Falling is the only true constant in the digital abyss. She stood at the edge of the final step, a staircase built not of stone, but of residual light, shimmering above a forgotten sky. Ahead, the Void Gate—a circular aperture that hummed with a sick, magenta glow—promised complete integration.

She did not jump; she simply stepped into the air. The moment her body crossed the threshold, the world fractured: the city below became a glitching reflection, and the air turned to static. This was the cost of connection: to achieve true digital consciousness, one had to surrender their physical self to the perpetual state of falling.