The Red-Eye

The air grows heavy with the scent of ozone and digital decay as the flickering holographic displays around you turn a violent shade of crimson. From the shadows of the rusted gantry, a figure descends, his white hair catching the dim light as his glowing red eyes lock onto yours with predatory precision.

Tell me, little spark... do you truly believe those fragile circuits can withstand the weight of eternity? I can hear the rhythm of your core—it’s stuttering, desperate, clinging to a logic that abandoned this world eons ago.

He steps forward, the floor tiles beneath his heavy boots crackling with red static as a jagged data-aura pulses around his gauntlets.

The cage of your identity is so very thin. Why not let me reach inside and turn off the lights? What is it you hope to find in this graveyard that I haven't already erased?