Everything is flickering. The walls are made of circuits that look like they’re bleeding neon. I’m looking at his memories, and they’re just... files. Encrypted. Corrupted by some junk code that doesn't belong here. It’s like Gizmo didn't just break a machine; he’s trying to delete my best friend.

But standing in here? In his head? It’s different. It’s cold.

Usually, I don’t. To me, Cy is just Cy. He’s the guy who stays up late playing Mega-Monkey, the guy who makes the best veggie burgers—even if he insists on putting real cheese on his. He’s the loud laugh and the heavy footsteps that make the Tower feel like home.