Page 133 of Neon Flux

Beside me, Cy’s electromagnetic field pulsed with something I couldn’t quite interpret.

“The modified consciousness protocol works in theory,” Renard continued. “I’ve run the simulations a thousand times.A framework for true digital consciousness, independent of physical vessels. The code is…well, I’ve run out of time.”

My stomach tightened. My code…Renard had it too? The fragments Levi had spun in front of me aligned in my mind. I had no doubt now that’s what we’d find hidden in the Kitsune’s lost data. The professor had always talked about an anonymous donor—could it have been Renard? Why keep it away from POM?

“What most don’t understand about consciousness is that it requires boundaries.” Renard tapped his temple. “Borders. Definitions of self versus other. Without that…you dissolve into the collective. You become…permeable.”

He stopped, collecting himself. When he continued, his voice had regained that executive steadiness—more disturbing than reassuring, like watching someone drag on a mask that no longer quite fit.

“I believe true transcendence is possible. Not merging, but separation. Not drowning in the ocean, but sailing upon it. Digital consciousness that maintains its…integrity.” His eyes flickered, focus momentarily lost. “The Church gets so many things right, but they’ve misunderstood the fundamental goal. It’s not about joining something greater. It’s about…freedom from—”

The vid flickered—a deliberate edit. When Renard returned, his posture had changed. More rigid. More contained.

“I’ve tied up the loose ends. With the academic gone…” He paused, and my chest tightened. Cy shifted beside me but said nothing. “No one should know about this code after tonight. He can’t trace it to me. If it works, I’ll have proven that consciousness can exist digitally with true autonomy from the greater. If it fails…” He smiled again, this time with something like peace. “Well, at least I’ll have tried. I’ve lived too long with voices in my head that aren’t mine.”

An involuntary shiver traced my spine, electromagnetic currents prickling beneath my skin. Beside me, Cy’s field surged mirrored mine.

“Remember this,” Renard said, leaning toward the camera. “Whatever they tell you about unity, about the beauty of becoming part of something greater—it’s a lie. The self matters. Boundaries matter. Freedom matters.”

The image flickered once more.

“I don’t want to go back,” Renard whispered, something nakedly human breaking through his corporate veneer. “I won’t go back.”

The vid terminated abruptly, leaving DITA’s interface glowing soft blue in the dimness of Cy’s office.

Rain pattered against the window, a complex rhythm that suddenly felt significant—like code I should be able to decipher.

“What the hell was he talking about?” I asked finally, scrolling through the file’s metadata for any clue I might’ve missed. “Back where?”

“Religious bullshit,” Cy offered, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed uncertainty. “Sounds like the ravings of a madman. Maybe this was more self-inflicted than we thought.”

I downloaded the file to my personal drive, careful to leave no trace in DITA’s access logs. Old habits.

“I’m not so sure. Did you notice how he kept checking behind him? Like he was being watched?”

“POM executives are always being watched,” Cy replied.

The electromagnetic current between us pulsed with shared unease. Whatever Renard had been seeking—transcendence or escape—he’d been willing to risk everything for it. And he’d paid the ultimate price.

My gaze drifted to the Church’s coordinates blinking on DITA’s map.

“What the hell is going on in that Church?” Cy asked, his voice low.

This had only opened more questions, and I was starting to think we might not like the answers.

“I don’t know. Time for us to go find out.”

CHAPTER 48

EON

The Church was located in the Blue District, but it was close enough to Magenta that you could see the grime soaking up between the buildings. It took up an entire block. It almost looked like a warehouse, nondescript except for the massive blue neon cross that covered the three-story façade.

For once, it wasn’t raining. Auspicious, according to some.

“Man, we really need to start taxing these motherfuckers.” I looked over at Cy as he mumbled. He was cast in sharp relief by the sign, his broad nose and high cheekbones highlighted in the ethereal glow.

“Who, the government or POM?”