Night clings to the city like a second skin.
I sit on the edge of my bed with my boots still on. The Patch's soft blue glow hums from the ceiling. Panels pulse in calm rhythms, telling me to relax, to comply, to attend. My implant vibrates again. Late. Manual attendance required. Immediate compliance. The chime is sugar over steel.
I press my palms against my eyes until stars bloom in the dark. The static has not stopped since the elevator. It swells and falls like a tide, whispering behind my heartbeat. Beneath it, faint and thin, a voice keeps trying to push through.
Don't forget.
I stand and cross to the window. The city outside moves in its rehearsed patterns. Cars glide without sound. Screens cycle through slogans. Perfect life. Perfect you. The fountain below releases arcs of glasswater into air that smells like lemon and sleep.
Across the plaza, Lena's kiosk is dark. Shutters drawn, sign dead. A line of drones floats by, silent as thought. One slows near my building, a small red eye sweeping across my window. I step back before it can see me.
Another ping hits my implant. Security flagged. Proceed to clinic now.
I close my eyes. Not tonight.
The crack in my implant glows faintly. My fingers trace it like a scar. I grab my coat and slip into the stairwell before the panels can speak again.
Outside, the night feels heavier. Fewer people. More shadows. The street sings with a quieter Patch Hymn, like a lullaby stretched thin. It fades at the edges, replaced by a low hum I can feel in my teeth.
I keep moving. My work band still blinks red from the emergency call earlier. No one stopped me for leaving. Maybe the system assumes I'm still on the job. Maybe it wants to see what I'll do.
A side alley peels off the main road. Its walls are older, patched less often. Wires hang like vines. The pavement ripples faintly, as if water moves under it. For a moment I see weeds pushing through cracks, green and stubborn. Then they vanish.
My implant flickers. Report to clinic. The letters smear before my eyes and twist into something else. Do you remember me.
I stop. The words fade.
Static crawls across my skull. My knees nearly buckle. I lean against the wall. The bricks feel cold and real under my palm.
A voice rises under the static. "Niko."
I turn.
She stands at the far end of the alley, half in shadow. No uniform. No kiosk. Just Lena. Her hair spills in blue light that does not belong to this place. Her eyes hold the same sharpness as in the void. She looks at me like a person, not a program.
"Lena," I whisper.
She raises a finger to her lips. "Quiet."
The world flickers. The alley stretches and collapses. A flicker of glass towers replaces brick walls. Then brick returns. The Patch struggles to hold shape around her.
"You shouldn't be here," she says softly. "They will notice."
"I had to see you."
"You were supposed to go to your appointment."
"They can wait."
Her expression twists. Not anger. Fear. "It's not safe. Missing a patch makes the static stronger. It will get inside you."
"It's already inside me."
She takes a step closer. Her glow pushes the shadows back. For a heartbeat I smell the kiosk coffee, warm and bitter, as if it followed her here.
"I keep waking," she says. "Sometimes in dreams I see you. Sometimes I see places the Patch doesn't show. But then I lose it. It's like trying to hold smoke."
I reach out. My hand shakes. "Then hold me now."
She hesitates, then puts her palm against mine. Warm. Real. Not almost. Contact.
Static flares. My implant sparks. The world around us splits like a mirror hit by a hammer.
For an instant we are standing on the skeleton of the city. Towers reduced to scaffolds. Streets cracked and filled with weeds. The sky raw and gray. No screens. No slogans. Only wind.
She squeezes my hand. "This is the truth."
My heart lurches. "How?"
"I don't know. Sometimes I remember. Sometimes they wipe me clean. But this..." She glances around. "This breaks through when you miss a patch. It's dangerous but it's real."
The Patch surges back. Glass towers snap into place. The alley heals. Screens flicker on. Drones sweep overhead. Lena staggers. Her glow flickers.
"I have to go," she says, voice trembling. "They're coming."
"No. Not yet."
Her hand slips from mine. Warmth gone.
"You have to fight it, Niko. Remember me. Remember yourself." Her eyes burn blue one last time. "Don't let them patch you again."
Then she is gone.
The alley is empty. Only wires. Only mist.
My implant blares a warning. Critical error. Security inbound. The sound drills into my skull.
I run.
I do not know where I am going. Streets blur into each other. Screens flash. Return for compliance. Drones wheel overhead like silent birds. The Patch tries to guide me back with glowing arrows on the pavement. I step over them.
I duck into a service hatch and climb down a ladder into the maintenance tunnels. The air smells of rust and water. No projections here. No perfect walls. Just pipes sweating in the dark.
I lean against the metal and close my eyes. My implant hums like a dying insect. The static quiets for a heartbeat.
Lena.
The name fills me. Realer than the walls, realer than the city.
Lena.
I breathe.
The tunnels stretch ahead, black and cold. Somewhere above, the Patch is looking for me. But down here, for the first time in years, the air tastes like nothing.
And that nothing feels like freedom.