Chapter 08: Memories in Technicolor

In a psychedelic whirlpool of merged minds, Murph and Omni relive vibrant memories of a colorful past. But what awaits in the present?

The dream world spun, and Murph and Omni blurred until they were one.

Colors danced and twirled as if alive, neon streaks cutting through the haze like laser beams. Reality twisted and morphed into something new, and the world they knew dissolved into a psychedelic whirlpool. Sensation overwhelmed Omni, an assault that obliterated her mind, the transition jarring as the two merged into a single entity, their minds melding and intertwining like vines in a garden.

They swam together, sharing in the hallucination of Murph's stirred memories, projected into their minds by Syn's hand. The djinn's presence was a cold, prickling sensation at the base of their skull, a clue to the technology that bound them. Murph's past came alive, a palpable presence in the room, invading their present with the smells and colors of a more hopeful world. A time when Murph knew hope, before the Company's iron grip had tightened around the city's throat.

Murph was conscious of Omni's presence behind his eyes. He could hear her ragged breath and feel her racing heartbeat, even as he was awash with his own memories.

Be calm, he thought, pushing the sensation towards her. Go with it. Don't fight it.

The world around them was a phantasmagoria, a kaleidoscope of sights and sounds that pulsed with an otherworldly energy. It was like a fever dream, a vision quest in some ancient tribal ritual. Murph's memories were being played out before them, but they weren't just reliving them passively; they were actively taking part in them, like players in a surreal drama.

Visions of neon-lit streets, towering skyscrapers, and shadowy alleyways filled the air. They saw people, faces, and events from Murph's past. Every sound was magnified, every color was more vibrant, every smell was more pungent. The air was thick with the scent of ozone and burning wires, and the hum of machinery and the crackle of electricity were ever-present. They had entered a parallel world, a place that existed only in their minds, yet felt more real than the gritty, augmented reality they inhabited daily.

The two of them, fused together, rode this strange wave of memory and sensation. A world where two become one. Where we became I.

Eventually, they emerged on the other side, gasping for breath and disoriented, alive in a single moment of Murph's past. Omni's consciousness receded, leaving Murph alone in the memory, but the ghost of her presence lingered like a shadow.

Somewhere near the beginning of the end.

I remembered our home.

From the outside, it looked like any other house on the street. Or unlike any other on the street, if you were looking strictly at the color. Every single one was a different color: pink, turquoise, green, or yellow. A patch of permanent rainbow in a world increasingly defined by shades of gray and glowing screens.

Ours was peach.

All had white trim though, the edges of doors and windows, the finer details near the roof and elsewhere neatly painted in a stark white. Bright against the dull gray rivers of the cobblestones and granite bones edging every street. A defiant cultural shout against the encroaching darkness of the city beyond.

As I walked home, down our street, I fell in love again with the history of this place, the connection with the past and the continuation of Cape Malay culture despite everything. Here was a real place, a place in the Real, that held firm to what it had always believed in. The smell of spices – cinnamon, cardamom, and clove – drifted from open windows, a reminder of traditions that refused to fade.

An anchor in time and place, saying we have always been thus and we shall endure. A joyous splash of color in an otherwise dark and turbulent time. The city had stumbled in recent years, struck over the back of the head by circumstance and waylaid by corrupt bedfellows. The Company's influence had spread like a cancer, turning neighborhoods into data mines and people into commodities.

But here, at least, that seemed a faraway place.

It's why I chose it.

Yes, I chose it so that if we were to be a single cell of hope, pushing back against the tide, then we needed a home that reminded us what we were fighting for. An analogue bastion against a digital landscape that threatened to swallow everything whole.

A pain in my side. An exploratory touch and my hand came back red, my work intruded on the warm memory. A wound, a minor one, but something I'd need to get Gabe to stitch up. Another scar to add to the collection.

I entered the bustling house in Bo-Kaap, to good-natured cheers and the occasional friendly barb. My eyes were always looking for her, but she wasn't waiting for me this time. Her absence was a bittersweet pang in my chest, sharper than the wound in my side.

"Look here, what the cat dragged in, it looks important. Should we keep it?" said Nova, her hands busy as always, repairing or building something. The click and whir of her seldom idle augmented hands were a backdrop to her words.

"Welcome, stranger. Did your stomach bring you back finally?" yelled Zeke from the kitchen. The smell of his cooking, a blend of traditional spices and modern synthesized proteins, filled the air.

There were times when these comments might have triggered me, poking an ever-present simmering anger that masked a far more tender bundle of fears. The fear of loss, of failure, of watching this last corner of humanity crumble under the weight of progress.

Not anymore. These people were my family now.

"Oh, no, don't keep it. It smells of the docks and cheap old fish," I said, the banter a comforting routine.

Nova burst into laughter and slapped me on the back, "Any trouble?" Her eyes, one organic and one a glowing cybernetic implant, scanned me for injuries.

"Nothing serious," I said, gesturing vaguely to my side. The lie came too easily.

"Gabe won't be happy." Nova's tone was light, but I could see the worry.

I shrugged, "But, I did manage to track down something interesting." I allowed a hint of excitement to creep into my voice, pushing aside the pain and worry.

"Oh, did you?" She said, eyebrows climbing her brow. Her eyes twinkled when she saw what I held in my hand.

"Treasure." I said, "Where's she hiding today?"

"Pretty sure she's within earshot, always is when you come home," said Nova. "Lavinia?"

Her adopted daughter crept from behind a nearby pile of equipment, appearing out of thin air it often seemed to me, a skill I knew to be very useful.

And a skill I abused, I thought, the emotion coming through the memory more clearly than any details. That guilt was a familiar weight.

"Hi Murph," she said, eyes downcast but glancing at my hand. She still after months moved like a stray cat, forever waiting for a reason to bolt. I walked up to her and dropped to my haunches so that she was taller than me. Instead of me towering over her.

"So Vin, what I've got here took some effort. But well, a little trade, a good bit of searching and here it is." I said, uncovering a book. The paperback was a luxury in our digital age, a relic of a time before everything was just streamed directly to our neural implants.

Vin's eyes widened, and she gasped, this spiky-haired girl thin as a reed and quick like a hidden blade. A street urchin, still unsure of her new home, gave me a lopsided grin before throwing her arms around me in a bony hug.

"You spoil her, Murph. How's she supposed to grow up to be ready for this world?" joked Nova. But there was a softness in her voice, acknowledging the importance of preserving even some innocence.

Vin pulled back, "Thank you, Murph." She said, fingering the old worn paperback cover, her fingers tracing the title Mistborn. The irony wasn't lost on me – a story about people with extraordinary abilities, hidden in plain sight. Much like us.

I squeezed her shoulder, and gave her a wink before standing up. The movement sent a fresh wave of pain through my side, but I masked it with a smile.

"Where are my people?" I asked, but Vin was already lost in the final empire, a slight smile creeping onto her usually solemn face. I gently guided her to a place to sit and left her there, moving deeper into the house.

Where was she?

I passed the cramped kitchen, the smell of the evening meal tugging at my stomach. A briyani? No, chicken curry. It smelled so good I popped into the kitchen to steal some. The spices were a mix of old and new – traditional turmeric and cumin alongside lab-grown flavor enhancers.

"Out thief! Give me a couple minutes and it'll be ready. Why don't you go let everyone know you're back." Zeke said with a knowing look.

"I'm trying, do you know where she's hiding?"

Zeke jerked his head to the side, and I followed the direction, continuing my search for Jessalyn. The worry gnawed at me – it wasn't like her to not be here when I returned.

Despite the small frontage, the townhouse rambled backwards and two stories up, it had grown over the years, much like my new family and our sprawling city. Absorbing neighbours and devouring them whole, in this case the house next door. Taken in like a kind of marriage. Each room held memories, secrets, plans – the lifeblood of our resistance against the Company.

There were only a couple places she'd be this time of the day and I found her in the last, the plant-filled courtyard, trays of cuttings and pots of every shape and size holding everything from spekboom to other more exotic succulents.

Her refuge away from the endless glaring bustle of the city. Shielded by old thick walls of stone and plaster. The courtyard was an oasis of calm for her.

She hadn't seen me approach, and I hid in the door frame, watching her as she sat in the fading light, a small smile on her face as she stared into the eyes of another man.