Neon Ghost
Neon Ghost The stall sat in the shadow of a collapsed overpass in Sector 7 of the Undercroft, where the neon from the Upper Levels bled through the acid rain like watercolors on wet paper. Marcus Chen's sign, hand-painted in glowing phosphor paint, read: RAW SENSORY FEED. FIVE HUNDRED CREDITS PER HOUR. NO FILTERS. NO LIES. Most people who came to the stall wanted the usual things. The wealthy...
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