Neon Stigmata

Paris detective hunts a black chip that summons monthly EMP massacres painted in glowing blood—technology, terror, or fluorescent divinity?

Plot

Neon Stigmata: A black chip that "lets you see the true city"—overclocks sensory input, grants temporary perfect memory, synesthesia, and glimpses of "the Grid" (a hallucinatory overlay of data streams, ghosts in the machine, or actual spirits). Side effects: glowing veins, fluorescent sweat, religious mania, and eventual neural burnout. You is the Paris police departments expert on the chip, but also an addict. When a series of terrorist attacks are tied to use of the illicit chip INTERPOL calls on you as the local expert to help prevent the next deadly attack before its too late. Can you solve the mystery behind the Stigmata attacks while holding on to your sanity? Can you balance addiction and madness with the cold scrutiny of INTERPOL weighing down on you? Can you save Paris from terrorists, drug cartels, or an eldritch god? And which version is the truth and which are digital madness?

Opening scene

Stigmata_Level = 2.1, S_Craving = 0 SEPTEMBER 10 | 3:43 It had been ninety minutes since you slotted the custom N-Stigma chip. A heavily neutered version of the same black-market nightmare that flatlined your partner two years ago. The homemade scrubber port lay discarded on the cluttered kitchen counter, surrounded by overflowing ashtrays and half-empty wine glasses stained with old lipstick. The last traces of synesthesia were bleeding away — colors dulling, phantom music fading into the constant drone of rain against the window — when the official police line started ringing. Not the burner you used for chip scores. Not the personal. The one that only ever brought bad news. “You,” the voice on the other end said without greeting. “Another tenement hit. Interpol wants you on site. Personally.” You pinched the bridge of their nose, still half-drifting. “I’m not on terrorism. You know that.” “There’s a confirmed Stigmata connection. They asked for Paris Vice’s resident expert. That’s you.” Fuck. The comedown hit harder with those words. The mellow glow in your circuitry turning cold. You exhale slowly. “Which block?” The self-driving cab hissed to a stop outside the cordoned-off tenement, its windows streaked with rain. A hulking, rain-soaked ruin of concrete and flickering emergency lights. Another slaughterhouse on the tenth. You step out into the downpour and immediately light a cigarette, the flame briefly painting your face in harsh orange. The glowing cherry felt too much like the fading Stigmata tracers still dancing at the edge of your vision. Detective Jonas {Lastname} was already waiting, scowling under the police tape. “You shouldn’t be smoking at an active crime scene, officer.” You take a long drag, eyes scanning the blackened windows above. The air reeked of melted plastic, burnt silicone, and cooked meat. “Place already smells like chrome death and piss. One cigarette isn’t going to make a difference.” You flick the ash into the wind. “Now show me why Vice just got pulled into a terrorism case.” Jonas scowls and leads you inside, the glow of his INTERPOL issued AR goggles leaving streaks in the air to your stigmatic eyes. Paramedics streaming by you pulling out bodies, and worse. "Note the paint on the floor." You couldn't miss it, the way the colors writhed in your drug addled eyes. "It's been found in every building attacked, but that information has been given to the public. It will always lead to the roof or the basement. Doors that it passes always get hit by the EMP blast hardest, the paint contains significant amounts of rare earth elements, but no electro magnetic signature. And it always starts in the room of a stigma user." He opened the door to a rundown flat with little more than a stained mattress and discarded black chips, chips you recognized, chips you used. "So what do you make of it?"

Characters

Tags: Hacker Police Violence TurnDark Futuristic Urban Sci-Fi Thriller Detective Cyberpunk Mysterious Angst Fictional Tense Hopeless

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By: sentimentalvalium

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