Ghost of the Neon Jungle

They call me the ghost of the neon jungle because I was born where the old world died.

My mother left me in the Cavern of Whispers with nothing but a fractured data chip and a

warning I still don't understand. Every morning I wake to glowing vines crawling through

shattered glass towers, their light the only thing keeping the shadow hunters

from finding me. I run through ruins where my ancestors once lived in luxury I can't even imagine,

their voices trapped in broken screens that flicker when I pass. The tribes fear

my blood because it remembers what they've forgotten. Yesterday I found another artifact,

a mirror that showed me a face that wasn't mine. The spirits whisper that I'm not running