The World Below
Somewhere beneath the surface of a city that never sleeps, small translucent figures started appearing on rooftops at dusk. Nobody saw them arrive. Nobody heard them speak. They just sat there, still and quiet, watching the skyline like they were waiting for something only they could see.
People started calling them PcGenesis. The name came from a kid who spotted one perched on a fire escape and whispered "that little good thing" to her mother. The word stuck. They glow faintly at night, each one a different colour, each one carrying a different expression frozen onto its face. Some look curious. Some look worried. A few look like they know exactly what happens next.
They don't move when you watch them. But leave a rooftop and come back an hour later and they've shifted, regrouped, multiplied. The city pretends not to notice. The PcGenesis pretend not to care. Somewhere between those two silences, a quiet understanding is forming.
