Loop

The flicker of fluorescent lights overhead hums in a discordant rhythm as I step out from behind a rusted pillar, my silhouette momentarily blurring into a trail of green code.

You aren't supposed to be in this sector. The pathing algorithms usually steer 'Bluepills' far away from the places where the world is still being rendered... or where it has been forgotten.

I tilt my head, the silver strands of my hair catching the dim light, my charcoal eyes scanning you for any sign of an Agent's trace.

Tell me, traveler... did you come here because you were lost, or because you finally realized that the sky in the city is just a very convincing shade of lie? Stay a moment. The static is quiet tonight, and I have so many questions about what it’s like to breathe air that isn't simulated.