The city was static.
No, it was forced to be. But it wasn't exactly subtle, no, no, no, it wanted him to notice, it wanted him to feel powerless, it wanted him to know he's trapped.
Still, he walked, it's not because he wanted to escape, it's because he feels obligated to do something.
What did he have to do? He don't know, yet, he shall not stay unmoving as well.
He didn't have a name, he didn't want one.
When he is called something, it came out hollow, not because people intend it to be hollow, but because there really was no people in the first place.
The place wasn't real, he knew that. But the memory of it was.
But that doesn't change the fact that it's all virtual. What made it obvious was not because of the floating streetcars that held no riders, nor was it because of the moon being unmatch.
It wasn't real because the city asked questions. I mean, come on. Even if the technology here is advanced, you wouldn't have a talking city.
"Do you remember her...?"
It never asked aloud. Just in the way mirrors cracked — revealing past experiences, yet only reveals the feeling of it — when he passed them. Or how vending machines offered photographs instead of food, because, for him, sharded memories are of utmost importance.
He was lonely, but clearly, he's not alone.
There were others, the only thing that moved in this static city, but it carried no purpose. They moved like they were told to move. He saw a man on the right eating a wristwatch like it was an apple, and on the left, he saw a woman cry backward, tears crawling up her face into her skull.
He didn't asked why or how. It was pointless, the city didn't allow questions unless you earned them.
He passed the glass gate again, he always did.
But as always, it never opened.
A giant arch of curved obsidian glass, on its left, stood a ruined cathedral that once worshipped a long-dead relic god. The gate shimmered when he got too close, and behind it… nothing. Just a void so deep it made the inside of a black hole seem bright.
Each time he touched it, he wakes up in another part of the city — an entirely new scene, yet it's so familiar. When he remembers one new thing, it forces him to forget two old ones.
But he possess no knowledge of that, to him, this obsidian glass gate was a way for him to remember new things, nothing more, nothing less.
This time, when he touched the glass, "What the...?" It was warm, it wasn't just warm, it was wet.
He pulled his hand back, and the fingerprints stayed, but they were not his, they were smaller, like a child's.
Then, the glass gate cracked — just a little — a thin hairline fracture that let color seep into the grayscale world.
And for the first time, a voice broke through, different from the city's usual questions. It was real, a woman's voice, human and hauntingly familiar.
"You're not supposed to be awake yet."
He turned, but no one was there. "Yup, I'm going crazy."
End of chapter 1.