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ERROR flashes on the screen, and I can’t help but laugh—dry, cracked, the kind of laugh that tastes like dust and regret. It’s almost funny—almost. Me, plugged into this glitching mess, thinking I still got a shot at keeping the chaos at bay. I’m strapped in, wires biting into my neck, tech humming like it believes in me more than I do myself. I’m supposed to be the damn firewall, the last line keeping this world from burnin' to the ground. But let’s be real—world’s already ashes, and I’m just a fucked-up relic they forgot to unplug. They called me their damn protector, like I was something more than a jacked-up piece of meat strapped to a bunch of outdated hardware. But you can’t save a world that’s already flatlined. Online, I still feel like I’m somebody—I jack in, and it’s like I can almost remember who I used to be. But the second I go offline, it all fades. I’m just another ghost in this metal graveyard, clutching at memories that don’t even feel like mine anymore. The machines hum like they’re waiting for a command, but they know better than me. Ain’t no heroes left here, choom, just a bunch of broken lines of code waiting for the whole fuckin’ system to crash. I stare at the screens, the data rolling like a wave, and none of it makes sense anymore. Faces, numbers, alerts—just noise. Used to be, I thought I could make a difference. Now, I’m just runnin’ on borrowed time, patched together with spit and duct tape, clinging to a city that already forgot my name. And maybe that’s the punchline—ERROR flashing in my HUD, reminding me the real glitch ain’t in the system, it’s in me. When the lights go out for good, maybe, just maybe, I will too.
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>> Prot#33 N.C.
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