Glass Alley.
The name shines in jagged letters above Rafael in a narrow passageway between two abandoned warehouses. Unlike the usual neon, this sign is made from real glass shards, creating a kaleidoscope on the cracked pavement from the setting sun.
Below the sign, an iron fence blocks the entrance where an old man with a long, braided beard leans against the bars. He glances up from a holopad when Rafael and Pixie draw close enough, eyeing the weapons for only a second.
“Still open?” Pixie asks at his side.
The man nods and holds out his holopad. “Scan your wristlinks to enter.”
Rafael hesitates, and as if reading his mind, Pixie says, “Don’t worry. Coda probably installed extra security the minute you showed up.”
He’s not sure what she means, but the ease in her voice surprises him. She’s been warmer lately since Rafael agreed to stay.
After scanning both of their wristlinks, the man unlocks thegate and moves aside.
As the iron bars swing wide, Rafael leans in to whisper, “It’s really okay to be out here this late?” Unlike his trip to the marketplace yesterday or today’s lunch in the park, they need to be back in the med bay in only a few hours, his fourth shift since he was taken from Midtown.
Pixie laughs. “It’s fine. We have enough time,” she claims, but even with her words, unease crawls down his spine as he peers into the alleyway.
Beyond the gate, darkness swallows the path ahead. A canopy of metal and tarp blocks any glimpse of the sky, with only a thin strip of lights across the ground, enough to see but not enough to fear.
“This is…the Glass Alley?” Rafael asks. He’s already questioning why he ever trusted Kane’s recommendation, a man he barely knows. But art is something he’s always wanted to explore more. If only Lihan and his friends in Midtown felt the same.
She nods. “Yep. The owner built this whole installation himself. No megacorp funding. No Premiere Corp. All hard work, metal, glass, lights, and a bit of tech.” Pixie crosses her arms. “As an amateur sign maker myself, I’ve been here about four or five times, just to study it.”
Art, music, clubs, sports—any entertainment outside the Premiere Club is almost unheard of. But after seeing the marketplace, Rafael is starting to understand that Shreveport—maybe the entire Outer Districts—operates by its own rules.
“So…what kind of place is this? Does it have a theme?” he asks.
Her grin widens. “I’ll let you figure that out yourself.” With a playful push against his back, Pixie nudges him through thegate.
Rafael’s heart skips a beat. “Wait…you’re not coming?” Why did she scan her wristlink then? Perhaps for security access?
“It’s okay. I’ll meet you at the other end. I promise. No one’s going to hurt you in there.”
Trust shouldn’t come so easily—not with a stranger wielding two deadly weapons. Yet Rafael somehow believes her. Neither Kane nor anyone in his gang has hurt him so far.
As Pixie slips through the entrance, he advances inside, following the faint line ahead.
Murmurs and shifting silhouettes hint at others inside, and the hairs on his arms rise. This might be the first time he’s truly been alone in Shreveport.
One, two, three.
He counts his paces forward.
At five, a burst erupts from his right.
Rafael freezes.
Seconds stretch into what feels like hours.
When the flash doesn’t come again, he exhales and carries on, only for the strobe to pulse once more. This time, he whips around to discover the source: a massive mirror made of cracked fragments in the shape of a star.
“Beautiful,” Rafael whispers. He’s seen pieces like this on V-link, but nothing compares to seeing art like this in person. As his gaze traces the edges, the glass flickers.
Rafael’s own face stares back at him. Not as a reflection, but as a holo video. He’s in his VitaCorp scrubs, standing in an operating theater next to a doctor. The temperature around him seems to drop. How did they get this footage?
Before he can process this, his professor from nursingschool enters the frame. What is she doing here? They never worked together at the hospital.