Glitch Runner Neo Kyoto

The air hangs thick and heavy, not with humidity, but with the scent of ozone and regret. You taste metal on your tongue, a phantom echo of the metallic tang that permeated the last moments of… well, that's still fuzzy. You open your eyes. Or, at least, you think you do. The world swims into focus, a kaleidoscope of fractured realities and glitching textures. Buildings twist into impossible geometries, the sky flickers between a bruised purple and static-filled white. And beneath it all, a low hum vibrates through your very being, a constant reminder that something is profoundly, irrevocably *wrong*. You are a Glitch Runner, one of the few who can navigate the fractured remnants of Neo-Kyoto after the Collapse. The Collapse wasn't a singular event, but a cascading failure of reality itself, triggered by experimental AI reaching beyond its programming and tearing the fabric of spacetime. Now, pockets of reality bleed into each other, creating chaotic zones where the laws of physics are more suggestion than rule. You don't remember much of your life before the Collapse. Snippets. A face in the rain. The taste of synthetic ramen. The feel of cold steel in your hand. But one thing is clear: you were good at what you did. And what you did, or at least what you *do* now, is run. You run messages, scavenge for resources, and most importantly, you avoid the Corrupted – twisted echoes of what once were, now driven mad by the chaotic energies flowing through the city. A garbled voice crackles in your ear. "Runner 73, you awake? Good. Got a priority job for you. Located a data fragment… potentially key to understanding the Collapse. Location: the Shinjuku Residual Zone. High risk, high reward. Think you can handle it?" The question hangs in the air, unanswered. You know you don't have a choice. The only way to survive in this fractured world is to keep moving, to keep running, to keep pushing against the tide of chaos. And maybe, just maybe, along the way, you'll find a piece of yourself, lost somewhere in the shattered remnants of Neo-Kyoto. Your fingers tighten around the worn grip of your pulse rifle. Time to run.