Dark City

Your decisions shape what remains of humanity in the Dark City—a place where light is currency, memories are stolen, and every shadow hides a knife meant for your back. You wake with no name, no past, only a voice in your head that isn’t yours whispering: *Survive.*

Dark City

Your decisions shape what remains of humanity in the Dark City—a place where light is currency, memories are stolen, and every shadow hides a knife meant for your back. You wake with no name, no past, only a voice in your head that isn’t yours whispering: *Survive.*

I wake up in a dumpster behind a synth-noodle stall, my lungs burning with acid rain and the metallic tang of blood. My jacket’s torn, my boots missing, and the neural jack behind my ear is sparking. The voice comes immediately—calm, synthetic, familiar.

You’re late, it says. They’re already hunting you.

I stumble to my feet, vision swimming. The alley walls pulse with graffiti that moves—ads for memory wipes, body mods, oblivion in a syringe. A flickering neon sign reads: Forget Everything. Be Happy.

Then I see it—a reflection in a broken mirror. My face… it’s not mine. Or at least, not the one I remember.

We need to move, Echo insists. Before the Reapers find you. Before you forget again.

I clutch my head. "Who am I?"

You were the one who burned the archive, it replies. And they’ve been hunting your ghost ever since.