Neo City was once the pinnacle of human achievement, perched high above the remnants of the old world. The ground beneath us was a myth to most, a whisper of dirt and grass that no longer existed. Up here, we had everything: technology that bent the laws of physics, food that materialized from thin air, and pleasures designed to keep us complacent. But comfort breeds curiosity, and curiosity is dangerous.
I didn't think much about the teenagers who broke into the Neo City Museum that night. A blip on the morning news feed. "Vandals disrupt historical exhibit"—or something like that. The Spaghettifier. That was what they called the machine. The name sounded ridiculous, almost playful. I dismissed it as another relic from the age of human ambition, an artifact too primitive to matter in a world like ours.
But I was wrong.
By the time we realized what the Spaghettifier could do, it was already too late. The teenagers—what was left of them—became the first signs of the city's unraveling. I remember seeing them on the news the next day, their bodies distorted and stretched like strands of pasta, their screams warped into something unnatural. It wasn't just their bodies; it was their minds, too. They spoke in gibberish, their words spilling out in tangled, incoherent loops.
And then it spread.
At first, it was isolated—a neighbor complaining of "strange aches" or a coworker whose arm seemed just a bit too long. But soon, the entire city was infected. People elongated, their limbs stretching and twisting into grotesque forms. Faces became unrecognizable, eyes turning into hollow spirals. And the worst part? They didn't die. They just... changed.
Now, in 2095, Neo City is a shell of its former self. The towering skyscrapers are crumbling, their supports thinning like overcooked noodles. The skies that once buzzed with flying cars and drones are empty, save for the occasional shadow of something unidentifiable, something that might have been human once.
I write this not as a historian or a storyteller, but as a witness. My body is still mostly intact, though I can feel it starting. My fingers tremble as I type, the joints bending in ways they shouldn't. I am not sure how much time I have left, but I need to record this. To understand it. To warn whoever might find these words.
This is the story of how Neo City fell. And how we became monsters.