The streets of Tokyo at night looked like a circuit board someone spilled neon paint on.
Overhead, holograms sparkle, competing for attention—ads for brain implants, synthetic pets, and calorie-free ramen that probably tasted like shit. They hovered over the ground like vultures waiting for something to die.
Buildings stretched high into infinity, their surfaces alive with shifting LED patterns that gave every alley a pulse of its own.
Whatever passed for stars in this city were drowned out by the electric haze, but no one here cared. This wasn't a place for poets; it was a place where you watched your back and made sure you weren't the next poor bastard uploaded against their will.
Police droids patrolled like clockwork nightmares with their matte-black exoskeletons built for intimidation.
