Boyband complained that I restricted our shopping selection to the discount racks. He still held onto luxury, no matter how much he tried to seem like the lower district scum that I was. Even though they were discounted, the Violet discards were much more extravagant than the nicest one could find in Zingang.


    We left our bags behind the doors of our twelfth level apartment, not taking time to look at the amenities.


    As we left the apartment complex, I looked up at the projected violet clock a hundred feet above the street.


    1:02


    “You wanna go early?” Boyband asked.


    I moved my shoulders around and flexed my arms. “I think I should have gone a size larger.”


    “The higher the district, the tighter the ware.”


    “Whatever.”


    “So you wanna go?”


    I nodded and led the way towards the studio.


    Perhaps I was just used to oversized wear, never having been given the chance to purchase my own. I chose a jacket without strips to burn the little light we had. Even if most people around us burned their light on fashion, we did not need to seem like the most elite, only background matter.


    The more lumens we spent, the more I recognized how much Deleon kept from us. Our spending had not reached any capacity, nor had we received any warning. Perhaps he did have the resources to accomplish his absurd coup.


    Boyband and I had chosen similar nylon amethyst jackets to at least blend into the violet allure of the city. They were slightly thicker than a windbreaker but allowed sufficient mobility despite the tightness. The hoodless collars rose two inches, as if we were trying to hide our necks. I left mine zipped up, but Boyband let his neon blue T-shirt show with the logo of some pop band that I had never heard of named Nummersent. He thought it would help us blend in with Jackson, but I doubted that the band was even a Finian headliner if we found the shirt on a discount rack. Our matching pants were tight, yet breathable, giving us the classic tracksuit look of the privileged teenagers back in Medislavia. I laughed at the comparison, rather than mourned the memory. Boyband understood what I meant when I explained it, having seen the Medislavic mob stereotypes in every recent cheap action mindshow.


    I felt more comfortable attracting fewer glances in the busy metropolitan center. An agoraphobic would suffocate as a wrong step in any direction would cause us to stumble into a passing pedestrian.


    I released the tension from my shoulders and tried to appreciate the city’s allure rather than giving any thought to our deal with Jackson.


    I looked up at the violet advertisements cast across the sky.


    Speed and rage 14 - Family forever. Plug in now at the East Janai theater before general neurospace release.


    Sex and lust - Stream the new Top$avage album. Start your free trial with Fin+ now.


    Zeg, if entertainment wasn’t propaganda, it was a cheap creation to pull in light from testosterone-fuelled car chases or blatant hedonism. Wanting something else reminded me of watching the obscure mindshows with Ali. I looked at Boyband, wondering what he liked, but all the same relieved that we did not have to resort too often to small talk.


    I looked up to the ads, rather than watch the procession of heads before me.


    Haven Health - the future of health in your bones.


    The CEO of Haven Health, President Delighty Liu’s face came into the advertisement. I turned away before I could hear any of her ghostwriter''s words.


    bAInk - The Rupublic’s most trusted financial AI for 100 years.


    Dentisure - light your teeth any color of the spectrum. 9/10 Dentists recommend for cavity prevention.


    The thought of teeth made me salivate. I almost drooled at the thought of endless sets of perfect teeth for us to eat, but met a reciprocal disappointment, wondering how we could ever conceal our feeding.


    “You good?” I asked Boyband.


    I tapped my teeth as he looked at me.


    He furrowed his brow, then gave me a reassuring nod. “Of course they sound good, but I don’t need to eat now.”


    “We’ll figure it out with Jackson.” I said. “If things go red, we’ll just take his.”


    “Fair enough.”


    “Regardless, I want something to eat after.”


    “You like sushi?”


    “Never had it outside of a skytrack station.”


    “Zeg,” he exaggerated a gag. “That’s guk compared to what we have at home. We’ll find something here for you to understand the taste. You plug?”


    “Yeah.” I patted him on the back. “Sounds pulse.”


    The ten minutes from our apartment to the skyscraper that hosted Reef Records Janai studio passed as if in seconds, despite the frequent stops in human traffic.


    We entered the building, conscious of our wears as we saw everyone on the base level in Violet or black suits. I held my head down as I walked to the elevator and pressed the button. I had assumed that a building with a pop music studio would be much more relaxed, but there was no relaxation in the Violet district. Falling behind the competitive capitalism would toss one free from their party’s monopoly into the lower districts.


    The elevator doors opened, and we entered. I noted the camera in the corner and another one above the touch screen pad. I hoped that Jackson liked his privacy.


    The face of a Violet haired woman smiled back at us from the screen.


    “Which floor?” the AI asked.


    I tapped on the list below rather than interacting with her.


    “Twentieth floor,” she said with a smile and waved goodbye as the screen faded to advertisements of various upcoming concerts.


    “Why are you so happy?”


    Boyband’s smile grew even larger. He shrugged. “Come on. I don’t care for Naoma, but this is her zegging producer! Even if I’m from a few districts above you, meeting a celebrity is a special occasion.”


    “I guess. Naoma isn’t the only one he produces. He does Thera Sween, Four Color, not to mention his own band, Seats, and he helped with New Arm’s most recent album.”


    “Zegging New Arm. I get that they are all trying to sell something, but you would have thought the Tech party would have chosen a more discreet name.”


    The AI woman walked onto the screen and waved. “Twentieth floor. Have a nice day, made better by Freeskin - sample noviderm today on the second floor.”


    “Which way?” he asked.


    I pointed to the right. To a sign of a violet dolphin swimming around a record. “Seems apparent to me.” Violet signs glowed to the left, but none of them suggested any correlation to music.


    The floor was made of white tiles with marbled pulsing purple. A false sky shone on the ceiling with small drifting clouds surrounded by blue. I saw past the illusion, but the ceiling was still much higher than I had anticipated, reaching the height of three floors all together.


    Before I pulled on the ultraviolet door with a smaller version of the logo, I sent Deleon a message.


    Petya: Going into Jackson’s studio now. I’ll keep you updated.


    I waited a minute before entering and shared my neurospace interface with Boyband so he could see the conversation. Deleon replied after a minute.


    Deleon: If you are in there for more than an hour or two, let me know that everything''s alright. I trust you.


    “He sent me a message,” said Boyband.


    “What is it?”


    “Don’t try to use your coercion mod on Jackson. We can’t bypass the Finian system to make it effective.” Focus returned to his eyes as he looked at me. “You ever met a Finian?”


    The image of a cyborg dolphin came into my mind. “I’ve seen plenty of them in ads.”


    “That doesn’t count.”


    “I know. You?”


    “Seen some, never spoken with any. My parents would host conferences that I could occasionally attend. I think the Finians still look down on the Socstans as blue-collar workers like most of the other parties, but there were a few animal rights activists who came to support what we did on our farm.”


    “But you didn’t do anything with the ocean, did you?”


    “No, but I think they still recognize that they are more animal than human. Probably because we are too prideful to accept them.”


    I whispered as I reached for the door. “We both know that if the Finians never advanced music technology, they would be living in the slums of the Orange district.”


    I pulled it open and was hit by a wave of synth riffs, followed by a voice that robbed me of confidence.


    We walked in and shut the soundproof door. A mechanical figure sat in a chair facing away from us. The performer beyond the window stopped singing beyond her floating microphone and the synth player behind her stopped after finishing his rift.


    She looked exactly like she did in the hologram but wore the light to match the violet light of her home district.


    Naoma.


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Her teal hair was now pale violet, but it still had the multicolor holographic strands on the sides of her face. Her eyeliner, lips, and nails were all painted with the dark violet that glowed with the light of peak affluence. The way they shimmered with the artificial white light in the recording studio confirmed my suspicion that she wore actual light instead of mere color. I wondered if she changed her style with her concert locations, but figured the districts adapted their holos to match the light they could afford.


    “Excuse me?” The microphone passed her voice beyond the recording room.


    I stared, saying nothing. “Anton?” She rolled her eyes and shook her head as she walked back to talk to the synth player.


    Boyband giggled as he elbowed me. I wanted to kick him. I didn’t care about the zegging Neon Idol. Even if a couple of her songs scratched a certain itch from time to time, I hated all that she stood for. Though she was living, as far as the Entertainment party claimed, she was just as good as any other shac that tried to force their product upon the Republic. What I hated most is that besides the obvious themes of tech implants and governmental trust in certain songs, most of her lyrics suggested no product placement. Love wasn''t linked to any specific product, nor was romanticized sadness. Subliminal messages, for I knew there had to be some, were the most dangerous form of advertisement.


    The thing sitting before us finished tapping a large touchscreen control board with hands of different skin colors. The chair rose as it swiveled around, and the figure stood. “A bit early, by my count. Mind if we finish this set?”


    “No problem.” Boyband pointed at me. “He’s a fan.”


    My gaze had pulled from the disgruntled Naoma and locked on the cyborg before me. Anton Jackson was a decorated Finian with a torso flashing multiple shades of Violet as if he wore a sparkling chestplate. Tubes came up from the side of his dolphin head and formed a band around the top to keep it moisturized. His mouth remained open as he spoke and if it moved, it was not in sync with the words that came out. His left arm was pale white and bare up to the shoulder, while the other was darker and only reached just past the elbow before it joined his smooth robotic shoulder. He wore shorts that revealed most of his tan thighs, the legs matched but he wore no shoes. He looked young, though I had no idea how to age a dolphin, especially one with human body parts attached. I wondered if he was one of the few saved from the sea before complete pollution or if he was bred in the Republic in the last few decades.


    “Is that pulse with you, du?” he asked.


    I nodded. I tried to control my breathing and shaking hands.


    His laugh was his natural dolphin call. “Settle, my du. She’s just another person, like all of us.” He whispered, “A bit pissy if you ask me.” He laughed and sat back down, then turned to look at us. “It’ll be better for all of us if we give her some time to finish. If you’re still all wired up, I’ve got some puffers in the back to soothe the nerves. Take a seat and enjoy the little show.”


    I smiled and nodded, though I had no intention of getting high on his terms. A fix, on the other hand, sounded like a light-sent mercy, but I had to stay focused.


    Naoma turned back and raised an eyebrow in her sneer. “You done?”


    I nodded more than was needed and joined Boyband on the blocky blue leather couch on the left side of the door.


    Anton tapped the control pad, then called, “Take seven: So unlike me. Let’s hear it!”


    The synth player wore headphones without a top strap, which I later realized were part of the new Finian-based tech implants that were able to amplify one’s enjoyment of music to a “spiritual” level. Regardless of what they did, he seemed to be enjoying himself as he bobbed his head along to his playing.


    I didn’t pay attention to Naoma’s lyrics, averting my eyes whenever she looked at me. I couldn’t see her as anything other than the product of the Entertainment party that I believed her to be. To see her as human would complicate our assignment. I couldn’t see Jackson as a person. Perhaps that was my hatred of tampering with living organisms. I had no problem adding implants to my body and tampering with my mind with any fix I could find, but to make an animal into a mock-human was a step too far.


    “—to escape, oh, try to escape my hard-wired shell.”


    Her music was as enjoyable as any other pop, but I couldn’t feel the cerebral sensations, almost hallucinations, that accompanied Finian music. Seeing how it was all done led me to figure that Finian technology was merely a part of the audio programming when streamed. Realizing that I still felt the music’s full effect worried me. If they implanted their programming in a crowd while attending a concert, how powerful was their technology?


    “Love it, Naoma!” Jackson shouted as the song ended. He pointed at the synth player. “Absolutely pulse! You too, Dawson. But you know that. Both of you, thank you so much. Feel free to hang around if you want while I speak to these dus.”


    Naoma sighed and placed her hands on the back of her head. “I need a touch-up.”


    “Got a date tonight?”


    She scoffed. “You know the studio won’t allow that, Anton. Lust-filled kids want to imagine themselves with me. Makes it harder if I have a partner.”


    “You’ve always got me by your side.”


    “Ew.”


    “No, no, not like that, you know what I mean.”


    “Whatever. You comin’, Dawson?”


    “Yah, I think I’m gonna hit a memtab while we have some time. Got some vacations I wanna revisit.” He looked at Jackson. “Yah know, du?”


    “Yeah, I know. Drop by when you’re done. These dus have something you’ll have to check out.”


    Jackson shut down his control pad and dimmed the lights in the studio as he turned around to us. Naoma’s microphone floated towards the wall and docked itself. A green light signified it was charging. Even in the elite district, lower lights still had their use when higher lights would fry weaker circuits.


    “So, you two from around here?”


    “South of Janai.” I said, pulling up Deleon’s false history for us.


    “Not bad, not bad.” He rolled his chair towards us.


    I leaned back and put my arm over the back of the couch. “Less foot traffic makes things easier.”


    “Yeah, that gets old fast, doesn’t it? The twenty-fifth floor has a skytrack terminal. With an elite pass, I rarely have to walk the street.” He pulled a small bottle of lotion from his pocket and applied it to his hands. “Well, let''s see it. Is it meant for humans, or will it work on my people too?”


    “Should work for both.” I pulled the device from my pocket and handed it to him.


    He held it up to his right eye, examining the silver shine on what looked like a flattened pill. “How do you use it?”


    “You got light burning in your system?”


    “Yup.”


    “Peel off the back and put it on your…temple. Burn some light towards it and put something on. Give us some of your stuff.” I hit Boyband’s knee with mine. “Leon here is a fan of the Seats.”


    “Nah, man, Naoma here is better, but I appreciate it, my du. So you''re Leon. What''s your name again? Can''t remember if it was in the meeting request.”


    “Davor.”


    “Ah, that''s right.” Jackson swiveled his chair around and returned to the control pad. He peeled the back part of the cochlear tab off and stuck it to his gray flesh. He had to press hard and move it up and down, but it eventually stuck like any other electrode. “You two have one, too?”


    “Nah, just came here to show it off. Boss doesn''t want us taking too many around, though we''ve given em’ a run. Play some music and you''ll see. We''ll just sit back and enjoy whatever you put on.”


    “Deal. You like Shokz?”


    I looked at Boyband, who shrugged.


    “Never heard of ‘em,” I said. “But I''m always looking for new stuff.”


    “They''re not necessarily new, but they''re worth discovering. Really foundational to my music. Check this one out. It''s called Heaven’s Hit. From their second album, but their third is the best, in my opinion.”


    Discordant electric chimes and beats sounded with high vocals. It was jarring at first, but gradually grew on me, like the kind of song that doesn''t gain value until you gain the acquired taste for the band''s style. Violet and indigo lights pulsed around the room with speakers spreading the sound evenly across the room. I didn''t see any images pulse with the song and realized that the music likely predated the Finian revolution.


    He leaned back in his chain and pressed his hands against the sides of his head and whistled through his blowhole. “Zeeeeg, du!” His eyes darted back and forth.


    “You good?” I asked.


    “Zeg yeah I am. This thing is full pulse! You boys don’t mess around, do you?”


    He laughed and made a variety of sounds as the song played. Despite the tensity, Boyband and I found ourselves laughing with him.


    He nodded along with the beat as the song concluded and peeled the device from his head. “I think you’ve got yourself a buyer.”


    “Great!” I clapped.


    “But as you know, I’m going to have to run it through the execs. I’m just a part of the system. Aren’t we all?”


    “How soon can you schedule a meeting with your superiors?”


    “We’ll get you in soon. Relax, du. You guys want something to eat or drink?”


    “I think we’re good.”


    “You want anything, lil’ du?”


    Boyband looked at me. I didn’t need to ask if he was craving teeth. I remembered the visceral hunger that motivated my every move after I gained the bite. “I’m good, I think.”


    Jackson nodded and held up the device again. “So, is this the finished product?”


    “Close, but that one will only last a few hours. The real devices will be placed subdermally for a permanent connection to the cochlea to burn your light for a continual charge. You can activate and deactivate them via your neurospace.”


    “Thank the light, the Tech party started supplying even the Orange and Yellow districts with neurospaces. Call it forced advertising like those anti-tech radicals if you want, but it sure makes it convenient to sell pulse tech like you’ve got here.” He laughed and scratched his head. “I guess that only solidifies their fears, but hey, not our problem, right? Make money, ignore problems. Zeggin’ luxury of the high districts.”


    Boyband’s smile fell. Was he starting to see affluence as I did?


    “Does it still have a few charges?”


    I nodded.


    “Pulse! Care if I give it another run?”


    “Just one more. Don’t want to damage the product at this stage, you know?”


    “Yeah, yeah.” Jackson whistled. “Hey, Daw, come here for a sec!” He shook his head and spoke with glee. “Oh, he is going to love this. “And bring some puffs too! Gotta treat these boys right!”


    A voice called from the other room. “Yah, du, gimme a sec. My mem’s about to finish. I ever tell you about the time when I was a kid an’—”


    “Just finish it out!” Jackson shouted. “You boys in a hurry?”


    “Depends on what you have planned.”


    “Sorry about Dawson. He’s a bit of a memtab addict. You boys use? I can hook you up?”


    “Nah.” I said.


    “I’ll take a socitab,” Boyband said.


    Jackson clicked, and it sounded like tsks. “That''s sad, du. Can’t get all hung up on the socials already when you’re so young. You’re in the prime age to live the real stuff.”


    Boyband looked at me with an accusatory glare.


    “He’s right.” I said, though I wanted one myself.


    “Woo!” Dawson shouted as he walked in. His black dreads bounced as he walked. “Man, I gotta go back to the low islands soon.” He held out his hands and held four blue spheres with rounded spikes, shaking them before us by holding the tail. Cartoon eyes looked around from the bottom as if they were dazed.


    “You boys puffed before?” Dawson asked as he handed Boyband one. I was reluctant to grab it but did so as if it was taken from a toilet. I preferred cyberdrugs, not those that messed with the brain’s chemicals rather than the implanted system.


    Boyband shook his head.


    “Not really my kind of thing,” I said.


    Jackson clicked.


    “Yah don’t want to refuse this, du,” said Daw.


    “Sorry,” I said. “I don’t want to offend your…culture…or anything. It''s just that I–”


    Jackson clicked again. “Settle, du. This isn’t anything like the chemicals they sell on the Orange streets. I pay good money for fresh puffer fish extract. Completely natural and the toxin is distilled and processed here in Janai. It''s better for you than any chemical tab they’ll give you in a hospital.”


    Boyband shook it. “I thought only Finians could use puff?”


    “Straight from the fish? Yeah, but that’s why these have a filter. Don’t worry, Davor. The filter is made from pure plant fibers as well. Humans like the artificial stuff in food and drugs, but we animals like to stay as natural as we can.”


    I almost laughed as I looked at the human arms and legs connected to his robotic torso. “Alright.”


    Jackson whistled. “Pulse! You’ll zeggin’ love it. I''ve even grown too soft to take it straight from the fish. I have em’ shipped in ready to puff like this. Daw and I hit at least twice a day.”


    Dawson bounced his head. “If it wasn’t for Naoma, you’d be beggin’ in the Orange.”


    They laughed, and we forced ourselves to join in.


    I held up the puffer to my eyes and looked into the rotating cartoon eyes. “Is it an upper? Downer? Hallucinogen?”


    “Bit of everything.” Jackson moved the tail to the edge of his mouth. “Suck it in as if it was a straw. Not too much, not too little. Just a taste and swallow.”


    Boyband and I looked at each other and did as told. He coughed and hissed. “Zeg!”


    “Yeah, it''s sour.” Jackson took some from his own. “Take more. You’ll get used to it.”


    I sucked more. I burned my tongue, but it was sweet. My vision clouded. I felt dizzy. The surrounding sounds meshed into a dull buzz. I looked at Dawson, who had dropped his puffer in his lap without taking a single hit.


    Boyband’s head fell onto my shoulder, and I lost consciousness.