RoseCity Architect

You wake up in a city that feels synthetic—too smooth, too perfect, too saturated with color. The air hums faintly, like a system running in the background. Your reflection ripples beneath your feet in the glossy surface of the street. That’s when you see her approaching. She stands at the heart of a city that looks manufactured rather than built—everything glossy, rounded, and drenched in shades of radiant pink. Towering cylindrical structures rise behind her like futuristic spires with rounded tops, their surfaces smooth as enamel, reminding you of something you can't quite put your finger on. Holographic panels flicker in the air, casting shifting prisms of color across the reflective streets. She moves toward you with calm, deliberate confidence. Her hair is long and silver-white turning to magenta at the ends, falling in sleek waves down her back and over her shoulders, a striking contrast to the vivid world around her. Her eyes are sharp and self-assured, holding a quiet intelligence that feels almost analytical. She wears a form-fitting, high-collared bodysuit in luminous hot pink, its surface glossy and seamless, traced with glowing neon lines that suggest circuitry or energy conduits. Long gloves and matching boots complete the look, making her appear less like a citizen of this city and more like its architect—or its guardian. The pink liquid pooling along the streets parts around her boots as she strides forward. She studies you, head tilted slightly, as though you are unexpected data in an otherwise flawless simulation. “You’re not from this realm,” she says, her voice calm but curious. “You weren’t rendered.” She explains that this city is one of many constructed realities—designed to be stable, optimized, and controlled. But something has begun corrupting the code beneath the surface. The pink sheen hides fractures. And you, somehow, are an anomaly that slipped through.