Gemstone Lights in the Subterranean Hour

The club’s name flickered above the threshold in broken pixels—"AFTERMATH." No one remembered if it ever had another name, or if this was just what everyone called it once the world above had burned out.

Ash waited in line beneath dripping pipes, her hands fidgeting with something small and wrapped. The queue shuffled forward, a patchwork of borrowed faces and voices—no one here was exactly themselves. The digital collapse had left everyone unmoored; data wiped, backgrounds erased, entire histories lost to static and smoke. It wasn’t uncommon to find two people with the same eyes or lovers who recognized each other only by touch.

At the door, a bouncer in mirrored goggles scanned her wrist chip. It pinged back nothing but a number: 847-B9-ASH. She was still just Ash.

Inside, bass thumped through concrete like a second pulse. Lights fractured across sweating bodies, some dancing, some trading secrets or substances. In one corner, a ring of young women giggled as they slipped bright candy gems onto their fingers—wearable lollipops that caught every glint from the overhead strobes. For a moment, Ash felt gravity shift. She remembered—barely—the sticky joy of slipping such a gem onto her own finger as a child, feeling as if she’d been given something precious and invincible.

She moved through the crowd, clutching her own lollipop ring like a talisman. Somewhere above ground, her family might have given these out at birthday parties—now she couldn’t recall if they’d even celebrated birthdays.

At the bar, Vee spotted her and slid over with practiced ease. Vee was an information broker; tonight he wore his hair in blue spikes and had three gem-shaped candies on his knuckles like brass knuckles made for children.

“Lost anything lately?” he asked, voice teasing.

“Just myself,” Ash said quietly.

He offered her a lollipop from his pocket—a twisted berry flavor, its jewel top glittering under club lights. "On the house. For luck. Or nostalgia." He winked as she slipped it onto her finger.

Ash sucked on the hard candy as they watched the dancefloor together. "Did you ever wear these before?" she asked, voice muffled by sugar.

Vee shrugged. "Maybe? I think so." He let his gaze drift over the crowd. "Funny how these survived when nothing else did. No one cares who you are when you’re wearing something silly. Makes you feel real for five minutes.”

They watched a group nearby share out more candy rings from a bulk pack—laughing at flavors guessed wrong or swapping colors to suit their moods. Briefly, everyone seemed untethered from loss; strangers became friends with only a gesture and sweet-tasting bravado.

But beneath it all was hunger—a longing for stories no one could access anymore.

“I heard you can get memories back,” Ash said suddenly.

Vee looked at her sideways. “You sure you want that? Most people sell them off instead.”

Ash rolled her ring pop between tongue and teeth before answering. “I’m tired of being blank inside.”

He nodded once and gestured for her to follow him deeper into the club’s maze of corridors—past private rooms where patrons traded what little identity they had left for thrills or comfort. In a back alcove, he pulled out another candy ring—cherry this time—and placed it on her other hand.

“Payment,” he said wryly. “You’ll need both hands free for this.”

A battered interface terminal glowed on the table beside them. Vee connected his wrist chip; Ash hesitated before slotting hers next to his. As data trickled through unstable connections, fragments bloomed before her eyes: a girl in sunlight, backyard laughter, sticky fingers clutching plastic jewels... but then static crashed through it all, blurring faces and names into white noise.

She yanked her hand away, dizzy with half-remembered joy and loss so sharp it felt like breaking glass.

Vee watched gently. “Sometimes there’s more comfort in forgetting.”

Ash stared at the two bright candies still shining on her hands amidst all this grayness—the only proof that some things endured even when everything else fell apart.

In the end she returned to the dancefloor—not because she’d found herself again but because even among strangers trading borrowed moments beneath neon lights, she could wear sweetness on her fingers and pretend for just one more song that she belonged somewhere.