"Hey watch it!" A woman carrying a pot of orange glow paint tried to side-step me.

"Sorry!" I swerved too late and collided head-on with her—the paint tipping all down my front. It splattered over the open middle of Zaphron's jacket, making my shirt more orange than black.

"Why don't you watch where you're going?" she snarled, giving me a look as though she had somehow suffered more from our encounter than I had. I pushed past her, not wanting to make a scene so close to the club's entrance. The security guard hadn't noticed me as I exited Danse Macabre, but now I was glowing orange and being yelled at I certainly stood out a lot more.

I wove into the crowds that now filled The Valley. Queues spilled down the street, mixing until patrons were no longer sure what club they were in line for. At the end of the strip I broke into a run, blinking out of habit for an overlay, only to remember I was without my Lens—in an unfamiliar territory—with no idea how to get home.

My pace slowed as I came to an intersection, my chest heaving as I gulped down cold air that made my throat feel raw and metallic. The muscles in my legs were shredded—skipping gym class the last few years had really done me no favours.

I picked a street at random and headed down it, just as an icy blast tore through the block. I hugged Zaphron's paint-splattered jacket closer, thrusting my hands deep into the pockets, my fingertips brushing something inside.

At first I thought it was a vape—it was the same shape and size. But upon closer inspection, I realised it had to be something else.

There was a button on the side and a tiny red laser bulb at one end. Without thinking, I pressed my thumb to the button, only panicking once I had it depressed that it might be an alarm or tracking beacon.

An illegally parked car across the street blinked and unlocked. I stared at it for a moment, expecting its owner to appear—but no one came. I looked at the device in my hand.

Surely not.

I pressed the button again—the car locked. I frowned at it and pushed the button one last time—jittery anticipation building in my gut as it unlocked again.

Car security was controlled by Lens apps—or fingerprint scanning on some older models. I had never seen anything like this.

I crossed the street and stood beside the white hov. It wasn't what I would have expected Zaphron to drive, but the arrogant parking spot had him written all over it. I yanked open the driver's side door and slid in.

Without a Lens to program a destination, I used the manual override Dad had taught me to disable the auto-drive. Once on manual, the car hummed to life at my command and I took the wheel, heading off toward an open motorway just visible in the distance.

I drove blindly for an hour. My crappy natural sense of direction somehow sending me west when I wanted to be going north. After another half-hour, the car's charge light came on and I took the nearest amenities exit.

The charging lot was small, a dozen bays in front of a small café. I parked in an end space and hooked up the car, looking around in the hope of a public information interface, but not seeing one. Movement in the café caught my eye and I wondered if anyone inside could point me in the right direction.

The building was styled like a hyper-retro diner. Gaudy red and purple neon strips bordered the awning out front, their bright light almost washing out the holographic lettering over the doors, reading Milo's.

I jumped involuntarily as the glass doors slid open at my approach. Black and white chequered floors greeted me with more enthusiasm than the large man behind the counter. He regarded me for a moment before going back to flicking through channels on a holo.

The only other people inside were two teenage boys. They were huddled in a front corner booth. One of them seemed to take in my neon splatters curiously while the other was looking at his food with a blank expression.

I approached the red counter and placed my palms flat on the shiny plastic. "You wouldn't happen to know the way to the Central Territory, would you? Or even if you could point me in the direction of the inter-territory tunnels, that would be helpful," I said to the back of the big man's head.

"You buy something, you'll get directions," he answered in a gruff voice, not turning from the projection he was watching.

Cheap bastard.

"Okay," I said slowly—aware I wouldn't actually be able to pay for anything without my Lens. "I'll have a coffee then."

The request sent him into motion and he collected a cup and placed it under the dispenser. His attention seemed caught between trying not to overfill the cup and a public news feed. Once the dark liquid was dangerously close to the brim, he placed it in front of me with a slop.

I sighed and retrieved the mug from the puddle, burning my tongue as I took as sip. Before I could ask about the directions, the doors slid open and another customer entered.

"A beer thanks Milo." A petite girl made her way to the far end of the counter and perched herself on a stool. I tried not to stare—but she had such a unique look. Her wild bob was dyed a strange burnt orange colour, like peroxide gone wrong, but it somehow looked good on her. She had small features, paired with heavy, catlike makeup and skin-tight black clothes. She dumped a huge duffel bag onto the floor and drummed her fingers on the counter-top, casting a lazy look in my direction.

A little embarrassed to have been caught staring, I dropped my eyes back to the coffee, both in and around my mug.

The big guy slid a bottle of beer to her and turned up the sound on a news feed. Though it was impossible not to hear, my ears pricked at the broadcast.

"We've had breaking news that prominent shareholder and senior ZenTech programmer Alistair Wyatt has been found dead in his Central Territory apartment this evening. Authorities are working hard to find his missing daughter Astrid, who at this time, is suspected of involvement."