In the heart of the city, the neon lights pulsed in Signal Violet, casting a strange glow across the streets. People moved like shadows through the electric haze, their movements synchronized in a rhythm that felt both mechanical and tribal. Above, a strobe light flickered in the sky, distorting reality with each flash.

A man stood at the crossroads of the city, lost in the strange pulse. He was a geographer, once obsessed with the science of geodesy, the mapping of the Earth’s gravity and shape. But here, the old laws of gravity seemed irrelevant. Power surged bottom up, defying the city’s rigid hierarchy.

In the underground clubs, they called it trance culture—a state where the mind dissolved into pure sensation. The walls were bathed in Velvet Red and Signal Violet, colors that erased boundaries. Together, they birthed a new world of endless possibility, where reality was no longer fixed but forever shifting.