As they lose control entirely of their physicality, terror grips them, and they turn into a blob of goat cheese smeared across a floor that is now a massive cutting board spanning into infinity.

Part I 

Part I

Part I

Part I

Part I

Part I

City noises drift up from the urban sprawl below Ma’rud, as they squat on the ledge of the Legacy Overpass. It is otherwise quiet on this massive and ancient stretch of steel and concrete spanning 200 meters, floating 200 meters above Old City rooftops. The glow of neon light from holoboards advertising soulless fashion brands illuminate the emptiness of the city at this height.

The pitch of windchimes overhead contrasts the dreary weather pressing down on everybody. Collars thrown up, shoulders hunched down, figures shuffle through the rain in colorless outer shells. Their haste reverberates off the food stalls’ walls in the form of sloshing footsteps. The smells of ramen and roasted pork somehow cut through the heavy air, triggering memories in synesthetes, and hunger in normies.