Cyberpunk Flashlight Novels & Stories

"She's been waiting even longer than I have, Lucas. Planning even more meticulously." Before Lucas can process this revelation, Daphne moves with startling speed. From beneath her jacket she produces a small device, pressing a button that immediately floods the penthouse with blinding light and deafening noise—a military-grade flash-bang grenade that sends both Lucas and Serena staggering backward, temporarily blinded and disoriented.

I turned on my super-bright flashlight and opened the shed door. The bad guys were hanging upside-down, covered in paint and glitter, swinging back and forth. They screamed when the light flashed on them. I knew they couldn’t see us. We were behind the light, and I put it on a shelf where it could shine into their eyes and blind them. “Well, well, well. What do we have here?” Emma was using a voice changer app on her phone. She sounded like a grown man who ate gravel for breakfast.

"They’re siphoning. Someone down here is using the deep-well reserves to power their own grid." A series of floodlights flickered to life, blinding them. From the shadows of the filtration cylinders, a group of figures emerged. They weren't the desperate scavengers Alexander had expected. They were organized, wearing armored diving suits and carrying high-pressure water-cutters tools that could slice through steel as easily as paper. At their head was a man with a cybernetic jaw and eyes that had been replaced by wide-angle thermal lenses. He looked at Alexander not with hatred, but with a cold, predatory curiosity.

High above, on the ridge of the ravine, a nightmare crested the horizon. It was a Purge Walker—a bipedal tank designed for hunting Highbloods in the broken terrain of the Wastes. It moved with a jerky, insectoid grace, hydraulic pistons hissing with every step. It was a silhouette of black iron against the purple sky, a monolith of death. A beam of white light sliced through the darkness. It swept the canyon floor, cutting through the steam I had released. The light was blinding, physical in its intensity. It washed over the rocks, hunting, dissecting the shadows.

In the center of the bay, sitting on a lift made of glowing data-cables, was a machine that shouldn't have existed. It was the Norton. But it wasn't the bike from the simulation, and it wasn't the charred wreck from the silo. It was a "Hard-Light" construct, its frame woven from the same silver-hawk code I’d used to shatter the tower. The variable-compression Engine wasn't made of steel; it was made of pure, high-density logic. It pulsed with a soft, sapphire light, its intake drawing in the surrounding static and refining it into raw thrust.

"Julian!" Clara dropped to her knees beside him, her bare skin ignoring the freezing pool. She fumbled in the deep pockets of the wool overcoat, her fingers wrapping around her small, brass-cased tactical flashlight—the last remaining tool from her restoration kit. She clicked the switch. The narrow beam of yellow light cut through the gloom, reflecting off the thick, damp mist hanging in the tunnel. The light washed over Julian, and Clara’s throat tightened in pure horror.

I sat frozen, my hand still resting on the cold, smooth porcelain forehead of a nameless doll. I fumbled in my pocket for my phone, the plastic casing slick with the sudden cold sweat of my palms. My thumb found the button, and the LED flashlight cut through the gloom like a scalpel. The beam was harsh, casting long, skeletal shadows that danced wildly across the rafters. I began to scan the rows of my collection, looking for my path back to the attic door. The light swept over the top shelf. Lady Genevieve. The Twins. The Jester.

"The enforcers are at the back gate! They aren't using the Megaphone anymore!" The glass doors behind us didn't just break; they shattered inward under the weight of a high-explosive breaching charge. The white glare of the military searchlights flooded the lobby, catching the gray suits of the remaining cybernetic enforcers as they lunged through the steam, their anti-material rifles already humming with a fresh magnetic charge. They didn't target my chest; their red laser-sights locked directly onto the baby’s scarred forehead, the automated tracking routines identifying her as the primary target of the liquidation order.

Bima asked internally, looking at the twilight sky as it began to fade. [System Suggestion: Your solar-powered flashlight can produce a sharp flash of light if manually overcharged. This can disrupt the Stalker Zombies' vision (temporarily).] "Riska! My flashlight! Can you overcharge it?" Bima whispered, handing it over. Riska nodded, taking the flashlight. "I can, but it’ll destroy the device." "It’s fine! We need the time!" Bima urged. Riska skillfully opened the flashlight and began tinkering with the wires inside. A flash of white light began to flicker erratically.

The rusted metal shrieked and gave way, swinging open to reveal the damp, cold corridor of the lowest catacombs. Chloe stepped out of the cage, supporting Elena's weight against her shoulder. She peered into the absolute darkness, wishing desperately that she had enough core energy left to activate the System's optical enhancements. But her vision was completely blind. Suddenly, the darkness at the far end of the corridor was pierced by a blinding, harsh white beam of a heavy tactical flashlight. Julian instantly pushed Chloe and Elena behind him, raising his automatic rifle and aiming it directly at the blinding light. His finger rested heavily on the trigger, fully prepared to execute any