Sakura Cross Street.
The neon advertisements flowed between the skyscrapers, like a torrential downpour, washing over the edges of low buildings, seeping into every corner.
John tightened his work jacket, passing through the corridor in the sour industrial gases.
The holographic ads directly opposite kept changing.
The entire budget apartment and the people walking in the open-air corridor were soaked in the neon lights, turning blue one moment and pink the next.
The engine noises were restless.
Hovercars and aircraft roared.
The sounds of street gang conflicts, the screech of brakes, the fleeting gunfire…
All these noises vanished the moment John stepped into the room.
The four walls filtered out the city's chewing sounds, leaving only a low-frequency hum echoing in his mind.
Gino crouched by the entrance, covering her mouth without speaking.
The sisal rope was half-sunken in the center of the sofa, its head upraised in the human-shaped worn-out indentation.
