Lenora

I spend the next day filming, keeping my mind off last night. My rank has leapt to 387 overnight. Hugo had shuffled my Friend requests while I slept in an attempt to cheer me up. Live sharing helps too, my followers boosting my self-confidence and keeping me focused. It’s only when I go to the bathroom, Hugo lingering outside as though he’s tempted to come in anyway, that I switch off my feed and I’m on my own. I want to be sick. Torin’s handsome face smiling at me. Torin’s hands holding mine. Torin flirting with me in between takes. Torin stealing a kiss when he knows everyone’s looking. I want to punch Torin in the face.

My modes are resting on the sink as I splash water on my cheeks, glancing in the mirror and blinking droplets of water off my eyelashes. I poke under one puffy eye and sigh. At least my modes cover the dark shadows and my holo-glamour does the rest.

“Nora?” Hugo calls out and I grab the hand towel to dry my face. I practise a smile in the mirror. Skies above, even my own smile makes me nauseous.

This morning I sought out Susie Benedict (rank 96,895) to thank her for her slice and repair any damage I may have caused, only to learn she’d been let go from the studio. Let go, they’d said, as though she was a balloon.

My casual act of cruelty knocked her back 30,000 places, her Friends dropping her like a hot coal to avoid being dragged down with her, and now she’s restricted to levels six and below. She’s currently jobless and on a waiting list to be assigned something more suitable to her rank.

“I’m a monster,” I whisper to my reflection.

“That’s a tad dramatic, don’t you think?” Hugo materializes beside me.

“Hey, I could’ve been changing!”

“Well, you should’ve answered. You had me worried.” He crosses his arms defiantly even as his cheeks flush.

“I’m fine.” I slip on my modes, donning what little pride I have left to keep up this charade.

I avoid Torin after we finish for the day, ignore the motor-carriage waiting for me and instead catch a tram and walk the last bit home. Hugo runs interference and it’s almost like before Activation, when I was still just another young hopeful. Has it only been two months? Three? I feel old and tired. I trudge up the front steps and freeze. I can hear yelling. Mother and Father again, and it’s loud.

“But you promised Thad! You promised him! And what about Hannah? She was our friend!” Mother yells as the house greets me pleasantly, opening the door. My parents stop, yet their heated words hang in the air.

“Sweetheart, we weren’t expecting you for a while yet. Are you hungry?” Mother asks, smoothing her skirt with trembling hands. She’s still wearing her modes, but I can hear how shaky her voice is and I wonder if her cheeks are wet.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

“I’ve eaten,” I assure her and vanish to my room before they can ask about my day.

I miss dinner that night, feigning fatigue, ear pressed to the floor as I hear them arguing again until Mother goes to bed and Father retreats to his office. Even in bed, the covers up to my chin, sleep eludes me so I watch a film on my modes. I’m dozing when the front door opens and closes.

“Was that Father?” I ask, sitting up.

“Yeah,” Hugo says as he peeks out the window. “And he’s fully kitted, too.” That means he’s wearing his Mediator uniform, entire body covered in the intelligent black armour enabling access to both the Cyberinth and flesh world at the same time.

“It’s almost one in the morning,” I whisper to Hugo, swinging my legs out of bed and padding over. “Where’s he going?” Father has already disappeared. I suck on my bottom lip, hesitating before I drag on a pair of black tights and a dark top, wrapping my favourite deep green scarf tightly around my hair.

“Better question is: where do you think you’re going?” Hugo throws back as I decide between boots or a pair of flats. Sturdiness versus sneakiness. Boots win, and I cram my feet in and readjust my modes as I head out.

Something’s wrong and I want to find out.

“Maybe it has to do with those Evictions. And that boy, Bryn’s brother.”

I thought we’d decided it was all an elaborate hoax. I ease open the front door and stand on the street, trying to figure out which way he’s gone.

“You decided,” Hugo grumbles. He heaves out a massive sigh and jerks his head in a come on tilt. We turn right towards the Core.

At this rate, he’ll disappear, I say in frustration, my feet already sore. All the trams have shut down for the night.

“Don’t worry. I can track him.”

What is he doing?

“Let’s find out.”

We catch the lift to Level Eight. Even the cheerful lift music seems strained at this late hour. Hugo shifts anxiously as the lift shudders to a halt and the door opens. A loud heavy thudding floods the lift as the light spills out onto the level before almost retreating, swallowed by the encroaching darkness and noise. The only fragile sources of light bob across thin metal walkways high above my head and down darker passageways, as though fleeing.

“The station enforces night-time blackouts on the lower levels to keep the citizens from making trouble,” Hugo says, leaving the safety of the lift and glancing at me, jerking his head for me to follow. How does he know all this? I’ve never been on Level Eight so he hasn’t either. I switch on my mode torch and take a deep breath. When the lift closes behind me, panic skitters across my skin until I force the air from my lungs and take in another shuddering breath.

Sounds like the blackouts are a good idea, I comment.

“Is it?” Hugo challenges. “Every night at seven all the lights go off. All of them. Not just the streetlights and the artificial sun, but every light in every home switches off.” Hugo glows and as he waves his arms around paths of glowing gold streak through the air. “Doesn’t stop the people, though. Maybe not here so close to the Core, but in other neighbourhoods they’re more alive than the top levels combined.”

Maybe you could show me sometime, I send without thinking and blush.

“What?” Hugo stutters, his hands falling limply to his sides, leaving the impression of wings before the glow fades.

If you want to.

Before he can reply there’s a sharp command off to our far right, muffled by the dark.

“There they are,” Hugo whispers.

There’re at least thirty Mediators dressed entirely in black, the helmets on their heads a shiny exoskeleton. I follow them, my own light off as Hugo leads the way with his dim glow.

As they pass through the neighbourhoods, block after block, tiny illegal pockets of light switch off before them as though they’re causing them all to short.

It takes an hour. My heart’s in my throat and Hugo hisses instructions to hide or duck before the Mediators finally reach their destination.

Where are we?

“Bone City.”