Neo-Vegas wasn't a city; it was a circuit board built of glass and sin.
As we rode through the massive holographic gates, the air changed. The radioactive stench of the waste was replaced by the sterile, recycled air of a pressurized dome. Neon lights towered sixty stories high, not advertising casinos or hotels, but processing power. "UPLOAD YOUR DEBT," one sign flashed in blinding pink. "ETERNAL LIFE IN THE CLOUD," promised another in jagged green.
We had stopped a mile back to stage the play. My wrists were bound in heavy, magnetic cuffs props I had rigged to fail with a specific vocal command. Dax walked beside the Interceptor, playing the role of the weary Scavenger, dragging his "prize" behind him. I sat on the Sovereign, head bowed, letting the hood of my cloak obscure the silver-
