Seven (Dan sim)
Here I sit and think about my outstanding pinkness.
How did it come about? Well, it was *stolen*. From Baker Blinker. Way back in the day. Model 1.0 you could call it. Now I am considered to be a savior of some sort. The white horse leads, the black horse steers.
I came here…
… in a boat.
But not that one.
Maybe here I can get away from testers Fern and Lichen. Be my own body in my own person. That’s the hope.
Mama T. and calf will help me.
00430102
“Where *is* he?” expressed not-so-patient Lichen Roosevelt to her dinner partner Fern Stalin, the brains of the group, the Scarecrow to Lichen’s Lion to Wendy’s Tinman and Dorothy in one, as if the UK and US united into a single country, not quite like that but close. They were, then, a trio and thus had to look out for each other. And Wendy was now nowhere to look out for. Missing. Barry was the logical path forward. Talk to the jilted boyfriend, get Wendy’s last thoughts, and then move on from there. One thing they knew: she was *not* in Kangarootown. Not yet anyway.
“He should be rocking,” blonde Lichen continued to complain to brunette Fern. “Right over there.”
She pointed to the chair with the maple leaf throw pillow seen toward the end of the last photo-novel, still as a quill. No yarn to spin here from De Boy. Lichen sucked nervously at the straw in her mouth, seemingly a perpetual oral fixation these days. Fern was just glad it wasn’t chewing tobacco or something even worse. A straw is a straw — harmless outside the constant twirling and whirling and the occasional slurring of the words emitting from her distorted mouth. But, true, it adds to her overall humor, augments the vibe she’s trying to put out there to the world. She likes to play the role of a dumb blonde, kind of like a Daisy Mae from Dogpatch, Arkansaw. A Capp caricature of a woman, a throwback to more primitive days. Daisy days.
Fern’s brains were spinning per usual. “Not rocking, eh? Maybe classical is the direction we should look toward. I sense — lemme look deeper — I sense… Liszt. Don’t ask me how. Just Liszt.”
“List?” Lichen said back, not understanding the word. But her word turned out to be even better in the moment.
“Yes!” exclaimed Fern to this. They had to find a list. If they had to tear this place apart, like pages from a book. Book! she thought to herself. There are books around back. They knew this from their time before in this place, this Castle Town in the Deep South of the Omega continent, an oasis in a desert of shame.
“Travel!” she said when they arrived at the 3 bookcases we also saw Barry sitting before in the last novel. She was basically straight-channeling the future by this point. Oases have peculiar energy, perhaps because of the condensing of energies within. Lends itself to palm trees and desert life. Lends itself to psychic impressions and deeper. Wellsource.
I suppose that’s what attracted them to Castle Town in the first place, that and all the offered games here at Yalta’s Bar and Grill, backgammon, chess, cards, so forth. And, of course, its name.
It was right in the center of the 3, right before their eyes. When she saw it she couldn’t look away.
And right in the center of the book: a list.
(to be continued)
00430103
“Those books in back aren’t for the general public,” spoke nudist and co-manager of the Yalta Bar and Grill Drew “Grumpy” Cleveland to Fern and Lichen later on. “I only let friends back there, people I know, people I can trust who won’t sully the pages and so on. And I know all the books as well. I had ‘Around the World in 1000 Pictures’ not ‘2000’. That’s a later, expanded version I didn’t purchase. And I don’t take donations — not directly. I buy books. I *know* books.”
“Pure enough,” said Fern to this, still scanning the list before her on the counter. 26 words for 26 letters in order from A to Z. But Asylum isn’t among them — didn’t start it off. Instead: company letterhead at the top. She’d done a little research before confronting Grumpy with the list they’d found. Asylum Inc. was started by one Wayne Bruce in 1972 in Nightsity, California. Thing is, Nightsity doesn’t exist. Not in *this* reality. In 1988 it supposedly moved to Jasper County GA near Atlanta, apparently another lie.
Here’s a Google Street View of the address from the letterhead. Nothing.
The most confounding thing of all: When Fern and Lichen returned to the bookshelves around back to check for additional evidence, “Around the World in 2000 Pictures” was no longer there. Instead, a copy of “Around the World in 1000 Pictures”, brown colored instead of blue for the former, was present in the exact same spot, just like Grumpy said he bought. Even ultra-sharp Fern couldn’t figure this out in the moment. Not yet. It would take the closing of one eye and the opening of another to accomplish.
00430104
He looked at the paper that had fallen to the floor from the bookcases in back. He quickly phoned Fern.
“Listen, I have news.”
Fern thought at first: Barry’s back from his sabbatical, But, no, it was another list, printed on Asylum Inc. letterhead again.
“How?” Fern responded to this. “We were just there. We looked *everywhere*.” The thought passed through her mind now that Drew “Grumpy” Cleveland, a nudist originally from rough Grandpa Cliffs across the channel, was playing an elaborate prank on them. She pondered this more as Grumpy explained he was cleaning up, getting ready to lock up, just dusting the bookshelves as he does at the end of every working day, when the thing simply fell out, about at the location of the “Around the World in *1000* Pictures” book (not 2000, as we’ve already explained). He thought he’d just dusted the book but couldn’t be sure. Anyway, he had it spread out in front of him on the bar counter. He described what he saw to Fern.
“It looks very similar,” he said. “26 words again, just like with the first one. Looks like a whole new set of words, though. And alphabetized again.”
“All the letters of the alphabet?” queried Fern.
Grumpy checked once more. “No, looks like some are missing this time.”
“So we have groupings of words starting with the same letter,” Fern said. “I’ll be down in a minute.”
—–
“So here they are. I took the first and placed it next to the new one so you could compare. Whaddaya think?”
Fern eyed the new set of 26 words with hoax firmly in her mind now. Grumpy playing games with her, just to try to show off what he thought was his own intellect and put her in her place? But the words would tell her, the patterns they make.
“Diablo and Draco — did you see, Grumpy?”
“Umm, see what?”
“They’re reversed in the alphalist. Only two ‘D’s, swapped with each other. She eyed him now, looking for signs of feigned surprise. The surprised expression coming from the big, nude man in front of her seemed genuine, though. He’d simply passed over the reversing in his scan of the list.
“And, look here, Greengrow and Grayback — same thing if you spell Gray as Grey, like if we were English instead of American.” UK and US united as one, she thought here, lovely red-headed, pinkish skinned Wendy a vision in her mind. Or maybe UK and France is a better match, Fern quickly amended, considering the bar’s name they were in and the Churchill that had to be involved. “But, see,” she refocused on the colors green and gray instead, poking the printed words with her index finger, “this has something to do with war. This has something to do with *the* war. Green-Gray, sometimes colored Green-White for reasons I can’t quite remember right now.” She waved off the attempt. “Never mind that: Asylum is involved in the war. This Asylum Inc.,” she summarized, “is maybe a weapons manufacturer, or maybe something to do with military training.” Brainwashing, she realized. They’re brainwashing men to become soldiers. Just like…
—–
“Describe ‘hole’,” she asked the bartender in the city of Mars where Old Mabel disappeared from.
00430105 (watery predicaments)
The junkies of the apartment took a drug so deep, so powerful, that they forgot to wash themselves much less the dishes. They couldn’t even take off their shoes before crawling into bed. 15 minutes till the sink overflows.
Fern Stalin wonders if the white horse has any chance in the matter *snap*.
00430106
“A word for each letter of the alphabet,” Wayne Bruce continued about his company, the famed Asylum Inc. started in the 70s on the west coast in a town that time had forgotten. He didn’t, and he’d drag others into his alternate reality as well. With the lists. He separated the top paper from the rest of the short stack and put it on the other side of the opened manila folder. “Second list now,” he said, staring at the new page front and center. “Black for the 1st’s white. Asylum revealed for what it truly is. Shadow government to the world everyone assumed ran from A to Z in an orderly fashion. This was only facade.”
“Here’s where he gets to the part about the Green and the Gray,” Fern directed to likewise watching Lichen, returned from her trip down the river to hunt for opposite shore sea shells. She’d come back home to Mama.
“… the Green… and the Gray.”
“Told ya,” said Fern with some satisfaction. She paused the film she’d found in an obscured archive in a hidden data farm — took a lot of digging to uncover this gem of a dangling carrot. She assumed Lichen had questions. *Should* have a lot but she’ll see about the total. Will help her determine how far Lichen has come along with her soil studies and overall brain development. She’s *funny*, Fern reminded herself. Funny as all get out at times. But she needs to develop the other side. Fern also reminded herself that she needs to work on the opposite side and find her own funny bone with which to work from. She told what she felt were two legitimate jokes yesterday that Lichen seemed to smile at or at least acknowledge the humor in. Advancement.
“How…?”
“How does Blue fit in?” Fern guessed about Lichen’s question. “With the Black, the Green, the Gray? Dark spectrum colors all I’m sure you noticed.”
“So… Red,” said Lichen, thinking back to the first list. “And…”
“Yellow, yes. And Golden and White. Light spectrum. Dark and light, Lichen. Dark and light.” She looked over at the light that had gone out of Lichen’s eyes. “Daark…” she said slower, trying to reignite. “And liight.”
Bulb went off.
00430107 (deep)
“What did you just call those rocks over there?”
—–
“Cleveland,” Fern repeats to partner Lichen what Asylum bartender Teebestia said to her while they were standing with their backs to the hole, gazing up at it. And the co-manager of the Yalta Bar and Grill happened to have the same name. Fern quickly determined it couldn’t be chance. They had to confront Drew “Grumpy” Cleveland with the news.
—–
“Little Big… right up on those rocks… was *taken*. Flung into the far corners of space against his will, his better nature. (Old) Mabel has been looking for him ever since. She thought the hole would provide the answer, or at least relief from her suffering. So she jumped… and came out the other side. Black to white; space again. The hole was a portal in a ship of vast dimensions. She didn’t find her big brother, per se, but found what happened to him, why he never returned. He was *assimilated*. Grumpy — you listening to me? You found that second list, said it was just on the floor when you finished dusting those bookshelves in back. But, truth be told, you’ve *had* that list, probably for a long time. What you didn’t know about is the other, matching list, our first but your second.”
Former porn star and current nudist Drew “Grumpy” Cleveland tried to retain a face of stone but failed. The facade broke down, he started crying even. In the animated blubbering, the huge package down below swayed back and forth like a swinging bridge disconnected on one side and in a heavy gale. He often wondered how it would be displayed when he passed on. In its own big, long jar of formaldehyde at some kind of porn flick museum? He didn’t want that future for himself. He wanted… more.
“I was told,” he said between sobs, “that it would make me *immortal*.”
A phallus! Fern realized. The Martian rocks represent his own. She needed to take a better look at them with this information. Where are the balls, for example?
Built right into the corner of the compound, as it turned out, the whole thing towering over the Asylum bar itself. But the overall smooth, classical phallus shape still lies unhewn and unexposed beneath a rough rock exterior. The sculptor, named TENNESSEE, still had much work to do. Trouble is, it had been over 100 years since she started.
(to be continued)
00430108
“It’s bs about the Cleveland Rocks ultimately representing a phallus. And everyone who was hired by Asylum was given that list. They were ask to study it, write down 10 things they noticed. From this, they were assigned their positions within the company, a kind of aptitude test. Grandpa didn’t do well on it, didn’t even spot the obvious reversing of the D words Diablo with Draco in the supposedly completely alphabetized list, and so he was given the position of, let’s call it, sanitation engineer.”
“Grandpa,” asked Fern about the name. “Why did you call him that?”
“Because he was Grandpa Cliffs before he was Drew ‘Grumpy’ Cleveland. He’s *old*. The project was actually started in 1919, not 1972. That list was invented in 1919, both of ’em actually, although of course the second was advertised as the only one at the time.”
“He told us he was from ‘rough’ Grandpa Cliffs, as he put it, but implied it was a place. Just across the channel — I assumed he meant the river that flows below Castle Town, fixed in a gorgeous gorge.”
“No, that was his name,” insisted Teebestia the Asylum bartender, mask removed and revealed for what she was. A fount of knowledge about all things Asylum. She was old too, older than Grandpa, er, Grumpy, she claimed. “He was rough all right, though,” she continued. “Brought a rusty knife right with him into the compound on his first day. Rust is prohibited anywhere on Mars, you see. It’s because it’s considered a concealed weapon, even if you openly wield it in your hand. Mars is just that dusty. Can’t have rust or rust colored objects. So he was given a fine right off the bat.”
“And, let me guess, that was also on the aptitude test. Which Grandpa/Grumpy didn’t spot as well, didn’t understand the rule being openly displayed in the list.”
“RUSTYKNIFE, yeah,” said Teebestia, idle in the moment and free to talk at length. Only kind of rush they get in this place is 12-1 when the labs let out. “Should have been paired with MUSKET as an obsolete or extinct weapon. (The test) is all about pairings. GREEN-GRAY obviously.”
“Right.” Fern had time to study the list more later with this new information but she’d already started in her head. DIABLO-DRACO, GRAYBACK (or Greyback) and GREENGROW. Now MUSKET-RUSTYKNIFE. RUSTYKNIFE also with SPEARFINGER as a small projectile of death given long, sharp nails. And then CHOKE, BURN, BEAT, SPEAR — methods of death. EVE paired with JOANA indicates the overarching name and purpose of the thing. Fern could obviously have been president of this company. And perhaps she still can. “Leader?” she barked to Teebestia. “Wayne as in Bruce?”
Teebestia was looking for an opening to produce a copy of the red book from below the counter, slide it toward Fern as physical answer to a tough question. And so here it was. She had a stack of them down there.
“You want me to, study this?” Fern said, picking up the book and looking at the town on the cover.
“Start with references to a certain Biff Carter within and work your way out from there.” 3 customers walked into the bar named Sherwood, George, and Rutherford. She had to excuse herself with this.
“Whad’ll — it — be?” she asked them as if she had three heads instead of one, speaking, in turn, to the first, the middle, the last.
A dart shot into The Mouse.
00430109
Fern and Lichen pull up to the Atrium building, determined to get to the bottom of some things.
“Is this 3633 Wheeler Rd.?” started Lichen with the easy stuff, softening them up for Fern’s blazing bazooka of a brain.
“Yes, can I help you?” spoke Don the receptionist, on the job since Thursday. He’d yet to acquire an eye for suspicious looking characters, which these 2 certainly were.
“We’re here to see Wayne Bruce or Bruce Wayne, whichever way he orders it. We’re here to ask some questions if you don’t mind,” continued Lichen.
“Yeah, *questions*,” took over Fern in a much tougher voice than cream puff Lichen’s. “Like… what happened to Robin?; why did he replace him with Superduper Guy for a sidekick?; why is Aqua Dude so jealous of Superduper?; did he want to be the sidekick instead?; and what of Antarctica? Penguin? Penguin and Joker both? Backrooms? And finally: Alberta? Is it Albert or Alberta? And what of that tea and the forgetting?; did Aqua Dude and his partner Bullfrog simply drive away after that, no deal formed between the lot of ’em?; why was this his ace in the hole? *That* kind of stuff.” Fern finally took a breath.
Don’s evasion training from 2 days ago kicked in at last. “I’m sorry, did you say 3633? This is 3643. You’re one down from where you should be.”
“Yeah, we’re not going to fall for that,” said Fern. “We’re just going to walk out that door, go looking for 3633 in the wrong location and then come back here all confused. Maybe you’ll say the reverse, then, that this was 3633 all along and you thought we said 3643. Most likely so. But by that time you would have cooked something up. Wayne Bruce or Bruce Wayne is doing business in New Zealand at the moment thank you very much. He’s in the building and we know it. Go *get* him. Or, heck, *else*.” She pulls a gold gun out of her gray capri pants pocket, trains it on his head. She wakes up.
—–
“Asylum is one up on the Black list from Atrium,” interpreted Fern later to Lichen over a breakfast of Toasty-O’s, new pepper and mint flavor, new shape of snakes and ladders respectively. “This is what we actually seek. Just like Snowden.”
00430110 (paying the Price)
“Oh, before I forget, Lexi, I want you to do me a favor.” He pulled out a small black disk from his black jean pants and handed it to her. “I want you to help me analyze this thing.”
“A brain-daze? What happened, boss, the girlfriend get up and leave you all of a sudden, ha?”
“No no not that kind of brain-daze. Surveillance. Stalking actually, as it turned out. Blue haired dame. May even know her. That pop star Blue Moon Kentucky. Last seen near the dam… remember?”
“Of course I know BM Kentucky.” She eyed it more keenly. “W-where’d you get it?”
“Never mind you that,” replied the boss.
“Oh but it’s important. Could be a virus.”
“It’s from a reputable source, (then). Guy named Daydreaming Gamer.”
“Mhm hmm, I’ve heard of him. Creates tours of Nightsity for visitors who don’t have powerful enough computers to visit in person. Didn’t know he worked with stalkers.”
“I don’t think he knew he was. Accident, we’ll say. The dam is an odd place. People claim it can warp space-time, make you see things that aren’t really there. Maybe someone happened to get inside a glitch?”
“Who tipped you off?”
Should Edward say, “Blue Moon herself”? Too early, he deemed. “A fan,” he said instead. “Someone who wants to see justice done.”
Lexi wondered: Blue Moon fan or UK Cracks? knowing she went solo about 5 years ago. But decided it was irrelevant. Could be both of course. Later, she wished she’d asked this very thing. Turned out to be relevant as all get out. Because the “stalker” was now a fan of only one album, one song really, and it was indeed from her solo period. Single named “Keep on Shining.” The one that brought her back to life.
—–
“Okay, just lay back and relax and study everything you see. Okay, not *that* laid back. Sit up a bit.
“I’ll turn on the machine from my end. Ready? Sit up a bit more please, boss (which he does). Okay, here goes…”
—–
“WHOA, get me out of here, Lexi, get me out of here! It’s *him*, it’s HIM.”
00430111
“We should be okay once we get past the bridge.
“Oh f-ck, now *don’t* panic like you did before, boss.”
“What’ll I DO? He’s, he’s heading right for me!”
“Remember, boss, these aren’t *your* memories. Whatever happened has already happened. Just let him pass through you if that’s the way this plays out.”
“Bring me out, bring me out!”
—–
“See? That wasn’t so bad. Now. Let’s get back to the task of finding Blue Moon.”
“Blue *Who*?”
00430112 (Crazy Blue)
“You know if you keep using that brain-daze, Edward my Eddie, you’ll never get out of Nightsity. You’ll be stuck here forever with your one girl and your one guy, unable to leave.”
“I’m *not* bisexual if that’s what you mean,” he defended his actions, smooching heavily on the girl in a current scenario.
“I know. But your mate over there is, sitting alone right now, waiting his turn. His *turning*. Where do you think this is going, Ed?”
He stared over at patient Arthur beyond her shoulder. The acquiescent hubby.
“What do you recommend? Bartender?” She was a secondary source of alcohol for Edward her Eddie in this town. After Lexi of course. Too bad she too doesn’t offer brain-daze services or perhaps she could give Lexi a run for her money. He likes Sarah. He likes her heart tattoo. And Lexi likes women and he can’t switch over like that. Then again, there’s always Panama for that. Where *was* Panama? He goes long stretches without even remembering who she is, forgets that she even exists on the fringes of Nightsity, waiting her turn. Patient like Arthur here. For now.
“Blue Moon Kentucky,” replied Sarah to this. “You’ve forgotten she even existed — *exists* still.”
“Blue Moon too!” realizes Edward aloud. What *else* has he ceased to recall?
00430113 (she walked right into it)
“Hii! What’s this, then?”
—–
“We’ll get you sorted out in a second, dearest. “Oh hello? Herbert? Got a favor to ask you.”
(reply)
“Uh huh. Brain-daze. How’d you know?”
(reply)
“Tone of voice, eh? Well… it’s for a very special person, someone presumed, let’s say, missing.”
(reply)
“No I can’t tell you. Sorry. That a deal breaker? Just reminding you it usually isn’t.”
(reply)
“Great. Just that detail, huh? Well, it was around the dam. You know, the big one. Over in Rancho—”
(reply)
“Nooo,” Marillia lied. Because Herbert had guessed the identity of the person. She wasn’t careful enough. Besides — she really didn’t care if he knew or not. She felt Herbert was trustworthy. And the more info he got, the better he could set this all up. So, yeah: everything is still cool. Unconsciously she seemed to have planned it. She usually doesn’t slip up like that. Her Greater Self knew what it was doing, though.
“Okay, you got me. It’s her.”
—–
She was still on the phone when Blue Moon simply got up and walked out, bored of the scene. Marillia had to let her go. Besides — she really didn’t care if she left or not. Sufficient info had been downloaded. She’d be back soon enough.
00430114 (Dam sin)
00430115
Clarence spied something that really got him excited. Bootleg VHS Tapes, he pondered, looking more in the distance than what one might expect, someone like De Boy for instance. That must mean there’s old time users around. He’d ask the girl. But first, down to the business that brought him here.
“Would you like to be a model, dearest? Aisle of Palms has an opening.”
—–
“Found him,” she said to Clara Bellissaria, a name mispelled on purpose. Because she was a spy too, the first found.
Clarence and Clara, yes. Makes sense now, Fern thought. Father and child. Fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree, and so on.
“Come on, Lichen, let’s go,” Fern said, seeing Clarence move with Redd toward the tapes in the game within a game. “We need to have a word with this *model*.”
—–
From the northeast and one floor up, old time user Martha spies Clarence + Redd + Tape Girl from between 2 bushes to angle a whole ‘nother level into our story.
00430116
“Well I’m glad you threw on *some* clothes. A bit of bosom still hanging out there I see. Can’t resist.”
“No,” she said nonchalantly, and purses her lips even more in disdain for the discourse. “Whadda ya want? Tobacco? Because that’s all I have to offer.”
“I *want*… to know why Clarence the Spy was here in the first place. And what the assignment is. You’ve already been a model in Aisle of Palms. To the painter Greg Ogden, remember? Why did Clarence approach you about going back?”
“Because he recognized me, I suppose. Recognized talent, like the first guy.”
“Well tell me about the 1st guy for criminy’s sake.”
“Bald. Old. Reformed stealer of art he told me. Gold I think is the name. Remembered me and the girls called him Old Gold after that, yeah. ‘Is Old Gold gonna pick you up in his Oldsmobile this evening?’ Stuff like that… silly girl banter. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Oh I *understand*,” replied Fern, feeling slighted about her superior brain power. “First you put on a bathing suit, then some revealing red lingerie, and now this, about as fully dressed as you can get, I suppose. I know your type. You didn’t like being *abstracted*.”
Redd said nothing to this except, “you done?”
“Yeah, I suppose I am.” She knew who “Old Gold” was, of course. She couldn’t talk to the wife about this for discretionary reasons. But maybe Greg would know something.
“One more thing. Do you know where Greg Ogden is now? We haven’t seen him since he finished your so-called portrait. I’m speaking for all the members of the Baker Bloch family, extended and otherwise.”
Redd looked around then leaned forward, reducing her voice. “Buy me out of my daily requirement of smoke sales and we’ll talk. I’ll be free to leave my post, then. Boss just wants X amount of money per day. You’ll give him that, then I’ll tell you the information you need.”
*Knew* there was something here, thought Fern while she reached into her gray capri pants to retrieve her wallet. Wait… how’d that *pistol* get in there??
She finally wakes up.
00430117
In this here photo-novel 43, almost certainly not the last of a series, I’ve been cobbling together images from a number of separate Our Second Life locations to make a poor poor man’s rendition of Nightsity from the Cyberpunk 2077 video game, perhaps the most realistic virtual city ever created. Probably is, minus its NPC’s, which are a little wonky acting still. Not up to snuff in that way with urban areas from vaunted Rock Star games Grand Theft Auto V and Red Dead Redemption 2. But most everything else is equal or better for the newer game, the latest Grand Theft and Red Dead installments being from 2013 and 2018 respectively. Cyberpunk was released in 2020 to much fanfare but was *filled* with glitches and errors at the beginning. Well, according to recent reviews these seemed to have been essentially ironed out in subsequent updates and patches, and CD Projekt Red, the company that put out the product (also known for the Witcher video game series), says they’re basically done with the thing as of earlier this year. The dust is still settling on the finished work and people are still debating what has been created/revealed. Seems important. Seems different. A terrifying vision of the future, *our* future as a country (US of America) and of the world as a whole.
Maybe when I get a more powerful computer I can go there in person. 🙂 But in the meantime I have my small, connected collection of Our Second Lyfe substitutes and also game exploration videos found on Youtube by the likes of Daydream Gaming (who I call Daydreaming Gamer in the blog and attached photo-novel) and Mares The Martian (who I shortened to just “The Martian” in same (coming up!)). Also: Let’s Walk has some quite fascinating Youtube videos out there, including a 7 part “Walking Around the Edge of the (Cyberpunk 2077) Map” that I’ve been slowly making my way through. So a big shout out to these Youtube content creators, and also the ones making the Nightsity-ish locations in Our Second Lyfe that include Mouser Dowling’s Dystopian Night and Sektor 2, Sensory Hax’s Neuromancer 2020, and ღJennyღ (llxjenxll)’s ATP Paradise. Well done all. I’m certainly still exploring the content from these and others.
And of course it’s Night City not Nightsity, another blog/photo-novel alteration.
One day…
Sunklands 