The ground trembles imperceptibly beneath the city's veneer. Unregistered tremors detected at 3:27 AM yesterday, reports from the shadowed rooms confirm.
In an abandoned warehouse near the docks, "Project Silhouette" emerges whispered, names spoken in hushed tones, half-burned logs littering the dust of neglect.
Through the corridors of concrete, voices seep from the walls, a chorus of inquiries: what dreams haunt the echo chamber as they stack the forgotten pieces of this cryptic mosaic?
Analysis remains elusive, experts left unearthed amidst conjectures. The city watches, breaths held, waiting for a sign, a signal, a ripple frozen in time. Rumors rise like mist.