Under the Influence of Synthwave... and Future Drugs.

2

Traffic comes to a standstill under Sevie's apartment. Terrestrials, bound to the asphalt, inch past the spectacle of curb service to a bedroom window. Fifteen years after the revolution, the inequality of old knocks.

Hidalgo paws, begs, as Sevie crawls over the gap between the Kruiser and her bedroom window. She blows a kiss, then shuts her window. After a moment , Hidalgo gets her drift and he joins traffic.

"Unit Sweet Unit"

She flops onto her bed. It remains the only tidy spot in her room. Pizza boxes and other take-out debris lays on every surface. She fiddles with her bangle, sets an alarm, then pushes a pizza box onto the floor, making space for the tiny glowing bangle.

Sevie naps. She wakes an hour later.

"Yes?" She answers no one. "Collider and Hidalgo are meeting tonight. Weren't you watching? I'm in the shower. It isn't unless you make it awkward."

An elegant polyphonic tone fills the apartment.

"It's Hidalgo. Well, who else? I'm on task. That's what separates me and Bethany. Of course. I'll check in soon."

Holding a towel for modesty, She rushes from the shower, sliding across the floor, to a final chime. She dries herself, before another tone rings. Wrapped in a towel, Sevie sits on her bed. She accesses the comm device. A blue light pulses on the bangle. She presses it and a holographic video plays inches above her wrist. Hidalgo, stone-faced, stares at the camera, leaving ample lead for the jumping scene of EXIST; lasers, fog, and the thumping, blown-out music he enjoyed. Hidalgo holds up his left hand and the square tablets between his middle and ring finger. He winks and the video loops.

Sevie's breath catches in her throat, her chest still, as the video loops five times over. She nibbles her fingertips, she remembers pain and bits of her flesh, tickling her tongue. She misses it. She remembers to breathe.

Satellite from afar appears as a giant egg, floating among clouds, a semi-transparent screen acts as a shell. Active tints and projections shields inhabitants from harsh sunlight and the sheer winds of the troposphere. Satellite's nightlife thrives on the topmost layers. In particular, High Street hosts exclusive and advanced entertainment.

Beyond the long line, imposing bouncers, and extensive security, EXIST opens to a three-story tall, cylindrical arena. Overlapping balconies, like stacks of coins split by a drop of water, spirals along its outer edge. Separate lounges and stages caters to individual tastes, blasting their melodies for dancing fools. A mezzanine on the 2nd floor, holds several VIP seating options. Flashes of blacklight makes a ghost out of an unchanged Hidalgo. Sevie, in a silver lace mini-skirt blouse, catches glares and stares equally though sharing a pulsing leather couch with Hidalgo.

Otherwise, it's tense. Hidalgo conscripts another shot glass onto an army of empty shot glasses, while Collider, a mousy man, twists his head this way and that, following skirts across the VIP area. He's bony and pale, floating in a blue flowered hawaiian shirt and white pants. He sips at a neon orange drink with lemon and a straw. Sevie wonders if it's even liquor.

"EXIST, eh?" She screams over the music, dragging nervous figure eights in the condensation of her tall ice-water. "Never seen one of these laser operas. How are they?"

Hidalgo stares daggers at Collider as he oogles every passing female. Sparse groups of party-goers writhes around them.

Sevie waves her hands in front of his face. Hidalgo breaks his stare. She points to her ear and shrugs. Hidalgo leans forward, interacting with the holographic menu that danced with liquor bottles. It transitioned to a drop down menu and an option for 'Privacy'. He selects it. A klaxon goes off around them as a rectangular screen rises from the floor. It closes tight into the ceiling.

"A faux pas? Is that would they call this?" Collider knocks on the screen. "Soundproof." He straightens himself in his seat. "So, who's the lady?"

"Collider, Sevie. Sevie, Collider."

"How do you do?" His voice rises an octave.

"Get out much?" She snaps.

"Sevie!"

"Easy. I don't actually. A hermit, they call it. To think; all this is a hundred meters above my head."