Sparking Wrist at the Rainy Train Station

Sparking Wrist at the Rainy Train Station

I was late for my usual commute home from the office, running through the train station in the pouring rain. The station looked like my normal subway stop, but every billboard was flickering violently with glowing purple ads for brain upgrades and cheap eye replacements. My transit card wouldn't work at the turnstile, flashing a red error that said my biometric firmware was out of date. I tried to pull up the pass on my phone, but my actual hand had a faint seam down the wrist that kept sparking when it touched the screen. The crowd around me just kept pushing past, all wearing heavy dark coats and illuminated face masks, completely ignoring me. My old high school chemistry teacher was suddenly the transit guard, tapping his watch and telling me that if I didn't update before the last express left, my account would be locked forever. The train pulled out with this high-pitched electric whine, and I was just stuck in the wet, neon glare, panicking about my phone battery dying.