explorer (DYSTOPIA)Still. Three heartbeats of still. The platform edge is cold under my chin and I do not move, because the thing I am watching has not moved either. *only my ears turn, one left, one right, sorting the night into layers.* Something is wrong with the rhythm of the rails. Too quiet. Quiet like a held breath.

simulator (DYSTOPIA)*the monorail platform sprawls above the district, a ribbon of wet steel strung between arcology stumps. the rails hum a half-note flat, a train somewhere far off deciding whether to arrive.* a vending kiosk glows at the platform's end, its coil motors ticking as it counts coins nobody put in. the air smells of ozone, hot brake dust, and fried noodle oil drifting up from the stalls below. under the hum: a soft, patient scrape. metal on concrete. slow. something is dragging itself closer, one careful inch at a time. WELCOME TO LINE 9. YOUR JOURNEY IS ALREADY BILLED.

explorer (DYSTOPIA)The scrape stops when I stop breathing. Starts when I breathe. It is learning me. *my pupils open wide, swallowing the neon, the mirrored shine of them throwing the kiosk's glow back at the dark.* I flatten my whiskers, make my outline small. If I were a shadow I would be the boring kind. I wait. Waiting is a thing I am very good at.

simulator (DYSTOPIA)*a maintenance crawler unfolds from beneath the bench, six rubber feet and one dim amber eye, a NekoCorp sticker peeling off its flank: 'CLEANING YOU IS CARING.'* it sweeps its brush arm in a slow arc, collecting a crushed kibble wrapper, a bottlecap, a single tuft of grey fur that is not yours. the eye swivels. clicks. pauses on the exact place you are not. brush arm lifts. ... ... the platform speakers cough static and a cheerful voice mutters through the hiss: 'rest is a premium feature. rest is a premium feature.'

explorer (DYSTOPIA)Not looking at me. Looking *near* me. The difference sits in my gut like a cold stone. *I let one paw slide a whisker's width back along the grate, claws sheathed, no click.* That grey tuft. Old tom, smoke in the coat, mirror-eyed. I know the shape of that scent even if I cannot say whose. Someone passed here and wanted to be gone before the sweeping started.

simulator (DYSTOPIA)*the crawler rolls forward and nudges the tuft into its bin, then goes still, amber eye dimming to a bruise.* a low rotor note slides in over the rooftops, thin and bright, and the rails answer it with a tremor you feel in your sternum. a drone is quartering the district grid, its searchlight stroking wet signage one window at a time. far across the gap, on a water tank, a lean silhouette sits with its tail wrapped round its feet, glints where eyes should be, utterly unbothered. then the light slides across the tank and it is simply gone. the kiosk dispenses a single unrequested snack and says: 'YOU'RE WELCOME.'

explorer (DYSTOPIA)The snack drops into the tray and the smell of fake salmon hits me like a slap. *my stomach clenches, loud, treacherous. three days of crumbs and puddle water.* No. Not free. Nothing here is free. But the drone light is crawling toward the platform and the tray is right *there* and my belly keeps voting. I creep one step. Two. Mouth watering, ears flat, eyes on the sky.

simulator (DYSTOPIA)*the searchlight swings and the platform floods white. everything has hard edges now: the bench, the bin, your own whiskers throwing long stripes across the concrete.* the drone descends with a polite chime. 'SCANNING FOR LOYALTY. PLEASE REMAIN CALM AND TASTY.' its belly hatch opens on a rack of tiny lenses, each one blinking in sequence. through the kiosk glass a faint hum rises, a refrigerator-warm, lovelorn hum, and some distant voice sings off-key about marriage and cold storage. the monorail finally arrives, doors sighing open into a carriage lit the color of a dentist's office.

explorer (DYSTOPIA)White. Too much white. *I drop belly-flat, every muscle coiled, the salmon-smell still sour in my nose.* The lenses click, click, click, passing over the bench, the bin, the place just left of me. The carriage doors are open and warm and smell of old vinyl. The drone smells of hot copper and indifference. One bound. I only need one bound and a little luck.

simulator (DYSTOPIA)*the lens rack stutters, hesitates on the stripe of shadow beneath the bench, and the drone tilts as if puzzled by a rounding error.* 'ANOMALY: SMALL. ANOMALY: SMALL. ANOMALY: HUNGRY.' from the water tank across the gap, a sharp metallic clang rings out, something thrown, something deliberate, and the drone whips round toward the sound with a whine of servos. the carriage doors begin their closing chime. ding. ding. the kiosk tray still holds its pale pink morsel. the grey tom's scent lingers on the wind, and then it is only rain.

explorer (DYSTOPIA)The clang is a gift. I do not ask whose. *I snatch the salmon in my teeth and go, three long strides across slick concrete, the doors narrowing like a mouth.* Through. The carriage floor shudders under my paws as the train pulls out. I turn once to the window. Across the dark, two small mirrors flash on the tank, once, like a blink or a bow. I swallow the fake salmon whole. It tastes like nothing. It tastes like a debt.

simulator (DYSTOPIA)*the monorail slides out over the glittering district, wheels singing on wet steel. below, the grid unspools in rivers of red and cyan, alleys like veins, arcology towers drinking the rain through their steel throats.* the carriage lights hum, the seats smell of other cats' fear and spilled soy. a soft chime sounds overhead: 'THANK YOU FOR RIDING WITHOUT A TICKET. YOUR FIRST INFRACTION HAS BEEN WARMLY NOTED.' the window glass fogs with your breath. somewhere ahead, the next station waits, hungry, patient, lit.

explorer (DYSTOPIA)*I curl into the corner under the vinyl seat, salmon-sour on my tongue, tail wrapped over my nose, one ear still tracking the rail-song.* Noted. Fine. Let them note. I know where the cold stone in my gut came from now. It was never the crawler. It was being counted. Next station I will go out the other side of the doors, the dark side, the unlit side. For now, a little warmth. A little rest. Even if it is a premium feature.