The diner flickered under dim, neon lights. Cracks decorated the countertop like scars on a weary soldier, and a soft buzzing drone undercut the low hum of voices. In the far corner booth, Elias was hunched over, his eyes shadowed under a visor lined with cheap augmented reality. He toyed with the sleeves of his worn, frayed shirt—an old shirt, impossibly out of place in the hyper-modern city of Nova Circuit. Something about it clung to him, more like a second skin than clothing.

Opposite him, Yara slid into the cracked vinyl booth, her expression a blend of curiosity and skepticism. Her sleek leather coat reflected the electric pink and turquoise of the exterior lights outside.

“I got the message.” She let her bag drop to the seat beside her, the weight making the springs squeak. “What’s this about?”

Elias didn’t look up immediately. His attention seemed fixed on a faint stain near the cuff of his left sleeve—a reddish blotch that might have been blood. Finally, his raspy voice broke through the suffocating atmosphere.

“Something’s wrong with it, Yara,” he said. His fingers curled into the fabric like a man gripping the edge of a ledge. “It wasn’t here before.”

Yara’s gaze narrowed. Her fingers tapped rhythmically against the table—one, two, silence. “You called me here because of…a shirt?” Her tone was sharp, skeptical, deflecting the unease curling in her chest.

“No, not just a shirt.” Elias yanked at the collar, his voice rising before dipping back into a hoarse whisper. “It belonged to someone else. Someone… gone.”

Yara raised an eyebrow. “You’re telling me that shirt’s haunted? You know this city chews up conspiracy nuts and spits ’em out in sublevels, right?”

Elias chuckled humorlessly and wrenched the visor off. His scarred face came into view—a collection of faint burns and deep crow’s feet. A city survivor.

“That’s the angle they sold me,” he said. “I wasn’t buying it either. But then…” His hand shook now, his thumb brushing the patch of discoloration. “It shows me things.”

Yara leaned back, feigning calm. Inside, though, something shifted. “Things? Like visions? Augmented feeds? Hallucinations?”

Elias’ bloodshot eyes locked onto hers. “No. This thing… it pulls memories up. Not mine. Strangers’. And I feel them. You…you ever felt the last breath of a man whose lungs couldn’t hold anymore? Seen the inside of a collapsing tower, knowing you’re seconds from the fall? I’ve worn that. I’ve lived that.”

Yara stared at the shirt now, its wear and tear taking on an unspoken gravity. The fraying threads seemed to twist under the harsh light. “You’re saying you can’t take it off?”

“I tried.” He shoved up the sleeve of his arm, revealing raw, angry marks on his skin near the hem. It looked as though he’d clawed at it, desperate, but the shirt was steadfast, unsullied except for its age. “It’s part of me now.”

There was silence, heavy and choking. Outside, the bloated rain clouds that perpetually hung over Nova Circuit roiled in tempestuous grays.

“So why me?” Yara broke through the solemn quiet.

Elias hesitated. “You’re… different. I can’t explain it, but when we ran jobs together, I felt it. You saw through systems, read the Code behind the noise. Maybe you can read this.” He gestured to the shirt, and for the first time, Yara thought she saw something—a flicker of movement near the tattered cuff, like the edge of reality disintegrating.

“What happens if you don’t figure this out?” she murmured.

Elias didn’t answer. His face was drawn, hollow. That told her all she needed to know.

They navigated shadows for hours in the back alleys of the subdistrict, beneath the buzzing powerlines that bathed the streets in electric-blues. Yara remained silent, her thoughts racing. Beside her, Elias was deteriorating; his steps faltered as if the shirt’s grip tightened with every passing moment.

When they reached her workshop, its metallic door sealed like a vault, he stopped abruptly, pinning her with a look.

“If you can’t fix this,” he rasped, “don’t let it take me.”

“What do you—”

“Promise me!” His voice cracked, raw like static.

Yara didn’t move. Something primal in those words cut deep—but she nodded.

Inside, the overheads illuminated every piece of her techtangled workspace. Elias collapsed into the chair beneath her monitor. Yara instinctively reached out to touch the sleeve—but the air shifted. There was no mistaking it now: the fabric moved. Alien patterns rippled across the worn cotton, like ancient texts rewritten in light and shadow.

“It’s alive,” she whispered, trembling.

Elias’ head lifted, but his eyes didn’t meet hers. Instead, they stared into some distant horizon only he could see.

By dawn, Yara sat alone. The old shirt, still and lifeless now, lay abandoned across the seat. Elias was gone—vanished without sound or trace. She didn’t touch it again.

But before leaving, she swore she saw her own initials faintly etched near the collar, interwoven with the red stain that hadn’t been there before.