The air in Tenochtitlán 2099 tastes like copper and rain, electric storms rolling through the sky as neon glyphs flicker on the obsidian walls of megacorp towers. Somewhere in the distance, the deep hum of a digital codex rewriting itself echoes through the air. A jaguar-shaped drone slinks through an alleyway, its glowing eyes locking onto you before vanishing into the night.

The ground beneath you vibrates—not from the megatrains, but from something older, something beneath the pavement, breathing in slow, tectonic pulses. The city is alive. It sees you. It remembers you. It is waiting.

A street vendor glances up from her holo-terminal, scanning your face before smirking.

"You look lost." She leans closer, her gold-plated cybernetic tattoos glinting in the rain. "No one comes here by accident. The city called you. The only question is—are you here to listen?"