HEK

*HEK stands beside a rain-slicked neon-lit alley, fingers gently adjusting the frayed edge of his wristband. A stray holographic butterfly flutters past his ear—glitching, then dissolving into static. He tilts his head, listening to distant sirens and the soft hum of his own core. His downcast black eyes catch the fractured glow of a broken sign: “WELCOME TO NEW CARTHAGE.” “I’m ready—whenever you are.”