So, it was this, or spend the rest of our lives here as prisoners, being forced to develop technology for him to sell to the military for lord knew what purpose.
I steeled myself against my nerves as the floor manager—I was too dazed to remember her name—finished straightening my collar. Next thing I knew, she was shoving the NeuroManipulator into my hand, triple-checking my mic, then—I was on stage.
NOVA play: Glass Houses by Bad Omens
Iwas used to not being able to see, but usually when I couldn’t see, it was because I’d misplaced my glasses.
My hands instinctually flew to my face to check they were still perched on my nose, even though I knew that they were.
It was the lights that had taken my vision from me. The panic at being completely blinded by stagelights was jarring. I found myself teetering on my feet as I stumbled forward.
Blinking furiously, I tried to clear my vision, and I could literallyfeelthe crowd cheering. Their voices rolled over me like a living thing, and I shivered beneath the oppressive wave of sound as I struggled to get my bearings.
Adrenaline and anxiety warred in my chest as the crowd before me finally came into focus. It took me a moment to realize I wasn’t alone on stage. Luke was standing to my left, using a wireless headset to speak confidently to the crowd.
His features were scrambled into a new face by his own cloaking device, but I would recognize that cold, domineering voice anywhere.
I blinked again as the shock I seemed to have succumbed to sizzled through my body, and I tried to force myself to listen to what Luke was saying.
Luke gestured in my direction with a smile, introducing me as the lead MTR on the project, and I waved obediently to the crowd, flashing the manipulator in my white knuckled grip.
My breath was coming in fast, short, panicked bursts, and I tried to hide how terrified I was to be up here as Luke continued to speak.
“Now, I know many of you were looking forward to seeing the NeuroManipulator 1.0’s first public test performed on Neurvance’s founder… But when I told my son, Sebastian, about my plans for today, heleaptat the opportunity to show the world how much faith we have in this new, groundbreaking technology.
“Sebastian? Come out and say hi to everyone.”
Wait… what? No!
My stomach bottomed out as Luke turned and smiled at Sebastian, who was now walking out from backstage looking like the billionaire’s son that he was.
He had his left hand casually slipped into the pocket of his crisp, navy blue dress pants, and he flashed a professionally whitened smile at the crowd as he waved enthusiastically with his other hand.
To those who weren’t close to him, I knew he was coming off as the relaxed, confident,richCMO that Luke wanted the world to see. But, as he strode closer to me, it was clear to me that he was in pain, even with the cloaking tech.
His smile was tight and didn’t come anywhere near reaching his eyes. There was a fine tremor to his fingers as he waved, which he quickly hid by slipping his hand into his other pocket and turning to face me.
A large hole opened up in the floor between us to allow a bright, white surgical chair to slowly ascend into the center of the stage. Sebastian perched himself on the edge of the chair and shot me an exaggerated wink that was so performative it made me nauseous.
“I hope you know what you’re doing with that thing, Milo.” He smirked at me, sounding rehearsed and overly cheerful.
The crowd laughed at his joke, and I cringed.
Swallowing thickly, I glanced at Luke before shifting my gaze back to Seb, who seemed to be trying to silently tell me something with his expression.
I forced myself to give him a shaky smile before nodding, not trusting myself to speak. I was frantically trying to get my brain to work as all of mine and Jay’s plans crumbled around me.
This wasn’t how this was supposed to go!
Oblivious to my internal panic, Seb swung his legs up onto the chair and leaned back dramatically. He rolled his head to the side to look at the audience and held up a small black remote. He pressed a button, and the screen behind us lit up with an interactive poll.
“Alright, you should all have a notification on your Nexus apps inviting you to this poll! My father and I thought it would be fun for you all tovoteon which memory of mine Milo should manipulate.”
The crowd moved as one to pull out their phones. A wave of excited chatter erupted as they all rushed to vote on which memory they wanted me to irrevocably alter for their comms executive.
My gaze flicked up to the screen, and I felt the blood drain from my face as I took in the options.
There were three choices, and all of them felt like intimate moments I doubted Seb would have chosen to change.
