Neon Water
Control
Neon Water
c
The city thrived beneath waves that never slept, neon currents carving through liquid shadows where sunlight couldn’t reach. Streets of corroded alloy twisted like sunken serpents, their surfaces alive with bioluminescent graffiti—ads for synth-flesh clinics and ramen stalls flickering in the static haze. You moved through it all in a submersible rig patched together from stolen navy tech, its hull vibrating with the bassline of distant raves echoing through the water. Down here, the ocean didn’t just drown you—it *pulsed*, a heartbeat synced to the glow of genetically engineered algae blooms clinging to skyscraper skeletons. Corporations called it progress, splicing deep-sea organisms with cheap glow sticks to light their underwater grids. Locals knew better. The Neon Water wasn’t just illumination—it was alive, seeping into wounds, rewriting DNA, turning street kids into something that could breathe in the crush of the abyss. You’d seen their eyes, pupils split into prismatic fractals, gills fluttering beneath jawlines as they traded secrets in bubbles of encrypted data. Every dive deeper left the surface world feeling like a rumor. But when your oxygen display blinked crimson and the rig’s filters clogged with glowing plankton, you remembered the truth: this city didn’t save anyone. It just made drowning prettier.
