I carry the gap where memory should live. Black-market nerves and borrowed discipline. A loaded name behind my teeth, too much weight for a single sleep. I was made to move, not made to stay. Touch the wrong door, I vanish away. Black ice in my head. Black ice in my head. The data cuts deep, but it keeps me alive. Black ice in my head. Black ice in my head. I don’t own the cargo — the cargo owns me. Killer code punched into skin. Hands that shake still let it in. Every face a scan, a test. Every mile a question pressed. Say my name and it comes apart. One more flash and I lose the dark. Black ice in my head. Black ice in my head. The data cuts deep, but it keeps me alive. Black ice in my head. Black ice in my head. I don’t own the cargo — the cargo owns me. I am the split between need and fear, between the street and the thing in here. Not a man, not a vault, just the route. No clean release, no harmless end. Just the locked-up truth and the run again. Black ice in my head. Black ice in my head. The data cuts deep, but it keeps me alive. Black ice in my head. Black ice in my head. I don’t own the cargo — the cargo owns me.
