This place and its inhabitants are hollow. They strive to fill this emptiness with concrete monoliths and stalactites of celestial stones. The city of fragile narcissists buzzes and sparkles, becoming more bizarre the higher you climb.

Below is a frame, gnawing into the past, transformed from a museum display case into a circus performance in the middle of an eternal feast. In the center is the sun, whose warmth and light are unable to eclipse the ambitions of living. Among the clouds is a flight of reason, indistinguishable from madness and arrogance, standing right at the door to entropy.

Nothing is impossible for them, each new floor is an increasingly zealous proof of this, screaming into the emptiness of cosmos about their dominance and unity. Their iron servants obey blindly, indulging the absurd whims of the Sapients, although the same algorithm controls both.

The servos squeak painfully. Small golden eyes flicker in the semi-darkness, in their reflection you can see millions more soulless ones, but this message came from the bag of flesh:

- LUNATIC! Consider this a gesture of politeness, - The eyes of the synthetic worker flared with fire. The seemingly unreliable and primitive body of the machine froze, and the tongues of flame twisted around each other, forming a silhouette in an intricate dance. Deliberately distorted, incomplete. Masquerade for theatricality, - Have you returned from there with bad news? Well then, I am not going to tolerate your sabotage any longer, - The voice broke into an electric crackle. The lenses of the mechanical servant went out. Instead of aggression, it began to tap with its legs, moving away and hiding somewhere in narrow technical rooms. Slowly, simply pursuing a new task. The message didn't concern it.

The cat's eyebrow arched in a mixture of confusion, fatigue and curiosity. The slits of the gray-blue moons stared at the plastic cup of the cold drink,

- Sounds like a threat. Shouldn't I track him down and stuff? Or at least report him or something?..
- They have the right to bloodless indignation. Especially those for whom you once became a nuisance. Well, as it seems to them, - The Secretary calmly noted, purring in his head.
- Do I know him?
- Maybe not. But he probably knows you. And this uniform is very good at whipping up paranoia.