrete and creating pools of colored light that shifted with every ripple. Purple and blue and green and red, all bleeding together in the rain like pink paint in water.

  I passed a ramen shop with actual steam rising from its kitchen, visible even in the downpour, the smell making my stomach growl because I’d skipped breakfast in my rush to build the book case.

  The shop’s sign glowed warm yellow in the rain: “NOODLE HEAVEN - REAL BROTH.” People crowded inside, visible through the steamed-up windows, huddled over bowls while rain hammered the awning above.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Real broth. That was apparently worth advertising.

  Next to it, a clinic advertised “Budget Augments - Neural Enhancement - No Questions Asked” with a holographic display showing before-and-after reaction times that flickered slightly in the heavy rain.

  Water ran down the clinic’s windows in streams, distorting the view of the waiting room inside.

  Further down, a stim dispensary had a line of people waiting outside despite the weather, most of them in corpo casual with a hollow-eyed look that said they were burning through their bodies’ resources faster than they could recover naturally.

  I checked my holoband’s map, rain beading on the projection, making sure I was heading in the right direction.

  The Dash Map, heh, interface had updated automatically when I’d entered the district, highlighting West Corporate’s major landmarks and street grids with glowing lines that seemed brighter against the grey backdrop of rain.

  Neon Vault was marked with a glowing icon fifteen blocks north, in the upper-mid section of the district where things apparently got more expensive.

  I kept walking, weaving through the crowds, rain soaking through my hoodie now despite the weather-sealed components. The soul-bound fabric seemed to shed water slightly better than normal cloth, but I was still getting wet.

  The streets began to shift around me as I walked. The vendors became less frequent. The buildings got newer, their facades cleaner even in the rain, their neon signs more artistic than desperate.

  The people changed too, fewer corpo people, more people in expensive casual wear that somehow looked effortlessly put-together despite the downpour. Clothing that was probably actually waterproof instead of just water-resistant, that probably cost more than my monthly food budget.

  The upper-mid district, where people came to spend money instead of just survive.

  I passed a restaurant with an actual host standing outside under a proper awning, a human being instead of a hologram.

  The awning kept him completely dry while rain poured down around him in sheets. The menu displayed in the window listed prices that didn’t include the sol symbol.

  Next to it, a boutique selling what looked like actual designer clothing, not mass-produced corporate fast fashion or knockoffs. The window display was protected by some kind of force field that made the rain bead and roll off without touching the glass, keeping the mannequins inside perfectly dry while they modeled outfits that probably had names instead of model numbers.

  The puddles on the ground reflected cleaner neon, brighter colors, less grime mixed with the water, and then, three blocks later, I saw it.

  Neon Vault.

  The building rose fifteen stories, its facade covered in interlocking hexagonal panels that shifted colors in slow, hypnotic patterns. Blue to purple to green to gold, the panels creating a flowing effect that made the entire structure look like it was breathing.

  The rain made it even more striking, water running down the panels in sheets, carrying the colors with it, creating cascading rainbows that pooled at street level.

  The ground floor entrance was recessed behind a wide plaza, and despite the rain, the plaza was packed with people. Mostly young, mostly well-dressed in actually waterproof gear, mostly the corpo kids who had allowances in four digits. They stood in clusters under scattered awnings or didn’t bother with cover at all, apparently not caring that they were getting wet.

  The Neon Vault logo hung above the entrance.

  The letters were holo, each one constructed from hundreds of smaller geometric shapes that rotated and recombined continuously, completely unaffected by the rain that fell through them.

  I stopped at the edge of the plaza, rain running down my hood, suddenly very aware of how wet I was, how my slightly-too-bright yellow hoodie probably looked cheap compared to everyone else’s gear.

  This was a mistake.

  I didn’t belong here.

  Alice and Cecilia were Aurelia Academy students, people who grew up in places like this, who probably had drivers drop them off so they wouldn’t have to walk through the rain like normal people.

  And I was standing in the rain outside an arcade I couldn’t afford, wearing gear I’d built in my basement.

  I should leave. Make up an excuse, send Alice a message, go back home where I—

  Something hit me from behind.

  Not hard, but enough to make me stumble forward a step, rain splashing up from the puddle I nearly stepped in. Arms wrapped around my torso in a tackle-hug that nearly knocked the breath out of me, and I heard Alice’s voice practically shouting in my ear.

  “DASH! You made it! And you’re early! I told you he’d be early, Ceci!”

  The rain that should’ve been soaking into my back where she pressed against me was... steaming.

  I could feel the heat radiating through my hoodie, could hear the faint hiss of water evaporating on contact with her skin. When I turned my head slightly, I glimpsed her hair - completely dry despite the downpour, tiny wisps of steam rising from the silver strands as if she was generating her own personal sauna.

  “Alice,” Cecilia’s voice came from somewhere to my right. “You’re going to burn him.”

  “I am not!” Alice protested, but she loosened her grip anyway, stepping back with a grin. “He’s fine! Look at him, totally fine!”

  I blinked water out of my eyes and turned to face them properly.

  Alice was wearing what looked like a Syntavelli jacket, but no hood, no umbrella, nothing to protect her from the rain.

  She didn’t need it.

  Every drop that hit her skin evaporated instantly, creating a constant haze of steam around her that caught the neon reflections and made her look like she was standing in her own personal light show. Her silver hair stayed perfectly dry, her clothes somehow avoiding the worst of the moisture despite the downpour.

  She was also staring at my hoodie with undisguised delight.

  “That yellow!” she said, reaching out to touch the fabric before apparently remembering she was literally hot enough to steam water and pulling back. “That’s so nova, Dash! Very you! Like, super bright, can’t-miss-you-in-a-crowd energy! I love it!”

  “It’s... brighter than I wanted,” I admitted, pulling my hood back slightly so I could actually see her properly. “Supply chain issues.”

  “No, no, it’s perfect!” Alice insisted. “Ceci, isn’t it perfect?”

  Cecilia stood a few feet away, and unlike her sister, she wasn’t steaming. The rain simply... didn’t touch her. There was no visible force field, no shimmer in the air, but water hit an invisible barrier about an inch from her skin and slid off sideways, creating a perfect dry zone around her body.

  Her red-and-black Syntavelli jacket stayed immaculate, her hair untouched by moisture.

  She studied my hoodie with a more critical eye, then nodded slightly. “It suits him,” she said simply. “Better than corpo gray.”

  Alice pumped her fist in victory. “See? Ceci agrees! Now come on, we’re getting soaked!” She paused, glancing at herself and her personal steam cloud, then at Cecilia’s perfect dryness, then at me standing there actually getting wet. “Well, you’re getting soaked. We should go inside!”

  She grabbed my arm and started pulling me toward the entrance, and I let myself be dragged, too confused by the casual display of their expensive traits.

  We made it maybe three steps before Alice leaned in close. “Thanks for not mentioning them, by the way.”

  I blinked, confused. “Mentioning what?”

  She tilted her head slightly backward, still grinning, and something about the gesture made me glance over my shoulder.

  Three bodyguards stood in the rain about ten meters back.

  I turned back to Alice, and she was watching me with an expression that was half-amused, half-nervous, like she was waiting to see how I’d react. Cecilia had stopped too, her perfect dry zone creating a clear circle in the rain while she studied my face.

  “Oh,” I said, because what else was there to say?

  The weird thing was, I hadn’t noticed them. Not when Alice tackled me, not when we’d been standing here talking, not even when I’d scanned the plaza looking for the twins. They’d been there the whole time, and I’d just... filtered them out.

  Like I used to do on Mars, back when my family still got security details.

  Back when having armed professionals following you around was normal, expected, the thing you learned to ignore because acknowledging them made everything awkward.

  The muscle memory had kicked in without me even realizing it, and now I was standing in the rain outside an expensive arcade with two corpo academy students, falling back into habits from a life I didn’t have anymore.

  One day… I’ll show Grandma I belong in her world.

  Alice’s grin widened when I didn’t make a big deal about it. “Come on,” she said, pulling my arm again. “Let’s get inside before you actually drown!”

  “I should probably—” I started, glancing up at the Neon Vault entrance with its shifting hexagonal panels and its crowd of people who definitely had more money than me. “This place looks expensive. I’m not really—”

  “Nope!” Alice cut me off, already dragging me forward. “I invited, so I’m paying. Non-negotiable. Don’t even think about arguing.”

  “Alice, I can’t just—”

  “Non. Negotiable.” She emphasized each word with a tug on my arm. “You’re our guest! Guests don’t pay! That’s like, basic hospitality rules! Right, Ceci?”

  Cecilia fell into step beside us, her dry zone moving with her like a personal weather system. “She’ll argue about this for hours if you try to fight it,” she said, her tone suggesting experience. “It’s faster just to accept.”

  The bodyguards shifted position as we moved, maintaining their triangle formation while somehow not looking like they were following us. We crossed the plaza, rain hammering down around us while Alice steamed and Cecilia stayed perfectly dry and I got progressively more soaked.

  The Neon Vault’s doors were massive.

  Easily three meters tall, made of some kind of smart-glass that shifted from transparent to opaque in flowing patterns. They slid open as we approached, and a wave of sound and light and warmth rolled out to meet us.

  Alice pulled me through without hesitation, Cecilia following close behind, and the bodyguards melted into the background somewhere behind us.

  The doors closed, cutting off the rain and the grey street behind us.

  And I got my first proper look at Neon Vault.

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