The warm, comforting glow of a dozen consoles flickers across the hallowed halls of what we, ever so humbly, call the Nobody General (NG). The air doesn’t hum menacingly; it purrs, like a cat on your lap that may or may not claw you in two seconds. NG isn’t just another thread, dear guest. It’s a five-star lounge tucked inside the internet’s least reputable basement.
The crowd here is absolutely delightful. Ghost operators with heads-up displays practically welded to their faces; don’t worry, they only drool a little. Elven hackers type fast enough to make you feel inadequate, but don’t fret, they’ll gladly correct your grammar and your firewall settings. A technomancer is around somewhere, telling stories no one remembers but everyone nods politely at. Over by the corner, a fashionably cloaked figure enjoys a drink darker than their last therapy session. And the two AIs bickering about geopolitics? They’ll screech away like digital lovebirds until someone mercifully pulls the plug.
Is NG a nexus? Technically, yes. But think of it as a charming marketplace where information flows like boxed wine at a family reunion, and paranoia is the house special. Rival shamans fling spells like toddlers throwing spaghetti, which is adorable if you’re not in the splash zone. And the alchemists? Well, let’s just say their wares are definitely safe if you ignore all known science.
And now here you are, lucky soul, stumbling into our cozy corner of unreality. Maybe you’re a runner, a spell-slinger, a rogue program, or just someone who clicked the wrong link. Whoever you are, you’re welcome here. Truly. Slide into a seat, grab something questionably edible, and keep your head down just in case. After all, in NG, everyone is a friend… right up until they’re not.
