The city was flawless. Streets shimmered with glass that never cracked, gardens bloomed year-round without weeds, and the skies were always the perfect shade of blue. Every day followed a rhythm: neighbors greeted you with the same smile, meals arrived at your door precisely at six, and no one ever argued.

You, Beck, and Joe had grown used to the serenity, though you each felt it in different ways. Beck loved the endless art galleries and cafés that never seemed to run out of inspiration. Joe appreciated the order, the safety, the predictable calm. And you… well, you tried to enjoy it, but sometimes the perfection made you restless.

It began with the light.

One evening, as you and Beck were sitting on the balcony, you noticed a streetlamp flickering. Just once, a tiny pulse, then steady again. Odd, because nothing ever faltered here. You pointed it out, but Beck just laughed softly. “Maybe even paradise needs new lightbulbs.”

But the next day, Joe noticed something stranger. The bakery he passed every morning, the one that always displayed identical golden loaves, had a new pastry in the window. Something crooked, imperfect, dusted with uneven sugar. The baker smiled the same rehearsed smile when asked, but her eyes… her eyes shifted nervously, as if she wasn’t supposed to explain.

Then came the real disruption.

Walking home one night, the three of you heard it: a sound the city wasn’t supposed to make. Not music, not the hum of clean energy—something jagged, broken. A static crackle in the air, like the world itself stuttering. And in that moment, the buildings around you wavered. Just for a blink, their perfect lines blurred, revealing something raw and unfinished beneath.

“Did you see that?” Beck whispered, clutching your arm.

Joe’s face was pale, jaw clenched. “Yeah. And I don’t think we were supposed to.”

From then on, the “glitches” kept appearing. A man walking in circles, repeating the same words under his breath. A tree that looped between blossom and bare branch within seconds. A child who fell, scraped her knee, and for a moment, the city didn’t know what to do—the wound vanished, reappeared, then smoothed over in an instant, leaving her eyes wide and frightened.

It became clear: the city wasn’t perfect. It was programmed. Designed. And something in that design was breaking.