The sky was a static-hiss of flickering grey and bruised purple, a void where reality had been rendered, discarded, and forgotten. Bimo stared at the horizon, where a river of glowing blue coolant flowed uphill, defying every law of physics he had ever filed a report on."Arka, I think I’ve reached my threshold for surrealism," Bimo said, shaking his head. "My brain is starting to feel like a corrupted ZIP file."Arka stood a few yards away, testing his blade against the air. Each time he swung, the sword didn't cut; it merely shimmered, leaving a trail of blue pixels that evaporated instantly. "The physics here aren't just broken, Bimo. They’re inverted. I feel like I’m fighting underwater with a toothpick."Bimo looked down at his own gear. His standard-issue office satchel was torn, but his thermos—the one he’d snagged from the breakroom just before the blast—was glowing with a faint, steady light. He unscrewed the cap. A thick, steaming liquid poured out, smelling faintly of synth