The lyric flashed in blood-red text, pulsing in time with the kick drum. It wasn't just music; it was the frequency of the underground. Beside him, Kael was checking the charge on a data-spike. Kael didn't look like a revolutionary. He looked like a tired man in a high-thread-count suit—the perfect camouflage for a ghost in the machine.
"You think they’re listening?" Elias asked, nodding toward the skyscrapers. The lyric flashed in blood-red text, pulsing in
"Time to stop posing," Elias whispered, slamming the data-spike into the car's port. The lyric flashed in blood-red text