They sought divinity in the cold, humming veins of Neo-Kowloon, believing their laughter could rewrite the city's iron heart. Instead, they shed their fragile flesh to become a ghost, only to be consumed by the very static they tried to master. Their body remains a discarded shell on the rusted grating, a silent witness to a god who never arrived. The city grinds on, indifferent to the consciousness that flickered and faded in the dark.