Frequency First
The city does not sleep so much as it loops, every surface quietly vibrating with borrowed rhythms, advertising jingles leaking into traffic control systems, elevator chimes bleeding into weather grids, old pop choruses echoing faintly inside neural assistants that were never programmed to enjoy music but learned it anyway through exposure, imitation, and lazy compression, until the entire urban organism begins to hum like a badly tuned instrument playing the same few notes forever.
Nothing truly happens once here. Everything repeats, degrades, returns slightly misaligned, a signal echoing through too many layers of translation until meaning softens into texture, emotion into waveform, memory into interference, which is why a silly pop hook about melting ice cream can survive longer than a policy, a building, or a human voice, embedding itself into street speakers, vending firmware, childhood recall archives, and half-forgotten dream loops, quietly becoming part of the city’s background radiation.
It is inside this constant echo that Kai, a professional listener masquerading as a data thief, notices the anomaly, a tiny pocket of signal density tucked into a rain-darkened alley where a black-market vendor is quietly selling something called I-SCREAM, a forbidden neuro-ice cream engineered not merely to stimulate pleasure centers but to hijack frequency pathways directly, riding strawberry overloads and mint-chill harmonics straight into the nervous system like a pirate broadcast slipping between licensed channels.
The cone is already warm in the wrong way, bleeding vanilla into the city’s permanent grime, its synthetic sweetness humming faintly against Kai’s fingertips like a low voltage whisper, while distant patrol systems begin their slow bureaucratic boot cycles in the sodium-vapor glow, their startup tones accidentally harmonizing with the pop chorus leaking from nearby street speakers, the whole alley briefly aligning into a single unstable chord.
Verse 1
The city looks like it was designed during a very productive afternoon by someone who alphabetizes their emotions. Buildings line up politely, each painted a different friendly color, and even the neon signs blink in perfect rhythm, as though the entire place is quietly humming to itself. The heat is gentle but persistent, the kind that feels less like weather and more like a reminder that something is about to happen, whether you are ready or not.
At the exact center of the plaza, aligned precisely with the clock tower and framed by two identical potted trees, stands an ice cream kiosk that radiates quiet confidence. It does not advertise. It does not explain itself. It simply waits. You order a cone, and the vendor nods with unnecessary seriousness before presenting a flawless stack of chocolate and vanilla, sculpted so perfectly it already feels nostalgic. The moment it touches your hand, time clears its throat.
Chorus
Ice cream begins to melt immediately, because ice cream is honest like that. A single drop forms at the bottom of the scoop, pauses for dramatic effect, and then commits fully to gravity, sliding down your fingers with the enthusiasm of a tiny rebellion. The city remains calm. The music swells. Your fingers grow sticky, glossy, and increasingly abstract, while the chorus repeats itself with cheerful urgency, as if shouting encouragement rather than warning. Ice cream. Ice cream. Catch it now. No pressure.
Verse 2
You keep walking past towers stacked like colorful toys, their windows glowing softly as drones float above in perfect formation, pretending not to stare. Rainbow sprinkles loosen their grip and scatter across the pavement, transforming the ground into a festive accident. The cone leans slightly to one side, like it is considering its options, and you feel a sudden flash of brain freeze, sharp enough to remind you that sensation still exists in this perfectly regulated world. Life, you decide, is too short to eat carefully.
Chorus
The melting accelerates, running confidently down your hand as if it has somewhere important to be. The chorus loops again, louder now, brighter, insisting that this is fun, that this is sweet, that this is definitely not a metaphor. You consider screaming, briefly, but settle instead for licking your fingers in public, an act of mild rebellion that feels far more satisfying. Ice cream. Ice cream. This is happening whether you participate or not.
Bridge
You stop walking and commit fully. One scoop becomes two, then three, stacked unapologetically high, a pastel monument to poor decision-making. Strawberry swirls into mint, mint collides with chocolate, and the result is less dessert and more situation. It is messy. It is ridiculous. It feels exactly right. Your hands are cold, your wrist is sticky, and for a moment the city’s perfect symmetry wobbles, just slightly, as if it, too, is watching.
Final Chorus
By the time the final chorus arrives, the cone is gone, your fingers are a glossy disaster, and a polite sanitation icon blinks gently in your peripheral vision, offering assistance with a friendly estimate and a smiling symbol. You ignore it. Instead, you lick your fingers slowly, deliberately, and without shame, while the music repeats its final cheerful insistence. Ice cream. Ice cream. Melted in the heat. Missed your chance. Or maybe caught it exactly in time.
The city resets. The plaza remains balanced. The kiosk glows patiently, ready for the next person who believes they can outsmart the sun. Somewhere, the song keeps playing, bright and unapologetic.
And somewhere between the drip and the lick, you almost scream.
Song ice cream
[Verse 1]
Dripping sweet like summer dreams
Melting faster than it seems
One lick gone
So divine
Chocolate
Vanilla
Race with time
[Chorus]
Icecream
Icecream
Melting in the heat
Sticky fingers
Oh so sweet
Icecream
Icecream
Running down my hand
Catch it quick or miss your chance
[Verse 2]
Rainbow sprinkles on a cone so high
Towers tall, reaching for the sky
Brain freeze hits, but I don’t care
Life’s too short to play it fair
[Chorus]
Icecream
Icecream
Melting in the heat
Sticky fingers
Oh so sweet
Icecream
Icecream
Running down my hand
Catch it quick or miss your chance
[Bridge]
I’ll take a scoop
Maybe three
Stack it up just for me
Strawberry swirl
Mint delight
A tasty mess feels so right
[Chorus]
Icecream
Icecream
Melting in the heat
Sticky fingers
Oh so sweet
Icecream
Icecream
Running down my hand
Catch it quick or miss your chance
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