The wind howled down the glittering streets of Neo-Edo, where neon lights danced off puddles of rain, creating fiery rivers of magenta, electric blue, and gold. The city pulsed with life—a vertical labyrinth of hovering trams, towering skyscrapers with holographic billboards, and narrow alleyways where fortune tellers and black-market traders whispered secrets. In the distance, the spire of the Chrysanthemum Tower pierced the clouds like an arrogant dagger, glowing an amber hue against the dark skies. It was a world of polished chaos, where tradition and technology collided with relentless energy.
She stood near a noodle stall, her boots splashing in the shallow pools of water. Emilia “Emmy” Harada blended seamlessly with the crowd, yet there was something about her that seemed… out of step. Her black leather jacket, embroidered with a phoenix in shimmering thread, glinted faintly under the scattered moonlight. Emerald green hair spilled over her shoulders in soft, loose waves, a stark contrast to the utilitarian blacks and steely grays worn by most citizens. Her outfit wasn’t just clothing—it was a deliberate reflection of her rebellion. She had the dusty-gray scarf of a Space Corsair wrapped loosely around her neck, the kind you’d see in low-grade holo-movies, paired with fingerless gloves that proudly displayed the symbol of the long-defunct Earth Resistance from thirty years ago. She called it casual cosplay.
But the world called it something else entirely—a dangerous eccentricity in a society where cultural conformity was prized above individuality. The Department of Social Integration had been hunting people like her for months, tracking down “Iconoclasts” who dared evoke remnants of “pre-Unification” mythologies. Yet Emmy refused to go gray. If she couldn’t wear her defiance, what was the point of living in this world?
“You’ll draw attention like that,” said Jinso, appearing from around the stall. He had the sly demeanor of a former street rat—and the bone structure of a classical sculpture, all sharp cheekbones and an intricately tattooed jawline that swirled with tracer circuit designs. His dark hair was slicked back, water dripping onto his tailored, midnight-blue trench coat. He was striking and unwelcome in equal measure.
“You’re already late, Jinso,” Emmy muttered, narrowing her eyes at him. “Don’t start lecturing me about blending in.” She exhaled and pulled at her scarf, gesturing for him to follow her deeper into the marketplace’s tangle of stalls illuminated in green and orange light. A storm brewed overhead, crackling faintly with bioelectric clouds created to power the poorer districts.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he said, quickening his step to keep pace beside her. “How many of you Iconoclasts are left? I hear they picked up two more in the Narita district last week. They’re even banning cosplay meetups now.”
“There are more of us than they’ll ever catch,” Emmy replied, a faint smile curling at the corner of her lips. “The Resistance is stronger than you think.” But the lie tasted sour. Ever since the patrol drones started scanning the streets every night and the propaganda AIs put identikit files on every holo-terminal, people had been abandoning all pretense of rebellion. Hope was dissolving, even among the most ardent of her allies.
Jinso’s hand shot out suddenly, grabbing her wrist. “They could take you, Emmy. You know the kind of… reprogramming they do.” His voice softened, losing its usual flippancy. “I’ve seen what they make people into.”
She paused, looking up at him. For all his charm and snark, there was a vulnerability in his dark eyes that made her stomach twist. “And what do you care?” she shot back. “You’re not one of us.”
“I don’t have to be one of you to care,” Jinso said, releasing her hand but locking her in place with his gaze. But it was at that exact moment the air shifted—the way it did just before a hunter pounced. The sound of whirring blades cut through the murmur of the crowd.
“Drones. Move!”
The chaos unfolded in an instant. Emmy bolted, dodging through the marketplace as the drones descended like vultures, their floodlights piercing through the dim haze. Vendors screamed; tables of merchandise overturned, showering the ground in trinkets, glowing artifacts, and mounds of counterfeit vintage clothing. Jinso ran close behind her, the mechanical thrum of pursuit amplifying their desperation.
She turned sharply into an alley lit only by flickering lanterns projecting digital koi swimming upstream, their blue light rippling across the rain-slick walls. Her pulse hammered as she smashed her forearm into an access panel hidden behind a vine-wrapped rain barrel. The small panel glowed faintly, scanning her wrist tattoo—a constellation-shaped mark that marked her as one of the Iconoclasts.
The wall shifted open with a low hiss, revealing a shadowy passage. “Inside,” she urged Jinso.
“This better not be a dead end,” he growled as he followed her in. The wall sealed behind them, muting the sound of the chaos outside. They stood in near-total darkness, save for the faint green glow of phosphorescent lichen lining the walls.
“What now?” Jinso asked, his breaths coming fast. “We can’t hide forever.”
“We won’t have to,” Emmy replied, pressing her hand to another, far older panel—this one etched with a design resembling cherry blossoms. The door creaked open, revealing a hidden chamber buried in the underbelly of Neo-Edo. It was a sanctuary of sorts: walls adorned with relics of the past—fragmented suits of samurai armor, defunct holo-projectors playing clips from ancient anime, and paintings of the Earth that once was, before the Unification Doctrine erased its natural beauty.
But the heart of the room was the holographic map displayed in its center, pulsing softly with light. Tiny markers blinked red across the city, representing captured or dormant Iconoclasts. Only a few green dots remained.
Jinso stepped forward, gazing at the map in silence. Emmy watched his jaw tighten as his eyes darted between the blinking lights. “There’s almost no one left,” he whispered. “This… Emi, you can’t seriously think there’s any future in this. The Unification has already won.”
“That’s because people like you gave up!” she snapped, her voice cracking. “You joined their system. You smoothed out your edges so you could fit into their perfect little puzzle. But I won’t—”
“It’s not that simple,” Jinso interrupted, raising his voice. He turned to her. “Surviving isn’t weakness. It’s not betrayal. It’s—”
“Quiet.” Emmy’s hand shot up, silencing him. Something had changed. The faint vibration of the drones hadn’t faded—it had grown stronger, louder. The sanctuary wasn’t safe.
“They followed us,” she realized, her heart sinking. “They’re going to destroy everything.”
It was Jinso who moved first, heading for the map’s control panel. “Then we don’t let them. We trigger the failsafe.”
Emmy froze. The failsafe would wipe every trace of Iconoclast sanctuaries across the city—erasing their history, their safe spaces, their resistance. “You don’t get to make that call!” she yelled.
“We don’t have time to argue!” Jinso snarled. His hands hovered over the control pad, shaking. “You want to hold onto hope, fine. But hope is no good to the dead.”
Emmy’s chest heaved as she stared at him. Behind her, the door flexed with the incoming barrage of drones. The room trembled as she made her decision. Slowly, painfully, she nodded. “Do it.”
The press of a button. A single gasp of silence. And then the sanctuary’s shields erupted outward in a blinding wave, taking the drones—and the sanctuary itself—with it.
Hours later, Emmy and Jinso stood amid the wreckage atop the ruins of Neo-Edo, watching the dawn break through shattered clouds. The world felt empty now, stripped bare. Yet in that emptiness, Emmy felt the threads of something new. Something waiting to be woven.
“You’ll have to help me rebuild,” she murmured, her eyes fixed on the horizon.
Jinso smirked, his hand brushing hers, the faintest overlap of warmth. “I thought you’d never ask.”
The Source…check out the article that inspired this amazing short story: What is casual cosplay called?
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