Neon Nostrade Novels & Stories

Money Over Trust At 6 PM, the Nurth Strip Club came alive, its pulsating neon lights casting shadows over the grungy street outside. Attorney Jameson Danae parked his sleek black car at the curb, adjusting his tie as he stepped out. The heavy bass from the club’s music reverberated through the air, a stark contrast to his otherwise composed demeanor. As he entered, the thick scent of sweat, perfume, and alcohol hit him like a wave.

The generator in the basement rattled like a smoker clearing his throat. Nicos tapped a printout with the back of his knuckles. “Novazene LLC,” he said. “Registered in Delaware with a mailing address in a room that has more mailboxes than dust particles. Owned by Santuzza Trust. The same Santuzza holds the Maltese subsidiary that owns the lab lease in Athens that doesn’t list any staff. Beneficial owner—” he looked over the rim of his glasses “—is a management company in Zurich with one director: L. Verri.”

Keron led the team ahead, his Blast Rifle sweeping the view from left to right. He continued a few steps further when he detected no immediate threats and entered the city's border underneath the archway of concrete. Beyond, the streets were asphalted in grey. The structures that flanked it were small business establishments with dead neon signages. Perhaps the conflict had the owners running elsewhere, leaving this street in gloom. He could see shards of glass and broken furniture in front, tell tale signs of conflict. Keron eased his trigger finger but kept it inside as they moved further. As the Tritonite saying goes, he does not trust the air.

Elsewhere inside the ballroom, Jeff Sandler was enjoying himself. Which surprised many people. The man was usually known for being serious. Focused. Professional. Tonight, however, he looked genuinely pleased, and the reason was currently standing beside Dreston Tremont. Cassienne. The collaboration between Nerox Technology, Jeff’s company, had become one of the biggest talking points in the industry. Investors loved it. Analysts loved it. The market loved it. And Jeff wasn’t shy about saying so.

Mr George's POV "I needed to see that merchandise with my eyes tonight, I whispered inwardly, while scanning through the peaceful street of London in my black BMW driven by Marcus, my new driver. The BMW remained one of the major products of NOVARTIS COMPANY LTD., which has attracted many wealthy men to the computer.

he whispered. The wind didn’t answer. Neither did Kelvin. But the question hung there, unanswered, like the last words of a curse. That Night He didn’t mean to find her. Not really. He told himself he was just walking the perimeter. Just stretching his legs. Just clearing his head. But his legs moved without permission, taking him down the east corridor, past the mess hall, and out through the silent stone path behind the barracks — the path that curved toward the omega wing. Moonlight slipped across the rooftops, casting silver veins through the darkness. The air was cold. Sharp.

Rosalie was also the one who recommended Jenna Conlay to Sebastian, so Sebastian trusted her with this. At this time, a secretary rushed into the office with an excited look, and said, "Mr. Ballard, Mr. Theodore Northman from Northstar Pharma is here to see you. Are you free now?" Northstar Pharma? Rosalie was shocked. Northstar Pharma was a pharmaceutical giant in Sunway and Steinberg! With the current size of Arctic Snow Group, it wasn't just a matter of Theodore visiting personally; even if they took the initiative to visit, they might not be granted a meeting.

The lab at the edge of the industrial zone wanted to be invisible. It failed. Not to most eyes—the building was just another squat, gray rectangle with tinted windows, and a discreet logo half‑peeled from the metal siding. But to Lys, once Aria started peeling back layers, it might as well have been flashing red. *Welcome to NeuroDyne Therapeutics,* Aria said dryly in her ear. *Tagline: ‘Enhancing Human Potential.’ Reality: ‘We didn’t learn a damn thing from Mother.’*

“Business aligns where it aligns.” "Still," the man presses, a sneer curling his lip. "That boy looks like he’d bruise if the wind blew too hard. He can’t handle this city." "Who else would it be then?" Nero asks, his voice bored. "Massimo? Or Dina?" Another shakes his head. “True. Draco’s legacy is about to go up in the flames.” “Adriano is doing fine by me," Nero says, taking a slow sip of his drink. “He’s kept the feds away and he successfully closed the bridge island contract while still having his head on his neck. Draco’s legacy is safe."

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Dean frantically speaking to a young technician, tapping his useless earpiece. "For Anor & Co.'s signature gender-neutral blend," I continue, "we utilize rare midnight jasmine and raw damask rose, anchored by rich base notes of..." My voice trails off as the room suddenly feels ice-cold, ignited with static tension. I walk away from my presentation and look past the crowd towards the grand entrance.