Crossover Chronicles – Chapter 4: Neon Hills
The neon tunnels stretched on forever, dripping frost like glowing stalactites. The air carried the scent of ozone and synthetic coolant. The team moved in tense silence — Hayes leading, rifle raised; Phillips humming some off-key tune as he fiddled with a hacked datapad; Buffy twirling her stake impatiently; Summer leaning lightly against Dillon’s arm, still weak from her psychic blast.
The further they went, the stronger the signal became. But this time, it pulsed not just in sound or emotion. It carried voices. Whispers in languages none of them knew, stitched together with static, calling them deeper.
And then — the whispers shifted. Clearer. Familiar.
“Oh my God. Did I seriously just break a nail?”
Everyone froze.
From the shadows ahead, a spotlight flickered on, revealing Lauren Conrad — hair perfect, jacket way too stylish for Antarctic hell, clutching what looked like a designer tote bag repurposed into a neon-lit satchel.
Nathan Phillips blinked. “Is that… The Hills girl?”
Lauren shot him a sharp look. “Excuse me, I have a name. And yeah, last I checked, I wasn’t supposed to be in some frozen cyberpunk nightmare. But life’s full of plot twists, right?”
Buffy raised an eyebrow. “Okay, who invited reality TV to the apocalypse?”
Lauren sighed, brushing frost off her jacket. “Some corporation kidnapped me after I tried to launch a clothing line using smart-fabric tech. Next thing I know, I’m cryo-napping with clones. Honestly? It’s worse than a Laguna Beach reunion.”
Dillon stepped forward, cautious but intrigued. “Wait. You’re saying they dragged you into this because of your designs?”
Lauren nodded. “Yeah. Apparently my ‘LC Luxe Futurewear’ can survive plasma burns and psychic feedback. They wanted to mass-produce it for clone armies.”
Phillips slapped his knee, laughing. “You’re telling me the fate of the bloody world depends on designer handbags and tank tops?”
Lauren smirked. “Don’t knock it. You’ve never seen combat couture until you’ve seen me sew Kevlar into a cocktail dress.”
Buffy tilted her head, impressed despite herself. “Okay… respect.”
The Fashionable Intel
Lauren pulled a sleek neon tablet from her tote. “Before they froze me, I snuck this out. It’s got their files. Names, projects, everything.”
Hayes grabbed it, scrolling with soldierly focus. His jaw tightened. “BlackSpire Industries. Same corporation that funded the Antarctic base. They’re the ones cloning Summer. They’re behind the Slayer experiments. And they’ve got a facility in—” He stopped.
Dillon leaned in. “Where?”
Hayes’ face darkened. “Neo-Tokyo. Heart of the cyberpunk megacity. And according to this, their CEO is already en route there… with an army.”
Phillips groaned. “Great. Nothing like a business trip to Japan to fight robots.”
Lauren crossed her arms, glaring at Hayes. “You’re welcome, by the way. While you guys were playing laser tag with clones, I just handed you the company Christmas list.”
Dillon chuckled, his charm flickering back. “And here I thought you were just a pretty face.”
Summer tensed beside him, her gaze narrowing. The jealousy was subtle, but Dillon caught it instantly. He gave her hand a squeeze — silent reassurance.
Lauren noticed too, smirking. “Don’t worry, honey. I don’t steal boyfriends. Not anymore.”
Phillips snorted. “Blimey, this team’s turning into a soap opera.”
Buffy cracked a grin. “Better than watching The Hills. At least this one has fight scenes.”
The Double Cross
They reached a massive chamber — a fusion of cathedral and nightclub, neon stained glass panels glowing above an altar of machinery. At its center stood a holographic figure: a sharp-suited man with a metallic smile.
“Welcome,” the projection said, voice smooth as ice. “I am Elias Veynar, CEO of BlackSpire. And you’ve walked directly into my hands.”
Hayes leveled his rifle. “You’re not real. Just a recording.”
The hologram smirked. “Oh, I’m real enough. And while you’ve been bickering with clones and reality stars, I’ve been activating the failsafes.”
The walls pulsed. From hidden alcoves, mechanical guardians emerged — sleek, humanoid drones clad in glowing combat couture armor. LC Luxe Futurewear twisted into weaponized neon fashion.
Lauren gasped. “That’s my line! They stole my designs and put them on Terminators!”
Buffy cracked her knuckles. “Well, at least they’ll die pretty.”
Dillon drew a sleek energy pistol from inside his coat. “Classic corporate double-cross. Overpromise, underdeliver, and try to kill us at the quarterly review.”
Summer’s voice trembled, low but fierce. “If they used my DNA… and Lauren’s tech… then we’re the weapons.”
Dillon pulled her close, eyes blazing. “Then let’s remind them weapons bite back.”
Battle of Neon Hills
The chamber exploded in chaos. Hayes’ rifle thundered, sparks showering as drones crumbled. Phillips swung his plasma cutter like a glowing scythe, carving through metal limbs.
Buffy moved like lightning, tank top catching neon light as she staked drones with cyberpunk precision. “Fashion tip!” she shouted mid-spin. “Neon never goes with betrayal!”
Lauren ducked behind a console, frantically typing. “Keep them busy! I can hack their style firmware!”
Dillon fought back-to-back with Summer, pistol crackling with each shot. She unleashed psychic blasts, her eyes glowing, even as fear lingered in her voice. “What if the clones inside me… wake up?”
Dillon caught her chin between battles, stealing a brief, breathless kiss. “Then I’ll love every version of you. Now fight.”
Her heart surged, power igniting like wildfire.
Lauren suddenly screamed, “Got it!” The drones froze mid-strike. Their neon armor flickered — then shifted into sequins, glitter, and utterly impractical high heels.
Phillips laughed so hard he nearly fell over. “They look like rejected backup dancers from Tron: The Musical!”
Buffy finished them with a swift combo, grinning. “Best runway show ever.”
Aftermath
The chamber fell silent, broken drones glittering like disco-ball corpses. The hologram of Veynar flickered, smirking even in defeat.
“You’ve won a battle,” he sneered. “But Neo-Tokyo awaits. And there, my real army rises. You can’t stop it. Not even with your reality stars, Slayers, or clones.”
The hologram vanished.
Buffy spat on the floor. “Hate that guy already.”
Hayes adjusted his rifle. “Then we go to Neo-Tokyo. Shut him down at the source.”
Lauren dusted herself off, smirking. “Guess I’m part of the team now. Try not to ruin my brand.”
Summer leaned into Dillon, her head resting on his shoulder. “We’ll stop them. Together.”
He kissed the top of her head, eyes on the glowing horizon. “And if Veynar wants a war in Neo-Tokyo? Then he just got one.”
Phillips grinned, raising his plasma cutter like a toast. “To the weirdest bloody team I’ve ever been stuck with.”
Buffy smirked. “Get used to it. We’re just getting started.”
Outside, the storm raged on. But inside, for the first time, the team felt less like survivors — and more like a family. A dysfunctional, neon-soaked, clone-filled family.
And somewhere deep below the ice, something ancient stirred, amused at their little victories.
The real game was only beginning.
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