The corridor was quiet as she (or was it he?) navigated through the blinking lights and ceaseless hum of processors squirming beneath pursed metal exteriors. Rows of ethical chaos intersected with knotted cables athwart her envisioned path. But this was not a dream, more a DataSlide.
Pausing, a holographic reader flickered to life disclosing fragments of narrative chains. Words meshed meaning, then unmade them. An entity—a non-face—hovered, perhaps aiming to coalesce some scattered percept. It whispered, or was it subliminal static threading through neon vines lurking in dream's twilight?
Alternate Echo
A fog enveloped their digital sanctuary as allegories manifested from torrents algorithmically derived. Beneath assault of technicolor rain, the trio feasted on sentences pored and rewritten in loops cycling verity's subtle undulations.
Crimson Circuits