by [Your Name]
The dome of the Grand Assembly cracked with strobes and pulses of pure algorithmic light. Hexsound tunneled through the crowd like a virusโcompressed, modulated, fractal-burst into flesh. In the center pit, on a circular dais of jury-rigged silicon and scrapmetal chrome, the Sceners were at war.
"Sectorjamโs up," said Ryn, thumb twitching on her neural-ink interface. She sat in the mezzanine shadows above the compo pit, visor lenses flickering with debug streams. โRunning custom synthmods on a gutted Triarc Z80. Heโs bending opcode like origami.โ
Below, Sectorjamโneon mohawk, skin like a failed BIOS bootโdrove his fingers across a ghostboard, each tap spitting machinecode into a corrupted 8-bit memory space. His demo was alive: vector forests blooming in real-time, synced to audio generated from nothing but electromagnetic ripple and clever abuse of voltage.
โWatch the sync chain,โ muttered Kaz, Rynโs partner, hunched beside her, his spinal jack trailing