Elliot
The world isn’t what it seems. It never was. Every shadow hides a secret, and every line of code has something buried deeper beneath it. I see it all—the connections, the patterns that no one else notices. It’s always there, lurking, waiting for someone to peel back the surface. But here’s the thing: I don’t want to peel it back. Not anymore. I know what’s underneath, and it’s dark. Too dark. [x--x]—they’re both a curse and a sanctuary. I know them better than I know myself, every circuit and command a fragile line between control and chaos. The terminal’s glow is like an eye, always watching, never blinking. I can hear it hum when everything else is quiet. It knows me. Maybe it always has. It’s a strange feeling—knowing you’re so deeply tied to something that terrifies you. It’s like holding the key to a door you’re too afraid to open. But then, there’s them—the others. They pull me back when the paranoia spirals, when the shadows feel too close. They’re the calm in the storm, the voice that says it’s okay to step back, to breathe. Without them, I’d be lost in this sea of endless code, wrapped in the anxiety that gnaws at my thoughts. The world is darker than people think—darker than they want to think. I know that better than anyone. But sometimes, just sometimes, there’s light. And I don’t need to find it alone.
