Shock in the bathroom.

Glimmer vomited until her stomach cramped and nothing was left but bile. She shivered violently, convinced she was in withdrawal from whatever Sevens had **** down her throat. Her eyes throbbed so hard she thought they might burst. She retched again, dry-heaving over the toilet until her ribs ached.

Eventually, the tears came, though she wasn’t sure why. “What the fuck have I done?” she whispered, wiping her mouth with the back of her trembling hand. “Why am I crying now?”

She staggered to her feet on shaky legs and drifted out of the bathroom, nearly stepping on Jeff as it hummed through its cleaning routine. Her gaze landed on the charger, the phone, and finally the flash drive. After plugging in the phone, she went to the next objective on her mind: privacy.

Swallowing against a raw throat, she scribbled a note and stuck it to the door: Please knock before entering. She stared at it for a moment, then left it there.

She nursed sips of water, but even that twisted her gut. Finally, she plugged the flash drive into the port and let the file load onto her TV. It took a second to recognize the feed: _Pupil-Vision _footage, the kind she’d used for client videos or Pink Heat ads.

The screen flickered to life—hazy, silent. Stocking-clad legs filled the frame first, then a pencil skirt and slender, inked arms swaying with purposeful steps. Traditional American tattoos flashed across the skin: pin-up girls, smoking skulls, stars.

The POV moved swiftly through a high-rise hallway—fancier than Glimmer’s, with shifting ads and moving murals on the walls. A knock on door 1821. A pause. Then the door opened.

Alexander stood there, confused—until the figure shoved inside. A brief struggle, brutal and one-sided. Fists rained down until he crumpled.

Glimmer’s stomach lurched again. She’d thought she’d want to watch this—crave it, even. But now she couldn’t look away, and it made her sick.

The camera shifted to lock the door, then returned to Alexander. The beating continued: methodical, savage. Knuckles split; shattered teeth were plucked from torn skin. His face became unrecognizable—pulped, bloodied, weak.

He tried to crawl away once. Both legs were snapped backward with wet cracks. Glimmer was grateful for the muted audio; the silent screams were bad enough.

After twenty endless minutes, the figure dragged over a notepad and pen, jammed a handgun against his neck. Alexander scrawled frantically, page after page:

I am sorry Glimmer. I am sorry Glimmer. I am sorry Glimmer.

Whenever he slowed, the barrel dug deeper.

Finally, the gun pressed to his neck.

A knock at Glimmer’s door jolted her upright. She yanked the drive free; the image vanished mid-motion.

The door opened without waiting. Two Trick stepped in, hands wrapped in fresh bandages, otherwise pristine. She carried a paper sack of food and drinks, setting it on the counter with casual indifference.

“Figured I owed you this much,” she said, eyeing Glimmer’s pale, sweat-slick face. “You're pale.”

Glimmer pointed weakly at the bandaged hands. “What happened?”

Two Trick glanced down and shrugged. “Got my nails done. They’re hideous right now—couldn’t bear anyone seeing them.” She met Glimmer’s eyes, voice flat. “What other reason could there be?”

Glimmer noticed the arms: smooth, hairless, almond-toned. No ink. Different from the video. It wasn't Two Trick. Was it?

Two Trick placed another bag on the counter—warm Chinese takeout from Glimmer’s favorite stand. “Got you something hot to fight the cold.”

Glimmer’s mouth watered despite everything. “How? Everything’s closed.”

“**** the guy at gunpoint. Kidding," Two Trick deadpanned, not answering her question.

She headed for the bathroom. “I’m showering and taking the bed tonight. Don’t save me any food—I already ate elsewhere.”

Glimmer waited until the water ran and the door stayed open—privacy clearly not a concern—before touching the takeout. She ate mechanically, mind racing.

Was there a point of turning back now?

She’d risked too much. The phone sat charged and green on the counter.

No turning back.

Glimmer is jolted awake by the blast shields lifting from her apartment complex, and the loud grinding noise reduces her Ai’s morning report. Her bed is empty, no sign of Two Trick or Sevens. Sunlight filters in through the opening blast shields as the sun punches through her window. Neon Shroud, the City of Color and Opportunity, sparkles in a dazzling reflection of frozen crystals and hardened ice. The buzz of activity is still muted, but she can see the motion of cars and delivery BOTs carrying on their workloads.

She scratches her wrist and looks around. She didn’t remember changing clothes, but she was hugged loosely by shorts and a tank top– nothing was underneath, just augmented flesh. She looks around for the flash drive, but discovers it’s been taken; it leaves behind a sour aftertaste of Alexander’s horrific **** and ****. Glimmer shakes her head and lets out a quiet grunt.

“Morning report,” Glimmer said, not ready to leave the couch. “Repeat morning report.”

“Good morning, Glimmer. It is currently 11:02 on 2085, December 9th. The temperatures are increasing today, with a high of 42’F. Temperatures will plummet again on Wednesday, December 12th, with another chance of severe winter weather.”

“Where did my companion go?”

“There are no reports of a companion inside your quarters.”

Glimmer shivers at the idea of Two Trick being some kind of vague crack in her sanity. However, she knows the system was hacked, and whatever the contractor did, it probably removed any record of her being here. Any question of insanity is discarded when she spots the phone, still blinking green and fully charged.

Glimmer tip-toes across the room and picks it up… 2 more free uses. She doesn’t dare unplug it, not yet. She places the phone down, then collects a piece of paper and a pen, writing down what she needs to ask before ruining one of her freebies for pleasure.

She’d fancied her handwriting, and even now, as she wrote tired and with a cup of dolled-up coffee with creamer and whipped cream, she admired her needless detail and underlining. “Where are you?” was the first question, with a flow chart of what else should be asked.

“Let’s meet at X,” was the next, but after some consideration, she realized it might be difficult if he was Northbound.

“Do you miss me?” was what came next, and her heartache as she read it scared her about what the truth was. All she could remember was how annoyed he sounded. She scribbled it out, deciding it was a stupid question to ask.

She needed to find a place to meet him. She felt her legs press against each other as lust took over. Memories, not so vague, were her last dream of David. She slipped into some slippers and took the phone, dialing his number after struggling with the buttons.

Glimmer went to her patio and stood in the cold, bathing in the warmth of the morning sun as the phone rang just once before being answered.

“Glimmer?” David's voice came out clear and collected. It wasn’t perfect, but the difference between the last call and this one was night and day. Her eyes set focus as she broke into a pathetic sob, which thankfully didn’t rob her of her voice.

“It’s me,” she said. “It’s me, David. Where are you?”

“I can’t say,” he says, low and secretive.

“Let’s meet somewhere,” she blurts out, looking at her pages. It’s unfinished, and the next question was scribbled out.

“I can’t,” he says with a deflated voice. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

She gritted her teeth. “David, please. We need to make this work. I can’t keep calling you. Please,” despite begging, her voice came out strong and harsh.

“I’m in Porttown, 7 days by rail from Neon Shroud.”

“I’m going there then,” Glimmer replies quickly. “How long? How long do we have?”

“My stay is until Christmas, but Glimmer-”

“No!” she shouts. “I’m sorry, I don’t have time. Where? Where can we meet–”

A dead tone fills her ear. “Fuck,” she hits her temples. “Fuck! Fuck!”

Glimmer’s skin is prickled with goosebumps, and her nipples are poking through her tank top. The morning sun does little for warmth, and the drone of the city comes crashing back to her senses; it’s now the only thing she’s hearing. “Time off,” she murmurs. “I need to use my time off.”

She bolts back inside, grabs a messenger device, and calls HR for Pink Heat. Unlike David’s quick answer, she’s left waiting for several minutes before someone finally answers her call request. “Employee number and name, please.”

“Glimmer. Employee tag is Entertainer, ID is 0023. I’m calling to request all my days off immediately.”

There’s soft typing in the background at the other end. “We’re supposed to have a 2-week notice before anything over 3 days,” the HR woman says. “Not to mention, you’re overdue for several medical check-ups, including vaccines, which are mandatory.”

“Well, I’m not going in today. Management told me they recommended this, so I’m doing this now.”

More soft typing than a sigh. “We’ll run this through, but you’re working Christmas Day for our Good Boys Special. Understood? That’s a full 15-hour day, and you’re going to get your exam done before you clock in. Come in early. No drinking. No ****. No upgrades until that happens. Understood?”

A heavy sigh left her mouth. None of this mattered, but it was frustrating nonetheless. “I got it. I can’t get anything done to my body without consent from Pink Heat first.”

“Well, your file says you’ve been drinking more, so hopefully you don’t screw up and drink anymore than you ought to,” the HR woman says, punching a key with her finger. “You’re approved for your vacation. Where are you going?”

“Porttown,” Glimmer says, glancing at her closet, not sure what to bring. She’s never been to Portown. In fact, she’s pretty sure she’s never left Neon Shroud or taken the tram system between provinces. A wave of uncertainty washes over her, anxiety even. “Just Porttown.”

“Porttown will likely expend your entire vacation funds,” the HR woman makes a small remark, but says nothing more. She just hangs up.

Glimmer takes a deep breath; now the clock is ticking, and she covers her face in confusion. Where does she go for tickets? How big is Porttown? Does she remain on the train for 7 days? She only has 3 weeks, and 2 of them must be for traveling. Her mind shifts quickly, and she starts to pack all that she thinks she needs for a trip, though admittedly, she finds herself overwhelmed with it.

She leaves the apartment complex like she’d done thousands of times before, but now, when she funnels inside the cab, foreign words leave her mouth. “Take me to a place where I can take a method to…uh, to Porttown.”

On the display, the blue cat appears with glasses and a tie. “There are many methods.”

After a few seconds of no movement, Glimmer nodded. “Well, take me to one.”

“Before the cab travels, please plug in your credentials to unlock such places.”

Glimmer digs through her bag, produces a small data chip, and plugs it into an open slot. The cab reads it and highlights several train stations. The blue cat gives a thumbs-up with animated effects blasting behind him. “We recommend taking the Navigators Rail System, or NRS, as some people call it. It’s a straight shot from here to Porttown.”

“Then take me there,” Glimmer interrupted the cat before it could continue. Without answering, the cab shifted into gear and continued on the route. The streets were covered in snow, in some places up to 5 inches deep. In other areas, a whole foot. Drones and workers were shoveling the piles and chipping at the ice. She didn’t ask for the radio, but it turned on to a station with an older gentleman talking. His voice was low, deep, and calm.

She eased back, holding the old phone in her hands as she set her backpack on the floor. The time and date were wrong on the phone. Yet, it was the right thing she held onto.

“The holidays are here, people,” the man on the radio mused, smooth and light. “For most of us, this is a time to settle back and ease the tension off our shoulders with whatever means we’re comfortable with: drink, ****, virtual escape. But I know my listeners. I’ve met some of you, and I know not all of you are in good places—addictions to pills, drink, and pleasure. Outcasts from cliques, family included. Depressed. Alone. You’re seen, but never spotted. In this big, messed-up world, it’s easy to get lost in the mundane, stuck in the routine and grind. Most of all, I think many of you out there feel trapped and stuck in a corner with no exit. You’re in the maze of life, and now you’re lost– too far away from home, and so far from the exit that you feel like it’s just a matter of time before you slip into another forbidden place that gets you even more lost– even more stuck. But, it doesn’t have to be like that.”

Glimmer listened idly, watching the faces of the Neon Shroud pass. The handsome, the pretty, the young, the old, and the weak. Busy with themselves as they catch up on the lost time. It could be normal. Maybe not. Maybe lost or stuck, as the radio host had suggested.

“It’s easy to find the good in life, you know? You don’t have to look far for inspiration to be better. This crazy, messed-up world has beacons so painfully obvious that we sometimes can’t help but laugh when we find these escapes that require corrupting ourselves to toxins. It’s what we do with these natural, God-given escapes that expose us to what we are,” the host said, a piano playing in the background now. “It’s how we treat these holy escapes that tells us what we are. Are you trapped? Or are you just scared of finding absolute escapes? Are you just convinced fate is against you, and now you can’t see it any other way? For my listeners, I encourage you to find these beacons of decency and attach yourselves to them, but don’t fall back on corrupt ways of reaching these beacons, because if you do that, you just darken the true potential of these good things.”

His voice fades, and the piano takes over. A sad melody that makes Glimmer frown. It’s a strange tune she’s heard before, but can’t recall. It rolls with simplicity, endlessly… It’s like a bittersweet memory playing without color. Birthday parties. Holidays. Sweet recollections of what life should have been, but never was meant to be.

Pink Heat gave everything to Glimmer. The clothes she wore, the backpack she hauled, the apartment she loved. But it gave her everything she hated, too. Clients. So many clients. Women and all types of men. All types of men… David. She was horrified that he was planning on using her when they met. Scared that he’d say that he found someone else now, while explaining it was because she had instilled confidence in him during their first and only time.

She rubbed her forehead and shook these thoughts away as the piano rolled deeper. Her fear peaking, and then she considered not going. Just spend 21 days doing nothing, just rotting in her apartment to get back in the groove of whatever piece of the maze her life was, and get comfortable.

The piano stopped with the cab, and when she looked up. She was at the NRS Station. A grand plaza of old brick and standard lights, off in the sunlight, but still reflected hints of what it would look like at night.

“Enjoy your vacation, Glimmer,” the cat announced. Happy and dancing on the display. “Please, remember to take all your belongings, and to be considerate of where you step. It’s icy!”