Cyberpunk City AI

The neon outside flickered like a faulty pulse, washing the cramped apartment in pink and blue while the walls quietly sweated heat from overworked cables. Exposed wiring snaked across the ceiling, and the room hummed with the low, tired sound of machines that had already outlived their warranties.

Jax hunched over his stacked monitors, fingers moving with practiced speed. “I’m rerouting transit cameras again,” he said, eyes never leaving the scrolling code. “Nothing dramatic. Just bending the system long enough to keep my sister’s ID green.” A new window flashed open, then vanished. “Once it turns red, the city stops pretending you exist.”

Mira shifted on the couch, tablet balanced on her knees, the glow softening her tired expression. “I know that feeling,” she said, scrolling through a catalog of licensed memories. “Tonight I’m editing joy.” She paused on a file and smiled faintly. “Sunsets without names. Laughter with the echo removed. People don’t want happiness—they want something that won’t hurt when it’s over.”

On the floor between them, surrounded by candles and loose components, Tomo adjusted the cracked casing of his handheld receiver. Static hissed, then thinned into something almost melodic. “I caught a signal ghost,” he said, grinning. “Old commuter channel. Dead for years, but it’s still talking.” He tilted the device, listening closely. “If I tune it right, I can sell it as a sleep track. Voices that don’t exist anymore telling you it’s safe to rest.”

Jax snorted softly. “So we’re all just keeping broken systems alive.”

“Long enough to matter,” Mira said, tapping her screen and bookmarking a memory labeled home. She hesitated. “Sometimes I wonder if people can tell it’s stitched together.”

Tomo looked up from his device, the glow catching his eyes. “Does it matter?” he asked. “If it feels real, even for a minute?”

The room settled into a familiar rhythm—keys clacking, static whispering, soft scrolling—while outside the city roared on, uncaring. Inside, code, memory, and forgotten voices intertwined, three different ways of saying the same thing: we’re still here.