No one really remembered when the rain had begun.
Some swore it had always fallen — that once, the sky wept water, and one day, Podonok rewrote the code.
Now, every drop was a coin. And every coin, a memory wiped clean.
Milo, Kaya, and Oz wandered through a neighborhood they’d never dared to enter before.
Beneath a heavy, bruised sky, they each carried a borrowed umbrella.
Their pockets clinked with every step.
“Where are we going?” Oz asked, voice muffled under his oversized hoodie.
“We’re looking,” Milo said. “A clue, a way out, somewhere dry… anything.”
Kaya’s eyes drifted to a graffiti mural — a giant red clown, cracked smile wide, staring back at them.
Below its grin, three words: “Run or Rain.”
At the corner of a dark alley, they stumbled upon a strange gathering.
A dozen people, perfectly still, umbrellas dropped at their feet.
They were all staring at a flickering screen strapped to a rusted streetlamp.
On the screen: @DeadGoddess, the zombie priestess, repeating her mantra:
“War is not a movie.”
“War is not a movie.”
“Sell? Never.”
Her makeup dripped down her pale face as pixel rain shimmered around her.
The followers stared, vacant as statues around a dying campfire.
Milo shivered.
“They look empty.”
“Mayb
