The city is swallowing me alive.

The towering buildings lean in like silent predators, their shadows stretching across the endless grid of roads, parking lots, and parks that never were. People rush past me, their faces blank, their eyes fixed on some invisible destination. They always seem to come from the wrong direction, as if I’m moving against a tide I can’t see.

Even when the sun breaks through the clouds, the air carries an unnatural chill. Even when the sky is clear, the rain falls, cold and relentless.

The beggar children know this city as I do. They dart through the streets, their bare feet splashing through puddles that never dry. Their eyes are hollow, their laughter brittle, but they keep moving, unbothered by the rain, the cold, the weight of this place.

One of them—a small boy, his eyes crusted and red—crashes into my stomach and stops. He doesn’t run, doesn’t apologize.

His gaze locks onto mine, and for a moment, I feel something shift inside me. A strange fear rises, sharp and unfamiliar. “Move aside,” I say, my voice trembling.

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“We can’t,” he replies, his tone calm, almost detached. “We’ve always been here. And so have you.”

The words settle like stones in my chest. I turn away, forcing my feet to move. I have to get away.

I run, my footsteps echoing in the narrow streets. The slope is steep, and the cracked pavement threatens to trip me with every step. The voices of the beggar children fade, swallowed by the growing silence of the city.

The buildings loom higher, their dark facades pressing closer. Windows gape like empty sockets, lifeless and cold. The streets narrow, funneling me toward something unseen.

Out of breath, I stop, my chest heaving. Before me stands a massive concrete wall, its surface rough and unyielding. I feel its presence more than I see it, a solid, unmovable thing that demands my attention.

In its surface, I see my own reflection.

But it’s not me—not exactly.

The face staring back is pale, its edges blurred, as if the wall is absorbing me piece by piece. My features are distorted, stretched into something unrecognizable. My eyes meet my reflection’s, and I realize with a cold certainty that I am trapped.

The city has taken me, claimed me as its own.

I reach out to touch the wall, and it feels warm, alive. My reflection shifts, its lips curling into a faint smile.

I turn to run, but there’s nowhere to go. The streets are gone, the buildings dissolving into shadows. The only thing left is the wall—and me.

The city isn’t just swallowing me.

I am becoming the city.