Step one, pick a direction and walk in it until you couldn’t any further. Boston, it was quickly becoming apparent, didn’t follow any sort of sensible grid pattern. Wonder how the locals managed it.
Enter step two, keep an open mind to all the buzzing thoughts around you. It takes a little work to hold everything in your head just right, but this was a basic infiltration technique Rivka had drilled into you. You were just… repurposing it a little. Expanding your vision beyond just your own eyes. Working out a little mental map of your own.
It’s a bit like… Radar? Rivka had struggled with this too, in training. How to explain it. There simply wasn’t the language yet to explain a whole new kind of perception that hadn’t existed two decades ago. One of the many unforeseen side effects to using nanites on people. Ending up with telepathy, or whatever you wanted to call it, without going insane supposedly marked you as one of the lucky ones.
Can’t say you feel all that lucky. Given everything. It’s not like nanite surgery had ever actually fixed what was wrong with you in the first place.
By the time you find and get across the bridge to South Island, it’s solidly night out, the sky light up from below by the city glow. The buildings across the bridge aren’t as tall as downtown, but they’re no less crammed together. You keep your head low, avoid eye contact with anyone else milling around on the street.
Stomach growls at the smell of food, and it would appear you’ve found yourself a street flanked by multiple restaurants. Intentionally? Unintentionally? Not always clear which feelings are yours. But it’s your stomach making noise, so guess you must actually be hungry.
You must log in to comment.