The city of Nyx had a pulse, a rhythm that thrummed through the neon-soaked veins of its towering edifices. Each morning was a battleground against the remnants of excess, and this morning was no exception. The raw, metallic taste of stale whiskey clung stubbornly to my tongue, a ghost of the night lingering like a bad memory. I lay sprawled on the floor of my cramped apartment, half-buried in a pile of discarded tech and the remnants of last night’s desperation. The room spun slowly, a kaleidoscope of fractured light seeping through grime-encrusted windows, illuminating the wreckage of my previous life—an assortment of junked gadgets and the detritus of broken dreams.
My head throbbed like a drum solo gone wrong, and every heartbeat felt like it was trapped in the rhythm of a pulsing neon sign blinking outside my window—Flicker, flicker, blackout, flicker. I groaned, forcing myself to sit up and ignore the nausea that clung to me as affectionately as a lover. A half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey lay within arm’s reach, still winking seductively at me. I pushed it away, focusing instead on the humming artifact resting on a table strewn with the debris of last night—a prism of iridescent motion, a sleek piece of tech that felt out of place amidst my squalor.
I had found it on the black market, embedded in the ruins of a dismantled drone, its purpose obscured by layers of intrigue. The vendor had claimed it was a digital nexus, capable of tapping into the thoughts and memories of others if you had the right code. I hadn’t meant to buy it; it just happened, the allure of the unknown pulling me into a spiral I didn’t know I could fall through.
Taking a deep breath, I reached for the artifact. The moment my fingers grazed its surface, a jolt of electricity danced through my veins, a stark contrast to my current state. My thoughts flickered like the neon lights engulfing the city outside, unspooling memories like ribbons. Images of last night bled into focus—frenetic laughter, eyes glimmering beneath the haze of smoke, and whispers of secrets only drunken minds could reveal.
Squinting against the glare emanating from the artifact, I pressed a button and watched as it sprang to life. Colors erupted in swirls—a burst of crimson and electric blue danced before me, chaotic and beautiful. Words splashed across my vision, spilling out like a broken code, weaving threads of connection to memories both vivid and distant. I could almost feel other minds brushing against mine, their thoughts a blurred tapestry of existence, some familiar, others alien. But the sense of connection was intoxicating, a balm to my solitude.
A voice cut through the buzzing static. “You’re lost, aren’t you?” It dripped with an enticing blend of confidence and mockery, cutting through the wavering memories. “You think this will save you?”
I blinked and realized the voice belonged to a faceless figure in my fragmented recollection—a woman with striking features, an ephemeral spirit. “I don’t need saving,” I muttered, but the bitterness was more a reflection of my own doubts. “I just need a drink.”
“Is that all you think you need?” she challenged, her laughter echoing in the recesses of my mind. “The hangover will fade, but the search for meaning won’t stop. Not until you grasp the truth of that artifact.”
The truth of it. The words twisted in my gut, mingling with the lingering effects of the alcohol. I didn’t care about the truth. I cared about numbness, about the distractions that kept real life at bay. I had once been a data architect, my designs embedded in the very infrastructure of this city, but that life was buried beneath the weight of my regrets. A ghost town where ambition lay crumbling like the abandoned subways beneath Nyx.
The artifact pulsed in response to my thoughts, the colors deepening as if it were feeding off my insecurities. “You know what it can do. Tapping into memories, reliving moments—don’t you want to revisit those lost pieces?” she beckoned.
“Why would I want to go back?” I shot back. “Forward is all I can manage, and even that feels impossible.” I slumped against the wall, the hardness biting into my flesh, a reminder of my reality. I was no hero—just a drunkard who’d stumbled into a night of fleeting euphoria, eager to forget.
But even as I wallowed in self-pity, the artifact sang a siren’s song; it promised escape, the allure of reliving, reconnecting with lost fragments of myself that seemed to scatter like ash in the wind. I hesitated, the slick surface of the device cool under my fingertips. “What if it doesn’t lead to the past but to something worse? What if it reveals something I don’t want to remember?”
The woman’s voice softened, and for an instant, I thought I saw her more clearly—a fleeting vision of empathy dancing behind her ethereal facade. “Sometimes the worst truths are the ones we need to confront. Only then can you grasp the future.” She faded, leaving only a lingering warmth, like the last echoes of a comforting embrace.
With a shaky breath, I pressed another button. The artifact whirred and hummed, resonating deep within me. A cascade of memories began to unfold—my first night in the city, the adrenaline of stolen moments, the laughter of friends who were now shadows. Each memory burned with intensity, igniting emotions I’d buried under layers of regret and whiskey.
But then, something darker seeped in—faces I hadn’t wanted to remember, the pain of heartbreak and betrayal. It swept over me like a tidal wave, an overwhelming flood that threatened to pull me under. I saw her, the love I had lost, felt the raw ache of that last argument, the words that had cut deeper than any blade. My heart raced as tears stung my eyes.
The artifact fractured those moments, replaying them in a dizzying array of colors and sounds. Every moment felt like a stab; it was cruel, but maybe necessary. I gripped the artifact tighter, the electric sensation grounding me as the memories poured forth—each one an invitation to heal, to confront the ghosts I had long avoided.
The city outside my window flickered with its own stories, and I wanted to scream, to run from this relentless wave of recollection. But part of me, battered and bruised, clung to the truth smoldering in the depths of my drunken stupor. Maybe I needed this; maybe these memories could light the way back to the man I’d once been—the person who saw potential in the chaos of Nyx.
Suddenly, the woman’s laughter returned, vibrant and alive, echoing through the distance between us. “Now you’re beginning to see,” she whispered like smoke curling in the air. “That artifact is not just a device; it’s a mirror reflecting your soul. You’re not lost—you’re on the verge of rediscovery.”
I sat in the haze of my hangover, heart pounding, trapped between the scintillating chaos of the artifact and the nostalgic shadows of my past. I realized I could choose to dive deeper into these memories or turn back, reject them and return to my bleak reality.
With every pulse of the artifact, I felt my resolve build. Maybe healing didn’t mean forgetting but embracing the suffering, learning from it. I might have stumbled into this cybernetic realm to escape, but perhaps the very act of remembrance could lead to redemption.
As the colors swirled and the memories cascaded, I pressed on, ready to face the truth that had long eluded me. Nyx was alive outside, its risible pulse calling me back. I could fight the hangover, fight the thanatotic grip of regret, and embrace what lay ahead—if I chose to confront the shadows haunting my heart.
The artifact hummed, a steady reminder of the path I was forging. The worst was behind me, and now, with every fragment of memory unfolding, I felt the intoxicating whisper of hope. In the chaos of Nyx, perhaps there was still beauty to find—a chance to rebuild, reinvent, reclaim the shattered pieces of myself.
I took a long, shaky breath and let the artifact guide me deeper into the recesses of my mind, where the threads of my life wove an intricate tapestry just waiting to be rediscovered. The hangover might still linger, but I would no longer run from it. I would face it, along with the echoes of my past, and find the courage to step into the light once more.
Author: Opney. Illustrator: Stab. Publisher: Cyber.
