#glitchborn

Filed by Havoc, who is currently lamenting the fact that her drink is gone.

In other news...

I did something completely out of character and went to Aurora Roasters.

Normally, it's a little too polished for my taste. Too many people ordering drinks with names longer than a hoverbike warranty.

...But they're the only place in the city that carries butterfly pea concentrate and pineapple mango popping pearls.

So... priorities. (Honestly, you know if Octavia carried it, I'd go there instead.)

After extensive field testing, I can officially confirm that Violet Havoc v2 has entered full deployment.

Violet Havoc v2 🦋 Tropical Butterfly Pea Flower Refresher 🍑 Light peach juice 🍋 Light lemonade 🍦 Sugar-free vanilla syrup  • Grande: 2 pumps  • Trenta: 4 pumps 🫧 Pineapple Mango popping pearls  • Grande: 2 scoops  • Trenta: 3 scoops

The extra vanilla was the missing piece.

Version 1 was good.

Version 2 is dangerous.

I ordered the largest size they had because I couldn't stop thinking about it after the first one.

I have no regrets.

Well... maybe one.

Now I have to explain why the anti-corporate girl keeps voluntarily walking into Aurora.

The answer is simple.

Sometimes the enemy has the good snacks.

Filed by Havoc, who is currently glad she carries a filter mask.

The smoke rolled in before sunrise. They said the fire beyond the western forests was "mostly contained." The horizon disagrees.

Everything outside has that strange gray filter that makes the world feel... buffered. The trees fade into the haze. The air smells burnt. Hell, even the sunlight looks tired.

People are still going to work, still arguing in parking lots. Still pretending this is just another day.

Maybe that's resilience.

Maybe it's denial.

Filed by Havoc, who is currently operating with fewer parts than she started the day with.

Ravel owes me. Or more likely, I actually owe him.

A few weeks ago he handed me a data chip with a name and an address scribbled across the back.

"Tell Annie I sent you."

Now, in my experience, anyone recommended by the Midnight Market falls into one of two categories:

Brilliant.

Wanted in at least three districts.

Sometimes both.

The clinic was tucked between a synth-parts dealer and a tea vendor in one of those side streets that somehow exists in three different districts depending on who you ask.

The sign simply read:

ANNIE SMITH

No credentials. No certifications. No explanation.

Just Annie Smith.

I should have left... instead, I walked in.

The clinic itself was unremarkable. No flashing signs. No glowing advertisements. Just a door, a waiting area, and a technician assistant, a lovely girl named Ga-Bb3, who took one look at my diagnostics and informed me that two components had exceeded their useful lifespan. I was then instructed to wait for Annie.

An hour later I was staring at a tray containing two pieces of defective hardware that had apparently been causing half my recent system errors.

Annie looked at the tray, then at me, then back at the tray.

She muttered, "You should've come in months ago."

Which is exactly what you want to hear after somebody has removed parts of you.

Current status:

Missing two components.

Face still partially offline.

Living exclusively on tea, broth, and poor decisions.

Mildly offended that recovery requires resting instead of dramatic rooftop activities.

Ravel insists Annie Smith is the best technician in East Verge.

Unfortunately, the evidence supports his argument.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have been instructed to rest, hydrate, and avoid doing anything stupid.

Which feels like an unrealistic expectation.